You’ve seen me around. You know me somehow, but you just can’t place it immediately. “Isn’t he that guy who went to the same Uni as me and used to sit at the back in lectures drawing comics? Or is he the guy that used to work in that bookshop; the one with the big W hanging outside? No wait, I know, he’s the guy that comped me at the cinema just because I was having a bad day.” If you were thinking all those things, then yes, you know me. Or at least, you knew me. If you’re not e-lactose intolerant you’ll know my face. I’m the kid who stared at you from the side of an electronic milk carton during those mornings when someone stole your newspaper from your mailbox and left you with nothing to read. I’m the kid, that selfish brat, who’s not been seen because he knows where to go when he wants to disappear. His life may end for you, but only because life for you goes on. You’ll continue munching away at your breakfast digest like you usually do, wondering how to set up an ingenius snare for the journal pilfering degenerate that prowls your mailbox, wondering how wonderful a thing reading is every time you learn something new about the human body, wondering how to threaten the boss again in a litigiously safe way, of course, because you’re a reasonable person.

I’ve always wondered what happened to the past me. I don’t believe he died or went away. He merely evolved. Evolution takes place at its own dawdling pace, like your ability to get a better job or the rate at which wirey hairs grow on your chin. This will anger the creationists, but evolving is good. It’s the way we were really supposed to grow; a true growth that transcends the black marks on the height charts of classroom walls. But sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. Some days you’ll notice a new white hair and wonder how you never noticed such a long strand before. “It surely couldn’t have devolved from something fully pigmented, could it? No, it must have been put there by someone who has a grudge against me.” No, the answer’s simple. It had been there all along. You just never saw the moment it changed.

In the wild, many predators’ vision is based on movement. And in the tame, we as predators also base our vision on movement; we base our entire lives on change. If you’re counting white hairs in the mirror, still in the same dead end job you’ve been doing since you left high school, you’re probably now pondering over two things: wondering if it’s time to release the contents of your porcelain animals in the name of fake hair tan, or wondering how you could have been so blind all those years. All this because in reality you know very well that if you’re not making change, you’re not hunting. And if you’re not hunting, you’re probably being hunted. And if you’re being hunted it will be by the most ferocious predator of them all… the one who is afraid of change. The one you will become consumed by if you continue to be complacent.

We see change and to see it, it has to be quick but not too quick, or it has to be slow but not too slow. A single white hair on my head is not going to make as much of an impression on me as the smile from a pleasant stranger or the cupped hand on your brow as you survey the landscape I have walked in the past 6 or so months since we last spoke. Well, I can take a hint. I’ve been safely tucked away for the past few months in the blanket of security afforded by being near enough in the middle of nowhere. Yes, I was in Middle UK (not to be confused with Middle Earth, although I will not deny the close proximity of hobbits) and learned a very harsh life lesson; one I will not forget so easily: what it was like to live without internet access. It was tough at first. I had my laptop with me, but no network. Sure, I used to get on alright with an unplugged terminal. I’d be fine, spending most of my time reading white papers and writing code, with a few windows here and there to play some games and eventually convince myself that Solid Snake can still commit espionage in 2 dimensions. All was good provided I opened a web browser window periodically, to trick my brain into thinking I wasn’t totally isolated.

I know what you’re asking me right now. You’re throwing your arms in the air thinking, “Oh, but aren’t you in the Shire to work, in an office? Aren’t you some sorta IT guy? Those guys are always so close to a live data stream that they make the rats look bad.” Sure, so you would think, but thank the mischievous deities that placed me in this town as a punishment for all those times I stole a loaf of bread in my past lives. This year, I was working on classified information in a protected realm. It would have been interesting had it been a realm where wizards throw fireballs at 3-headed dragon gatekeepers, but no, it was a protected governmental (at times it really did govern mentality) realm where there exists temperamental fax machines, barely passable soluble drinks machines, and of course, the nail in my electronic coffin: no internet. I mean, what kind of sick individual decides “No internet access for our web developers?” Well, let me tell you, a web developer without Internet access is like a lion tamer without a chair. Sure, it can be done, but it’s gonna produce scars that take some time to heal. So what’s a guy to do without internet access? I found mast… mastering Java would be a good pursuit. I mean, I love programming just as much as I love earning money, which ended up to be a pretty lucky combination. And whereas before I could consider myself a code monkey, I’m now more of a consultant monkey since my job here involves client-facing responsibilities coupled with free buffet lunch-eating responsibilities.

I sometimes think back to the times I used to swish chemicals in the lab, when I used to wonder if biomedical science was my fate. But things do change once you apply yourself and make yourself search for the things that make you happy, and maybe the luckiest of us are those who have turned their hobby into a career. Fortune favours the bold who live life one sacrifice at a time, not the complacent souls who live life one delusion at a time. You have to be passionate about improving yourself and enriching your experiences because the window of opportunity is always fleeting. I’ll end with something I realised one day back in August whilst atop Mount Snowdon’s summit… “The mountain will outlive you, unless you climb it.” I like to think of these as being words you could part with; put on a tombstone, but not on mine. Put it on that other guy’s. You know, the one you used to see around who went missing somewhere along the way. I’m still very much alive, thank you.