clinging to the wreckage

Writing is a window to the mind. A true view of the full person behind the words. Face to face, when speaking, an individual can come across as calm and collected, they smile and use charm… they pretend to be what they want, and they wear a mask to disguise what lies inside. When they write, it pours out… their inner darkness and angry and emotional despair. For some, it also reveals their grammatical chaos… often caused by simple and pure blind fury. Writing is a powerful tool to use… it is also a powerful tool to be used against you if you are only a good person behind your mask.                   Communication in all walks of life is vitally important. In the professional realm, it is required to be seen as credible… it’s about timing as well as delivery and audience. As a leader, it is absolutely crucial. A leader firing off spouts of furious phrases that are poorly worded and contain grammatical errors in a constant flow simply has no credibility whatsoever. Many people are able t

  He lay alone in the darkened room. The blinds were closed to the maximum in order to block out any potential light breaking through from the dazzling Spanish sun. It was the day after his birthday. He had spent the previous day with his girlfriend. But that now seemed an eternity away. Lifetimes had passed since then. It was a Tuesday morning and he simply did not know if it would be possible to get out of bed and go to work. Life seemed empty. Everything was lost to him except the deep throbbing pain reminding him that he was alive. To be alive like this… in this space of black desolation and despair… was it even to be alive? He had found something, something worthwhile and meaningful… something that brought light and hope, but it was now lost. It was inevitable. It seemed as if it was surely, at the very least, the end of his Spanish adventure.

  Sometimes the dark depths string their fingers around us and pull us in. We are washed away and lost. Days of regret and dread and despair for the things that we have not done, that we never did, that we should have. Time is so fleeting and fickle, it swoops in with a knife, stabs us in the side, and then retreats like a misty morning fog. Time has passed and so have people. One moment we are children pretending to be our favourite TV character or Marvel Comic Book Hero, then we are teenagers imitating musicians and sports stars, we become young adults with dreams of changing the world and reaching the top, then we are merely in decline… rolling down a hill rapidly whilst others stand at the top unaware that we are even disappearing into that sombre and solemn night. How do we remain relevant? How do we retain dignity? As I walk around the lake in the mornings, I often see elderly people walking, alone, and when I smile at them they smile back with such a joy… it almost brings a tear

  She’s beautiful and alluring, always looking and smiling. I call her ‘Dark’. She’s as white as snow. Her hair is long and light with dark roots. Let’s call her Ms. D. Roots. The last time I saw her she was wearing a large, grey, t-shirt with ‘Texas’ printed in red on the front. She looked loveably adorable. When I’m there, she looks over frequently and, each time our eyes meet, she smiles… and so do I. I saw her again this weekend and she was wearing a Texas Rangers t-shirt. She smiled and waved hello as I arrived. I ate comforting southern foods and felt completely relaxed and at home as I allowed myself to be mesmerised. I was supposed to be in Boston, but after 6 hours in the airport on Thursday, with endless delays, my flight was finally cancelled. On Friday, the flight was once more delayed and, as I left to head to the airport on the train, the flight was cancelled once more. I felt a sense of relief mixed with frustration… relief because, when the flight was delayed again, I f