"Humility is most clearly appreciated in hindsight following a fall from the lofty tower of entitlement." Lee Robert Ness Growing up, I can't recall asking for anything. My awake hours were full, and I was distracted from comparing myself to my peers by the abundance of toys, comics, and sweets at my disposal. I can never recall waiting for or saving for anything. My mother is not convinced of the life lessons promised through subjecting one's offspring to discipline or sacrifice. This led to fulfilling my whims without much resistance. This led me to be great friends with disappointment when I realised instant gratification was not the norm entering puberty. That instant gratification forms the basis for my idealism and the overly sentimental reminiscing I do when looking back at those days. It is unsurpassable thanks to incredible parents. I was and am very lucky. I increasingly realise just how fortunate I was. My mother, having suffered incredible poverty and ...
Here’s me, mastering the art of extreme sedentary activity, which is just a posh Morningside way of saying I’m glued to my sofa doing sweet F.A. It sneaks up like an Edinburgh haar, smothering me before I’ve even noticed. I don’t lift a finger until I’m neck-deep in a crisis so grim it’d make the Fringe’s worst comedian seem uplifting. Social exclusion and an apathy that could out-bore a Castle tour guide? That’s my personal purgatory, and I’m a VIP. My Edinburgh-bred grit—call it *tenacity* if you’re feeling fancy—is about as useful as a tram ticket during a festival shutdown. By the time I twig what’s happening, the dark dog of depression’s been skulking about for weeks, and I’ve neglected myself so thoroughly I could headline a tragedy at the Traverse. Here’s the kicker: I *know* hauling myself up and tackling the absolute bin fire that is my life sparks improvement. Thirty odd years of this nonsense—I’m practically a PhD in misery. Am I sharp enough to act early, like a proper Edin...