Being Thirty-Eight
It feels intuitively like the last year was my shittiest one yet - pardon my french - the sense being that all of the metrics which I have typically measured myself by are well south of where they should be. Most obvious is the flab around my waist, undeniable evidence that the 92kg reading on my scale is as factual as can be. There are other things of course, not least the sense of listlessness, the feeling of drifting and the increasingly dispassionate nature of my spiritual practice . A year ago I was certain that the year of being thirty seven would be my best one; the S bounce being a big part of that assessment. Reality though has been a less certain, more topsy turvy version of what I wanted it to be. ...