Thought for the day - Write your life story- You were born a winner.


Fat, unfit but a sober Colin

Monday 30th March 2015. St Katherine Docks London living on-board Yacht Frangi.

Eight weeks ago my psychiatrist Jeremy (seen him many times) prescribed in his words, 'a new wonder drug for alcohol cravings'. It is called baclofen and it works! I now have lots of free time on my hands, no more three pints in the Dickens Inn and the rest.   I'm back working, building my Mediation practice from my office in South Molton Street.  I share it with my longest ever friend, Gordon Wood. We have known each other for forty five years.  I tend to stay late in the office. I'm at my desk right now with itch that needs to be scratched. I have never written anything creative in my entire life but here we go...
My story.

Living on a 49ft Yacht in St Katharine Docks sounds glamorous. It is at times, a wet Monday in March not so clever. From cockpit to to the pontoon, along the decking, up the ramp, gates open, soaked already, along the walkway, glimpse of Tower Bridge, past CafĂ© Rouge, Slug & Lettice, under the road and wow, the Tower of London in all its glory.  Seeing the sea of poppies grow around the Tower  last year brought me to tears on many a morning. Onto the tube at Tower Hill,  making for Bond Street. As my journey time is 25 minutes (subject to delays), I can close my eyes and meditate.  This morning’s meditation was more of a story and it goes like this:
Imagine you have been chosen, told, to run next year’s London Marathon.  However, it’s not quite like the standard marathon because you are allowed to tackle, kick and knock people out of the way. I once saw a film called Rollerball -  it’s just as violent as Rollerball.
The race starts but one of the additional rules of this particular race is; if you don’t win you die. That's it, no win, dead.

You are taking this race quite seriously, aren't you? It's become life or death.

You are on the starting line up and bang the gun goes.  Immediately there are 20,000 other people trying to get across the starting line.  Everyone jostling, kicking and banging.  Then as you go over Tower Bridge it wobbles and throws you from side to side. People are behaving like All Black rugby players, They are the fucking All Blacks and every other fucking international rugby player. They are trampling all over you because they know,  unless they get there first, they die.

If I asked you to consider your chances of winning this race, you may say, ‘dream on mate' or ‘not a hope in hell’ may be the response.

Just think about that for a moment because I am just about to get off the train and change stops at Westminster Station. This is an award winning extravaganza of concrete and steel. Swanky and air-conditioned. Presumably because it is next to the Houses of Parliament. A dear friend thinks the station is badly designed, ugly and dull. Accepting another's point of view is a trait I sometimes find difficult.
So anyway where was I?  Oh yes,  you're in this race and if you don’t win, you die.  But the catch is, you have no choice. Participation is compulsory. 

And the point I am making here is:-

The first thing that ever happened to each and every one of us, was being shot across a starting line - out of a penis  ( there are between 40 million and 1.2 billion sperm cells in a single ejaculation) and having to go on just the marathon that I have described in order to find an egg and create yourself. 
So in truth the first thing you ever did in life was to win such a race - you won and you lived. 

You were born a winner.

It's worth remembering sometimes.

Colin

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