Not only are the Sleepwalkers walking around with their eyes closed but their minds are firmly closed too. Since I started to transform into a Daydreamer I can tell you that the most infuriating thing about a Sleepwalker is their unflinching determination to keep their minds closed, despite offering up information that a six-year old child would see the sense in.
A mind is like a parachute, it doesn’t work if its not open – Frank Zappa
Quite simply, a Bucket List is a list of things that you would like to do before you die. I could dress it up with some swanky metaphors but I think that sentence explains it just perfectly. I believe everyone should have a bucket list and let me explain why?
When I was a kid I never remember being particularly religious, but I do remember praying. I remember praying for a Commodore 64, a Scalectrix and for Manchester United to win the league and cup double. I would close my eyes, push my palms together, kneel by my bed and pray. At the cherubic age of nine I really believed that life was that simple. Then as time flew by, my prayers went unanswered and my palms became complete strangers.
My first ever blog was called God The Chingster Can Moan. Not only did I enjoy writing about moaning but I also realised that people liked to read about it. It seems everybody loves a good old-fashioned whine. As we saunter through life we become hard-wired by certain influences in society, namely our mentors. I grew up in your archetypical working class environment known as the council estate. Nobody had anything, and everybody liked to complain about everything that they didn’t have. It seems that feeling sorry for yourself is a lot easier than feeling proud of yourself. Negativity comes easier than positivity. So you go through life thinking that everybody owes you something, like Veruca Salt waiting for the golden egg to drop on your lap.
Yesterday, I talked about life purpose and shared the simple but highly emotional process that I went through to discover my own. The outpouring of that exercise left me with a high level of anger and resentment. I was angry that it had taken me 35-years to learn that this process would help me significantly, and I felt resentment towards my mentors for never teaching me.
When the little chatterbox living in my head says the words The Meaning of Life, it immediately conjures up images of Mr. Creosote sat in that restaurant as the Maître’d says, “And finally a wafer thin mint.”
If you are ever thinking about hiring me then you will notice that I list Interviewing Techniques as part of my formal training. Over the years I must have broken and swelled hearts in equal quantities, as I decided the fate of so many people trying desperately to improve their livelihood. I have a lot of memories from my background as an interviewer, but none of them are as fresh in my mind as the day I broke my interviewing virginity.
I was 10-years of age when I first started to visit the local library, and my memories conjure up images of Rene Goscinny’s French comic series The Adventures of Asterix and Georges Remi’s The Adventures of Tintin. A few years later and my next journey into the literary realm came as a result of my interest in the Dungeons and Dragons fad. Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone mixing monsters, dice, pencils and rubbers to make reading trendy and exciting when a Wii was just something you did in the toilet.
As I stared out towards the audience I knew that everyone loved me and I loved every minute of it. I was 12-years of age and felt an incredible sense of achievement, joy and happiness. This young Artful Dodger didn’t realise it back then, but I was feeling so amazing because I had briefly become acquainted with my meaning and purpose. I knew that I was important to this play. There was a back-up Oliver but there was no back up Artful Dodger. Along with Oliver, Nancy, Fagin and Bill Sykes the Dodger was a major role in this production and I had been trusted to deliver and revelled in the responsibility.
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