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Thanks to a chance episode of the Re-Enchanting podcast, The Seven Deadly Sins have been front and centre in my mind for a while now. In thinking about the past year of being forty-four, the y come to mind, particularly that of acedia. Sloth, its usual translation, doesn’t quite capture all its nuances, with its connotations of “a lack of any feeling about self or others”, “apathy” and “passivity” to name a few. It is this aspect of passivity and apathy that I feel like I need to address as a key focus area for the year of being forty-five.The last year did have momentous events ; packing up my life abroad and returning to be with family, a new job back in the UK and a slight pivot into the biofuels space from the core oil and gas stuff I had done all my work life before to name a few. Whilst that was most certainly the right decision, I do have doubts as to if it was the right time, and if it was for the right reasons. Forty-five then has to be the year of re-engaging, of re-igniting the passions that drove my life in the past. Alongside those are the several key decisions which loom for me next year, the desire for which has to be that they are made for the right reasons first and foremost. ...

__ It seems as though scarcely a blink has passed, yet somehow it is the end of March, a quarter of the year having sped past. Winter, a not particularly difficult one as I recall, has been and gone. Incessant rain interspersed with sunshine, longer days and the first sight of flowers blossoming all point to spring on the horizon, and how have I needed that! There is also the small matter of a milestone of sorts - four months in the new gig. A semblance of routine has taken root: Monday night flights to the continent, three days of hard work, and a late return to London on Thursday nights, followed by some work from home on Fridays. ...

Turning forty four sometime last year (where did the time go) seems to have been a trigger for thoughts about legacy rising to the fore in my mind, the end result of which was packing up my bags and swapping the sand dunes for Surrey. The decision being made, it still took the better part of six months to execute; lining up something this side of the dunes, rolling up the detritus of 1200 days of life and navigating notice periods amongst other things. Tnere was a lot of hand wringing, offer/counter offer and a little bit of emotional blackmail (of the good sort) but in the end what had to be done had to be done and I was on a flight heading bacck to good old Blighty. ...

The year of being 43 was meant to be the Year of Disciplined Execution, drawing from the Sean Covey book, namely : focus on the wildly important, act on the lead measures, keep a compelling scorecard and create a cadence of accountability. Looking back it is fair to say delivery on this was middling at best, with both high and low lights, summarised below: Highlights Daily Bible App story helped me maintain a semblance of devotional life Highest ever plant performance ranking at work in several categories, increased recognition at the plant of my M&C skills with several key solutions delivered Good earnings supplemented by decent performance in the stock markets Greater clarity around the next type of role for me: stay in Upstream M&C Corrosion Management, not necessarily projects etc Offered roles at bp and Shell after rigorous interviews, great boost to the morale that I can still mix it with the good guys Bonding with L, despite the distance and intermittent visits from me Lowlights Weight stayed high, didn’t manage to bring it down to the low 90s as anticipated Health was middling, a number of developing issues to keep a eye on as I transition into my late forties Beginning to feel like I am in a rut at my current job Didn’t blog/ write as much as I would have wanted 44: Legacy For the next run around the sun, the word which has bubbled to the fore of my mind is Legacy. It is one which has guided the core of my activities and decisions over the past few years albeit without being explicitly expressed. In a sense, it is a continuation of the Year of Disciplined Execution, as Legacy and its underpinnings should drive the definition of what is wildly important which is then executed in a disciplined manner. Legacy is also inextricably linked to the three interaction clusters of my life plan, personal, professional and public. Of particular importance for me in this context then is being healthy in every dimension of my life whilst adding value in each of those three clusters. ...

Never one to miss the opportunity proffered by a long weekend, I drag myself and my back pack in the wee hours of the morning of the 27th to the airport to catch two flights - first to Dubai and then to London. The third trip of the sort this year, it is my ongoing attempt to manage this year of distributed domestication, one in which S and L having returned to London for good I am left shuttling back and forth every few months. Unlike the last time, I do not run into anyone I know, for which I am thankful for the company of Ike Anya’s Small by Small. Beautifully short and deeply evocative of my own memories of growing up, I find myself going down mental rabbit holes, fleshing out the (typically) well written prose with my own experiences. Not being of a medical persuasion myself - engineering saved me from all that - the extensive overlap with friends and family does leave me with enough knowledge to appreciate his specific travails. with the memories of growing up on a university campus it drew in. ...

