I’m Sorry

To: my mum and dad. My brothers. My nieces. My friends. To the relationships I’ve spent years building and the future relationships I’ve yet to build.  I’m doing a very British thing and saying sorry. 

I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry because I haven’t been the best son/brother/uncle/friend over the past five or so months. 

You see, post-degree, after years of pursuing my dream and being rejected time and time again I took a leap. I clicked on a link that booked a 15-minute chat with the Dean of a school I’d heard so much about. I’d spent years. And I mean years. Looking enviously at this school. Envious of the work the students created. The awards they won. The fun they had. I was probably a little, a lot jealous. 

So I booked in for a 15-minute call back in July. Not knowing where it would go but hey, it was either that or I’d have to get a “proper” job like one of my brothers. Fuck that. So on the 28th of June 2022 I clicked a link. Filled out a few details and I was all booked in. To chat to The Dean. 

The 15-minute chat didn’t actually last 15 minutes. I lost track of how long it actually was but I met Marc for the first time, not really knowing what to expect but fuck I wasn’t expecting what I got. I should have made notes!

It made me even more excited and eager to go after this opportunity. Up until that point I’d probably been drifting a little. Marc’s words were: “You seem like someone with his hands on the wheel but who just needs to put his foot down”

Yes! Spot on…I mean I have no fucking clue what that means but: Spot. On.

But anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. This SCAB is supposed to be an apology to my friends and family. And they already know all of this. 

And so…

I’m really really really really really really really really really really really really really really sorry. Really 

I’m sorry to my friends for: the endless questions about WHY you do things the way you do them. And the analysis of every little action and decision you make when we catch up. For zooming into every little decision you’ve made and analysing every story you’re telling me. For seeming distracted when you’re talking as I’m probably a little too busy watching the strangers around us. 

On that note. I’m sorry to the commuters on the train into school. I’m sorry for the incessant staring and the rich backstory I create about you as I watch you all go about your day-to-day routines and habits. 

I’m sorry to my family for constantly talking about ideas and thoughts that are rattling around in my head. Sorry Dad for always wanting to watch the ad breaks when we sit down in front of the TV in the evenings. I’m sorry for always asking for help on whatever brief I’m working on. For needing a soundboard, or running my idea by a “normal” person

Harry. My best friend of 12 years. I’m especially sorry to you. Although you’d never say it I’m pretty sure you must be pissed off by now with the amount of dog walks we go on and how many times on each of those walks,  I stop to take a picture of something that might look innocuous to you but to me it’s a “dot” to be collected.

I’m sorry for all the trees that are being cut down in order to make the notebooks and paper pads that I’m filling with a shit ton of notes and scamps every day or as a way to jot down a thought or idea. And all the plastic not being recycled from all the biro’s I’m going through.

I’m sorry to my phone and laptop for the beating they take daily, as the tools to remember things for reference or as a means to create something. I’m sorry to whoever has to read my search history or the “FBI agent spying on us through our phones.”

But mostly I’m not sorry.  I’m not sorry, because for the first time in a long time I’ve found direction. I’ve found purpose. I’ve found obsession (but in a good way, not like in a wanky way that you see in perfume ads). I’m obsessed with the process I’m currently going through to rewire my brain after every new thing I’m learning.

When I was younger I was deeply competitive. I grew up with four brothers, What did you expect? We were competitive about everything. And I mean absolutely everything. Even things you wouldn’t think about. I’ve mellowed with age. But it’s back. That monster is starting to rear its head. It’s a  streak in myself that I’ve rediscovered. I feel that competitive monster coming back.

I’m embracing it. But in a good way. Whereas in the past I would have competed with others and beat myself up if I didn’t win. I’m not fussed with that anymore. The competition that I’m most concerned with winning is the one with the Nabeel of yesterday. One of the benefits of being part of this super-talented group is that I have plenty of opportunities to be inspired and learn. The competitive monster kicks out when I see something from a cohort member that I see and wish I’d thought of that.

I’m sorry to old Nabeel. Well, I’m sorry for him. The Nabeel of yesterday, of last week, of last month. I feel sorry for him. I want to kick that guy’s arse. And I will. But I’m also reminded that the process takes time. Especially if you think of it the way I make sense of it. These things take time. It takes time to rewire the nest of crossed wires. Still, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when I present and I haven’t felt like I’ve smashed it or done myself justice. Fuck it stings. 

That’s it really. That’s all I wanted to say. I’m sorry, but if you thought it was bad in Term 1 then you’ve got a surprise coming because it’s only going to increase in term 2. 

Let the fun begin.


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