Our greatest resource.

I’m thinking about writing something new. It has dawned on me that the greatest resource I could have for it isn’t time, which is often the barrier, but instead, people. Or more specifically, person.

This may never come to anything so this post is going to lack the real purpose but I’m sat staring at my own family tree, tracing it back with a finger and trying to trust enough in Google Translate because I never took the time to learn to read or speak Dutch. Where we all came from is fascinating. How I came to be is something I can always find myself drawn back to considering.

What I would give to be able to call this person up and ask all the questions that I never took the time to. Not that he probably would have spoken about it or would have been compis mentis enough to fill a manuscript. What he left behind is me, is us, and a series of increasingly bizarre stories about his worrying behaviour towards his own end.

I keep seeing those targeted adverts, suggesting you buy a shitty little journal to ask your father about his life. It’s my thought that you don’t need to tick that box like an exercise. I like to ask questions. I like to know. I just wish I’d got to that sooner.