Fat kid.
Being the fat kid teaches you a lot about life.
You learn that kids can be cruel.
You learn that even though you love the idea of competing in the long jump, extra weight means you’re not very good at it.
But you need to learn to get on with people, and try to make them laugh, because if you don’t your young fat life can be a fat miserable life.
I’m not fat anymore.
I run marathons.
That's a lie.
I used to.
Just half ones now.
Sometimes.
Not that often actually.
I still like cake and sausages.
That hasn't changed.
Money.
No one can survive without money.
I like money.
But I hate it too.
I only need enough money to pay rent, eat, buy a jacket when it gets cold, and eat out at a nice restaurant a couple of times a week.
I’d rather sit in economy class with people who have interesting stories to tell, over rich and sitting in business class with business people.
But then again, I have flown business class internationally a few times. And fuck it was good. I didn't talk to anyone though.
Having nothing.
Kids who had everything when they grew up seem to end up unsympathetic, elitist, and bored.
Kids who had to watch their parents struggle seem to end up driven, observant, thoughtful and empathetic.
As a family, we struggled.
I never noticed.
Although, I did get mad that I never got a banana seat bike for Christmas.
Work.
It's gross.
Coming out.
Telling people you’re gay, or “coming out” is hard.
Not because you’re rueful about being gay.
But because you realise that “coming out” isn’t a one-time thing.
It’s something you have to explain about yourself for the rest of your life.
An example.
“Having your wisdom teeth pulled is major surgery and you will be unable to drive afterwards. Can we call your wife to come and pick you up?”
“I’m gay.”
“Oh.”
And so on.
Forever.
You're not good enough and it's OK.
I went to a school where if you weren’t going to be a doctor, a lawyer, an electrician, a builder, a teacher, a nurse, an engineer, or an architect the guidance counsellor had no idea how to guide you.
I told him I wanted to write.
He told me "That's not a job."
On a recent visit to my hometown I saw that guidance counsellor. He remembered who I was.
I told him that I worked as a freelance copywriter and also have three films that I'd written in various states of production.
I thanked him for not being encouraging, because that was all the encouragement I needed. I told him my theories about how creative adults are basically children who have survived something.
“You’re weird,” he told me.
I took a mini bounty bar from my pocket tried to insert it into my nostril.
"Am not" I said.
Confusion, Fishing and Norway.
After not being guided by the school guidance counsellor I was confused.
Bewildered, I got a job on a fishing boat in the small New Zealand town where I grew up.
Through a series of random events, I ended up as an 18-year-old working on fishing boats in Norway.
I did this for four years.
I loved it.
I’m glad I did it.
I learned a lot about myself, and other people.
I’ve never been so tired and laughed so much in my life.
Doodles.
When bored and/or thinking, I doodle.
I can’t draw.
But I don’t care.
My doodles are just for me, not anyone else.
Only my good friends and lovers see my doodles.
About love.
Whether you love your family, your friends, your dog, your cat, cheesecake, potato chips, having your hair pulled during sex, your ipad, growing your own veggies, typography, photography, pens, paper, or an old hand knitted hat, keep them close. And appreciate them. Because these are the things you need when you think no one needs you.
Work
I work very well in the morning.
The longer the day gets, the stupider, lazier, and less enthusiastic I become.
Nicotine.
When I set words to paper, I need nicotine. However unhealthy or unlovely that equation – there it is.
I love nicotine, and I hate nicotine.
I should quit. One day I will.
I have beaten alcohol. I have lost weight. There is no reason why I couldn’t do the same to nicotine.
But why is it so hard?
Maybe it’s the little rebel who is a squatter in my head.
Maybe it’s because I’m terrified I wont be able to write anything.
Maybe it’s because some of the most interesting people I have ever talked to where fellow nicotine addicts who I met outside of pubs and clubs in the smoking area.
Gardening.
Gardening is the only thing I can think of that blends art and science.
Gardening never gives you want you want, because a garden has a mind of its own.
But it gives you want you need – Dirt under your fingernails, a basic blissful healthy state of mind, nutrition, and exercise.
I’ve learnt that to be a good gardener, all you need is a good eye. You need to look at your plants everyday. You need to nurture. You need patience.
And something to moisturise your hands. Coconut Oil preferably.