Farewell old friend / rogue

It’s not what I expected. I knew you had to go and go for good, but I hadn’t grasped how I would feel. It’s bitter sweet, like losing an arm, but realizing you’ve still got two perfectly good legs.

Old rogues. They’re the most fun and engaging. All my good friends are ‘rogues’ in one sense or another and that’s why we got on. So when it comes time to cut one from your life it sucks but you know it’s for the best.

Friends come and go. Our friendship dates back over 20 years. There were good times, bad times and times when we didn’t see each other for a year or two.

In those 20 years I’ve moved countries several times, lost a parent, been married twice and now have two wonderful daughters. My second wife has never really liked you. She’s felt threatened. Has felt that you changed me. Did not want you over when the kids were awake, and I got that. She spent a couple of nights with us, but it was always strained.

So now you’re gone, and let’s be clear I didn’t really have a choice, It was you or them, and I love them and they’re what I live for, so it had to happen. I know that, but what I didn’t know was that I would suddenly feel alone. You see, nobody to pick me up when I’d been kicked down, shouted down, argued with. Nobody to hang with on sunny afternoons when the family were away. Nobody to listen to music and chat harmlessly to women with. I’m going to miss all of that. Each time I argue with the ‘other half’ and storm out of the house, which doesn’t happen all that often, I’ll expect to find you waiting. Whenever there’re are old friends in town they’ll want to know where you are…and ‘what? Fuck off, what d’you mean you don’t know him anymore.’ And each of these times is going to be hard, but I hope, I really sincerely hope that we don’t meet again. I need to get on with my life and to do that we can’t be friends. That said there will always be a dull gap which you used to fill that is going to remain…dull for awhile at least.

Re-calibrating success / copping out?

Maturing or selling out? I’m not sure. It feels like a bit of both. But here I am at 41 and it’s finally dawning on me that I’m probably not going to be the groupie-shagging, multi-platinum selling rock star (especially as I don’t play an instrument or sing…minor details.), and I’m unlikely to be a famous actor (can’t act) or a captain of industry (stuck in a middle management’ish role in a small’ish company)…these have been the lofty “ambitions” that I’ve pegged my measure of personal success to. You’ll see ‘ambitions’ in parentheses as if they’d been ambitions (without parentheses) I would have at least taken the relevant lessons at a minimum, but regardless fortune and fame are what I’ve wanted…and failed to find…and it’s been like a fat retarded monkey on my back poking me with a blunt knife for years, until recently. You see recently, and I mean in the last 12 months, the weight of that fat retarded monkey and the vigour with which he’s been poking me has gradually reduced and it’s an awesome feeling, but an ‘awesome feeling’ that comes with it’s own nagging demon – the ‘you’re selling out’ demon.

What’s deflating the monkey? I think it’s the pleasure that I’m learning to get out of the little things in life (largely because I’ve now got two amazing kids that force me to wonder at things like worms, flowers, clouds and muddy puddles). But I think it’s also because I finally have this growing realisation that I’m not immortal and that each day spent brings me a day closer to the end of the line, so it may as well be spent feeling grateful for what I’ve got and not feeding an already obese baboon with a desire to inflict maximum pain on my soul (that’s where he poke me with his knife).

That’s nice and fluffy I hear you say, but what does success look like to you now – now that you’ve finally pulled your head out of your rectum and taken a sniff of the reality finger? What does it look like now then? Well since you ask so nicely I’ll tell you. Success is now about being the best parent I can be to my girls. It’s about refusing to give in to what is threatening to become an ‘ever so slightly more than recreational use of cocaine’. It’s about choosing kindness over being right all the time, and it’s about trying hard to fix my relationship with my wife…oh, and making a comfortable living in the background.

The pressure of this re-calibrated view on success is quite daunting, but it’s all within my control. I’m not reliant of ‘right time, right place’, elusive ideas and even more elusive capital, record contracts and break out films…I’ve got everything I need to make this new success a reality and that’s a cool feeling….but it still feels like a cop out some days.

I guess there’s nothing to say that I can’t be a great father who happens to be a rock star, oscar winning captain of industry, but I can, for now, be totally happy just being the first bit.