Wellbeing

Visiting myself daily.

Visiting myself daily. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Visiting myself daily. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Visiting myself daily.

A cup of tea.

A privilege.

Warm kindness.

Harsh reality.

Looking through a window, taking a breath.

Owning my bag of stuff.

Self-respect, discovery, uncertainty.

Messy.

A ritual made from…

A cup of tea

Visiting myself daily.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,347

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.

Older.

Older. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Older. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’m noticing myself getting older.

I keep seeing a metaphor of an old chipped tea pot.

Well loved, functional, stained full of memories, comforting.

There is no getting around time.

I’m not sure if I ever thought there was.

As I get older it becomes clearer that enjoying the spoils of lived life…well what other choice do I have?

To fight is futile. Isn’t it?

The risk of all this “acceptance” is that I subconsciously begin to accept other people’s ideas about what getting older means.

The world has a lot of ideas about all of this that hold no interest for me. But it is easy to start thinking in those frames when they are communicated so clearly and with such strength.

(I know I’m not ‘old’, I know I’m ‘in the middle’, I’m saying older…we all get older every day)

The remedy to all of this is being in this moment.

I am this being, right here, right now.

I can do and say and think the things I can do and say and think right now.

That’s it.

That’s all of it.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,346

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support

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

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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.

A tired heavy shoe.

A tired heavy shoe. Drawing Luke Hockley.

A tired heavy shoe. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

This morning I am tired like a heavy shoe.

Everything has just a bit more drag on it than need be.

Which makes each step a bit harder than it has to be.

Muddy, sluggish, walking.

The only way through this stuff, in my experience, is to move.

Straight through the middle of it all.

Just keep moving.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,338

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.

Along the edge

Along the edge. Drawing Luke Hockley

Along the edge. Drawing Luke Hockley

Dear Self

A knife edge close

Almost missing my daily ritual

No reason

Full of things

And nothing

Nothing in the way but lightly forgetting

Eyes closing as I begin to drift away for the evening

Then…

Self, Dear Self

I haven’t visited myself

Five minutes to say a quick hello

Now. Sleep.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,336

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

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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.

Slow down.

Slow down. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Slow down. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Slow down.

No, slower than that.

No, even slower than that.

No. Really.

Slow. Down.

Really.

Actually.

Just.

Slow.

Down.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,322

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.

Holding onto the thread of myself.

Holding onto the thread of myself. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Holding onto the thread of myself. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

It is hardest to keep up this daily writing habit during the holidays.

All the edges fray.

I stop shaving.

I get to bed late.

I don’t wake at 6 am.

I don’t get out of bed and sit down and write.

The day becomes a deconstructed series of events that have fewer edges than normal…and I forget.

Why not just stop writing for the holidays?

I’ve thought about that.

I keep writing because it means through periods of rest and regeneration I keep a hold of the thread of myself.

Which I find valuable.

And comforting.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,316

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.

Uh-oh.

Uh-oh. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Uh-oh. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

It’s 12:35pm and I haven’t written and published a Dear Self yet.

Uh-oh.

I considered pretending that I’d made the deadline.

I thought about changing the time stamp on the blog post.

So that I didn’t post this late.

But then I thought, who am I lying to? Myself?

Pointless, really.

I wonder what happens now?

Love

Luke

ps: I changed the date and time code on the blog post, because I could.

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Day 1,315

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

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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.