It’s Not (Quite) All About Me (part one)


I can’t help but notice that lately many of my posts have become all about me. Not because I’m unduly self-obsessed I think, but simply because I have to write about what I know, and what I know about is me. It’s not what I necessarily intended when I started this, but then things seldom turn out as anticipated do they? Ask Theresa May. One of the side effects of writing a blog like this is that I spend half of my life looking in at myself: considering everything I do, everything I think and comparing it with everybody else. Obviously, I am looking for common ground and shared experience, but I’m never quite certain that I’ve found it. I am never quite certain that anybody else sees the same, feels the same as me. If I was, I would be a politician and I think that we can all agree that that would not end well. It strikes me that every time I start to think about anything, I think about the emotions it stirs in me. I think about what I feel. I think about how I cope, and then I hope that at least some of you might feel the same.

Even when an experience is shared, we don’t necessarily all react to it in the same way. Do we all deal with rude waiters by tipping them in pennies? Do we all handle conversations with our internet provider by pretending to be the local Chinese Takeaway? Do we all deal with nuisance callers by singing them La Marseillaise and refusing to hang up? No? Just me then…

Ultimately, what I have to write is all about me and I’m not sure that I’m altogether comfortable with it. I find myself almost constantly considering the contents of my head and, quite frankly, it’s nothing more than a soup of inconsequence and worry if I’m honest, but it’s the material I have to hand, so I use it.

I could make the whole thing up of course, I’m ok at that, but it’s not the point is it? If I pretended to be (let’s be generous) a middle-aged man facing the problems associated with getting older by cocking a snook at his own neuroses and insecurities, you’d never believe me, would you? Oh, hang on…

What I am really hoping is that we are really all the same – ok, you might not wear your underwear in strict rotation in order to not upset any of it – but fundamentally we are similar (I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Shall we start again?) Nobody is ever going to be amused by, or interested in, anything of which they have no experience, and without some glimmer of recognition there can be no interest. At this time, every other night, I find myself reading over what I have written and wondering ‘Am I weird? Am I different to everybody else?’ and I guess the answer to both questions is probably yes… and no. I am different, but only in the same way that we are all different. We are all the same in that. Am I weird? Well, ok, I’ll give you that. Not ‘bad’ weird though. Not strangling pigeons weird. Not howling at the moon weird. Not collecting toe-nail clippings weird. More like enjoying countless repeats of Midsomer Murders weird. More like thinking I am normal weird.

When I read a book, watch TV or a film I am aware that the ‘bad’ characters possess at least some of my own bad characteristics, whilst the good guys share some of my (admittedly smaller pool of) good. I am always happy when my less desirable traits are overcome by my better self. I hope and believe that this is something we all do. There will be aspects of fictional baddies that we can all agree are bad (planning world domination perhaps; setting off a nuclear bomb; twisting nipples and pinching noses), but I suspect that there are aspects that we will all have different opinions about (he’s kind to animals and he always feeds his sharks very well). I’m not going to bother you with what I consider good about me – it’s a short list and it doesn’t feature anything cute or furry – but I do aim to try and unravel some of my bad bits in the hope that, in the future, I might spot them earlier and do something about them before the kids push me out of the car. I must stress here that I have no intention of doing a complete hatchet-job on myself. I don’t think that I’m fundamentally bad; my temper is essentially even, I’m not mean and I am definitely not prone to violence. Like every one of us I guess, I regret a million things I have done in the past, but I don’t believe I have actually done anything bad. Certainly not malicious. In truth I am under-ambitious, prone to slothfulness and painfully aware of my own limitations. I see myself as an ‘everyman’, which must scare the shit out of all the other everymen. I am one of life’s sub-plots. Neither my good, nor my bad, quite strong enough to support its own novel. So, now is the time for me to look at myself again and try to give myself a metaphorical slap around the face in the hope that I will have a little less to write about in the future. I’m not sure how that is going to work.

I delved into my soul and what I’ve discovered is that introspection is not a barrel of laughs…

Every time I’m wrong, the world makes a little less sense – Frasier

21 thoughts on “It’s Not (Quite) All About Me (part one)

  1. I like how you write. But I mean…. it must give YOU something.
    For me blogging was for years a therapy substitute and a lot more efficient. I don’t know …. somehow it developed to be a helpful habit. My life is 100% different and better because of blogging. Hope that for you it is also so…

    Cool hat. 😉


    1. I love to write. It is what I do and what I have always done. I didn’t set off with the intention of the blog being about me, but about growing old. It has now become about me growing old – but that’s ok, as long as it doesn’t become boring. I love the blogs of those I follow and I enjoy the ‘comments’. It’s cool to get such immediate reaction. Thank you for taking the time to read and to reply – I appreciate both.


      1. That’s very sweet. Do you only anthropomorphise (all this practice is good for my spelling) underwear? Or all clothing? Or all household objects?
        I do it with furniture, all technology and even people, so I’m not judging, just curious.


  2. Haha.. The rotation of underpants made me laugh… However, I wanted to be the one who mentioned the pens! In a life long ago you confided in me that you used your pens in rotation so as not to upset any of them… So I started doing it… Till sanity kicked in!


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