Drying Up

My blogging is feeling a little dry right now. I am, alas, one of the doom mongers – see next week’s Third Sector piece - for whom these times seem designed to leave in a state of both affirmation and low-level angst. Partly linked to my own future anxiety - something that has been gnawing at the back of my head since I created a future for myself in which earning a lot of money becomes a necessity rather than a by-product of whatever I freely choose to do.

Isn’t it odd, though - this capacity we have for not appreciating what we have and letting some future abstraction bog us down, take the edge off things. Even when looking at my beautiful, perfect, healthy children or looking out of my window at the amazing Tripods-like cedars that seem to stomp across the park, I can’t quite appreciate what I’ve got or achieved. My own health is good, my marriage is very good, I do mostly what I like, with caveats.

So why worry? But I do. The state of the world is part of it, I know but part of it almost feels wired in. Is it this which gives me the hunger for climbing the next hill? That same dissatisfaction that allowed Roy Keane only an hour of happiness following Man Utd’s 1999 Treble before he became edgy enough to want to do it all again. I don't know. Perhaps I just need to relax, to listen to the wonderful Bryn in `Gavin and Stacey' and "Take a Chill Pill". Life is good. I know it and I don't.