At a ridiculously young age, prompted by nothing I can trace, I am haunted by my own mortality. I lie gripped by one downward-spiralling idea: As sure as I am lying here right now, the time will come when I no longer exist. There is no bottom to this prospect. The emptiness at the heart of this realisation is all-consuming.
I am fundamentally weak, in both physical strength and emotional resolve. Odd, then, that my early career was as an Infantry officer in the U.S. Army. Soon enough, I realised I would not follow in the footsteps of Patton or MacArthur.
I’ve not managed to meet the challenge I set myself last week, an exercise in giving. Still, neither the world nor I am worse off for the effort. In fact, we might both be just a bit better.
I’ve been told that the best way to improve low mood, doubt or worry is to give to others. I’m going to find ten people a day who I can give to, along with ten distinct things I can give. After five days, I’ll let you know how it’s gone.