Pressure

Fix the damn thing.

Dear Self,

Technology is totally amazing until it is totally shite.

Thing is, it has seduced me, you know.

It’s taken years…but inch by inch I have given over my autonomy to it.

So now, if it suddenly fails me, without explanation warning…well I’m totally stuffed.

And everything is set up now, so you buy it and pay every month for it…and there is literally no one on the other side of that transaction to help you sort out what the hell just happened.

No one.

At all.

How did we get here?

Shouldn’t someone be there to fix the damn thing when it stops working?

I mean, please!

Low level grumble about small, but significant inconvenience, over.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,352

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

An anxious butterfly.

Dear Self,

There is an anxious, butterfly pressure on my solar plexus.

Choices? Options? Pressure?

Busyness? Change?

What is it I wonder?

Too much rich food?

Not enough water?

Trying to solve other people’s problems?

Yes. Probably.

All of that.

Yes. Ok.

Ok.

It will be ok.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,350

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

Beautiful but damaged.

Beautiful but damaged. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Beautiful but damaged. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I had a bad dream last night.

A house that was haunted, but beautiful, but damaged.

We wanted to live in it.

Reimagine it.

Reinvent.

Restore it.

I felt frightened that the house was too damaged to regenerate.

But moved into it anyway.

When I woke up, I could feel the house was me.

That the haunted, damaged past was part of the beauty.

I could see that ghosts of events that happened through me are not me.

A kind piano to play,

in the corner,

sings the darkness away.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,345

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

The dread worm.

The dread worm. Drawing Luke Hockley.

The dread worm. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I am holding in my left hand, which is thrust deeply into my left pocket, a sense of something. Weighty and foreboding.

I find that I can, occasionally, open my palm and take my hand out of my pocket and do what needs to be done. But this sense of heaviness remains stagnant in my pocket, nonetheless.

Randomly, more often, I take my hand out of my pocket and look at it. I sense the gross, dull life form squirming inside my clutched fingers. But I don’t seem to be able to will myself to unfurl my fingers and look at it directly.

Not yet.

Generally, it appears about 24 hours before I am able to look at it.

And so, for a day or so, I live with it.

For about a day, or a bit longer, or a bit shorter depending on the circumstances.

Uncomfortable and awkward and uncertain and icky.

When the time has passed, I take my hand from my pocket and stare for a moment at my fingers and then, like a dive into cold water, open them and place the thing on the table in front of me.

A grey, fleshy, smooth skinned worm squirms upon the table.

I can still feel the dread that it emanates seep into my now empty palm, into my pocket, through my bowels and up into my chest and back of throat.

It’s the dread worm.

And I don’t like it.

It wriggles benignly on the table and I look at. Eventually I do what I know needs to be done and I reach out and touch it.

In what is always a surprise, which means it should never be one, I’m taken aback by its response.

This time the surface where I touched it changes from its morbid grey into a late day sunlight orange.

As I continue to touch and get to know it a little better it starts to morph and change shape. It becomes playful. Joyful.

This transformation is rapid.

And accelerates, almost without me noticing.

Soon it has transfigured itself into an entirely different animal.

A new one every time.

In this process there are awkward moments, painful ones even, but also funny and light hearted and inspiring ones.

And soon enough it has run off and become a thing in the world that has little to do with me anymore.

Mostly it’s a good experience, mostly.

And then I wonder, as I watch it run away, I wonder…why don’t I remember this feeling of lightness and relief when the worm first appears clutched inside my hand thrust into my pocket?

How come I can only feel the dread at that moment?

What I would like is to be able to feel the dread worm appear and know, inside my bones, that this too will turn out ok, even if some bits of the experience are less than ideal, in the end I’ll probably have a reasonably good time.

That.

Next time.

I’ll work on that.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,332

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

The infinite tight rope.

The infinite tight rope. Drawing Luke Hockley.

The infinite tight rope. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’m holding a thread in one hand that connects to my future (as yet unwritten) and another that stretches throughout my past in the other.

These two threads are connected to each other. They are one single thread that runs from my front hand to beneath my feet to my back hand.

The infinite tight rope that I am confidently but carefully walking along.

The game, if it can be called a game, is to hold each of the threads lightly and firmly but not be drawn too far into the thread of the future nor of the past.

The game, as it is, is to enjoy each step on the tight rope, knowing that these steps are possible because of the existence of this thread, without being pulled off the tight rope by my obsession with the impossible tasks of solving the past or dreaming the future.

The game is to be right here.

In this step.

Now.

Love

Luke.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,331

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

Enjoying all the things.

Enjoying all the things. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Enjoying all the things. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I have a lot to do and only a limited number of days to do it in.

And, I’d like to enjoy all those things.

Ok, that’s good to note. All these things are things I have chosen to do. They all make the world a better place, so – well worth the effort.

Then, once they are all done, I’m going on a holiday!

So, do lots of great things you love and then go on a holiday and have fun.

No problems.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,308

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

When the weight lifts.

When the weight lifts. Drawing Luke Hockley.

When the weight lifts. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’ve been working through a whole bunch of things of late.

Life things.

Choices that I have.

Different roads I could go down.

Opportunity.

Which is all great. Except choices can sometimes lead to long periods of uncertainty and indecision. Which can be a bit weighty, at times.

Then, when the time comes, when the universe magically aligns and I’ve thought about things enough, from enough angles…the weight lifts.

Oh, the relief.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,306

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

Frightened of buttonholes.

Frightened of buttonholes. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Frightened of buttonholes. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’m frightened of doing the buttonholes on the shirt I am making.

They are kind of irreversible.

Once the fabric is cut (which you do as you start making them) then there is no going back.

It feels like I could really stuff this up.

What if I get it wrong and all the hours of sewing this shirt are for nothing?

Ah, that’s interesting.

I’m worried about the outcome…which is the opposite of how I approach making a shirt.

When I make a shirt I’m most interested in the process. I encourage myself to let go of the time it takes me to do make it and how the shirt will look in the end…and just do this step, now.

I find making shirts such an interesting metaphor for my life. I avoid getting things wrong, which means I find finishing things I really care about can be difficult. It’s ok to get things wrong.

Ok, it’s time to make the buttonholes. 

If they don’t work, they don’t work.

At least I will be moving forwards.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,281

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

Certainly unexpected.

Certainly Unexpected. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Certainly Unexpected. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Life is certainly unexpected. 

It seems like things are travelling in one direction...and then the wind changes and things are heading on a totally different course.  

That’s all.  

Love  

Luke.  

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,280

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.

Not on my feet.

Not on my feet. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Not on my feet. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I am not on my feet.

I feel all disoriented, discombobulated.

I don’t understand how all the bits fit together.

I don’t get how to make sense of it all.

I just don’t get it.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,275

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.