The business of living



'Twas the summer of 2020 and I was busy picking up the pieces of my recently uprooted life, intent on hastily assembling the jangling discord into something even remotely resembling purpose. I’m quite fortunate in that I have, for the most part, always known what I want to do with my life. However, at that point, I had fallen somewhat out of love with the practice I had chosen to dedicate my life to. I suppose I must have adopted something of a disenfranchised view of everything and as I stared down the barrel of a career in “cyber” the world definitely seemed to have a little less colour.

I distinctly recall thinking about the tribesmen who live apart from the world, secreted in the Amazon, sheltered in the heart of Africa and feeling an inordinate amount of jealousy. How wonderful it must be to truly captain one’s own life. How blissful it must be not to have to give a damn. My envy was palpable. I looked at what they had and saw freedom but viewing my own socially integrated existence I saw the very opposite. In that moment, it felt to me as if we are born, shepherded down a path of societal expectation and then consigned to a square inch of the earth ready to resume the dance of dust to dust.

Yes, after half a year of being led by an incompetent, perennially u-turning central-intelligence, intent on flip-flopping itself out of office, I was feeling a little sorry for myself, and I knew it but still the feeling remained. That said, despite the hopelessness I felt (or maybe because of it) a glim