Humanish?

Have I been alive all that time? In some ways it feels like I have been alive way too long, and in another thought it feels like I am just starting…

I have called this journal humanish, because despite being alive on this wonderful planet I call home for 19,499 I have absolutely no idea what it truly means to be human, despite dedicating the last 20 years to uncovering my true self, and writing countless books, attempting to deconstruct the human experience.

I now feel like I am a hundred different people and have probably done more harm to myself by trying. The problem is, I want to explore everything, to learn all there is to know, to go beyond human conditioning, and unleash the power of my three pound walnut.

I want to help humans become more self aware, to question why they think the way they do, but I still find myself struggling with the complexities of day to day life, despite fundamentally changing my lifestyle and the way I think.

I have walked thousands of miles across the planet in search of meaning, and enlightenment, but have found myself living alone on an ocean going sailboat, barely able to feed myself and my Labrador Hari. How has someone who has done so much, learned so much, helped so many people, found himself in this situation.

I created this life, but it doesn’t mean I am enjoying myself. I have several new projects currently underway, all of which are more conceptual than fulfilling my basic needs. Somehow I must find a way to exist in this human world, but it is difficult, especially as you

I am not someone to complain about my life, but it hasn’t worked out the way I planned it! I am 53 Years old, with a mental age of a teenager. I like fun, I like adventure, I like music, dancing, learning, exploring, all the trappings of a young person with no responsibilities.

I recognise that most people including my father think I should grow up, but although I behave like a carefree playboy, I think very deeply about being human, and I try to help people wherever I meet them,

I spent 3 years looking after my mother without any help, going through her pain as she succumbed first to Alzheimers and then Cancer, followed slowly by Death. People tell me to be serious about getting a job, or bringing in money to feed myself, but I think death is more serious, don’t you.

This journal is not to dwell on death, but more the realities of being alive, of being human, and ultimately about carrying round a 3 pound walnut encased in bone, which has the ability to make humans love each other, hate each other, kill each other, and want more than it will ever need in a thousand lifetimes.

This journal shall form part of project 55, which culminates on April 6th 2024, 592 Days away, on my 55th birthday. On that day I’m retiring from this madness!

What to expect from this Journal. To be honest with you, I don’t care if no one reads it, it’s not for anyone else, it’s for me. And don’t try and follow me on FB/Insta/Twitta/ I don’t exist in that world. I used to, but it is the most boring, idiotic invention I have ever had the misfortune of logging into. With that said, bring on the next 592 days.