It’s been more than four years since my last post.
During those four years, my two sons – the cornerstone of this blog’s five-year existence prior to its recent hiatus – have grown to be 14 and 12. The elder one is now such a strapping young lad with a broken voice that, at times, I mistake him for a grown-ass intruder who raids our pantry, fridge and the internet download plan. The younger one is also at the beginning of a growth spurt, and even sports a faint moustache that looks drawn on by a pencil (apparently some women do that … above their eyes, not their upper lips). The days of me lifting them up, dangling them upside down and giving them good’ol wallopings are well and truly over. The boys certainly don’t require the degree of helicopter-parenting that I practiced when they were younger because … apparently they know everything under the sun and I’m just a nagging, cranky old man who doesn’t even know what Discord is.
Also during my four-year absence, my passion for running – the other cornerstone of this blog – waned considerably. What used to be a three times a week activity has reduced to once a fortnight … at best! I could blame the tardiness on my knees, my weight, my blood pressure, and the alignment of the stars relative to my daily bowel movement. But, NGL (I learnt this from my sons, look it up), I have no physical impediments to running whatsoever. I’ve just been bat-shit lazy! I still visit the gym religiously. But my wife thinks that’s only because I’m becoming more vain and narcissistic, thinking I can trade her in for a younger model. Judging by her demeanour, my wife is not worried … at all.
The problem then is this: if the two cornerstones of this Joggingdad blog (Jogging and Daddying) are withering away, what is left to write on this blog? I’m certainly not going to talk about my career which is speeding towards a place called Dead End, or my marriage which is slowly leaving a town called Damn Kids’ Fault.
But I’ve also come to realise the lack of any personal achievements in the past four years, except a shitload of time watching Netflix, scrolling social media and listening to podcasts – endeavours which have done nothing but make me even more of a nagging, cranky old man. To be fair to myself, I did try a few things in recent years, such as learning to play the guitar and having a go at stand-up comedy. But I quickly realised the right side of my brain is comatose and better off left alone.
So, I’ve decided to write again.
Write for fun, write to vent, write in zest.
I may even start another blog, writing on some reflections of life, the inevitable crisis in the middle of it, and the sheer lunacy of the whole shebang. All this, hopefully, leading to a fully-fledged published book in due course.
NGL, it’s going to be a long journey, this writing caper. But the time has come for me stop bitching and moaning about all the content on Netflix, social media and podcasts, and start creating my own.