Cake with I, somewhere on a humid Lagos afternoon ** Being a prodigal abroad, in a relatively small, close knit expat community has its perks, not least if you are Nigerian. Truth be told, more often than not, there is a risk of private spaces being invaded, but when they come through, they come through spectacularly. The most recent example of this was Easter Sunday, on which after dragging myself home from work my late evening reverie was interrupted by persistent knocking. At the door was M, the matronly mother figure from three streets over, with a bowl of piping hot egusi soup, some swallow and a tub of fried rice in tow. Whatever misgivings simmered beneath the surface at the intrusion vanished very quickly, wafting away as though borne by the steam still rising from the bowls of food. ...

I may have waxed lyrical about taxis too soon, and in so doing vexed the taxi demi-gods, which is the only explanation of how on the one day I needed a taxi badly, I ended up with a guy who barely spoke English and whose understanding of Google Maps was minimal at best. Well, that or [Sod’s Law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sod's_law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sod's_law). The fault lay, at least partly, with me. It had been my first full day back at work since the beginning of Ramadan and my hunger addled brain failed to register the fact that the bus which would ferry me back from the middle of nowhere which was my work station for that day would arrive 30 minutes earlier than usual. On the phone to the taxi dispatcher, he explained that the earliest he could get someone out to me was an hour and thirty minutes, which seeing as I had no choice I accepted. Although he had my location, he somehow ended up at a site thirty minutes away. There was much hand wringing, and plenty more oohs and ahhs when he finally turned up, a full two hours later than had first been envisaged. I could only sit and fester for the whole of the 45 minute back to semi-civility and the comfort of my couch. Truth me told, umbrage is a luxury only those who have choices can take. I still hold the view that taxi rides are underated delights, the one caveat though is that there isn’t an insurmountable language barrier. ...

** As though in the blink of an eye, winter out here has somehow slipped away, the halcyon days of pleasant twenty-five degree mid-day weather and leisurely late evening walks replaced by mid day temperatures in the low thirties. Whilst not truly hot enough to be unpleasant yet, the days leave one with a sense of borrowed time, a fleeting, finite block of time to be enjoyed before harsh reality hits. To make the most of it, and prepare myself for the long slog ahead, I pack the lightest bag I have and catch a flight back to London. Heathrow seems the same way it has always been - functional, frenetic, and increasingly arranged around minimising human contact. Trying to get cash from the ATMs for my taxi raises the spectre of having to pay a withdrawal fee for my UK debit card. A rude shock, and a first for me, if my memory serves me right. A mix-up with the telephone number they have on file for me means we spend the better part of twenty minutes trying to find each other, the blasts of cold, wet air a reminder of the stark difference between here and there. Several phone calls to the taxi company later, he gets my correct number and we find ourselves for the twenty minute ride home via the M25. ...

It’s that time of the year again where I reflect on my reading over the course of the year. For a more wide-ranging review of the year in books, check out the coverage at The Millions here . My previous attempts are linked here. ** As has been the goal for most of the past few years, at or around two books a month for a total of twenty-four books for the year was the reading target. Unlike previous years, I was open on the subjects, more open than usual to wending my way through the year in books depending on what piqued my fancy at any given time. I’d like to think that shows in the range of subjects and authors covered by my reading this year. ...

For the Sunday Muse prompt #235: ** Breath by breath, bead by bead, the prayers of this parched heart rise. Lips quivering with the yearning of a thirsty heart, pursed to take the blood and flesh, blessed, transubstantiated. Kneaded by hands washed seven times- stripped of yeast and the things that beguile- we come to take the bread in hope to shed our turpitude, arise anew. In the ritual of rest and reset, we speak our words into the world, lingering in the liminal space between asking and accepting