🐥The Paradox of Now #19

A Hot Sweaty Mess(i) on the Pickleball Court

Hi people!

As you are reading this, I’m probably sweating profusely on an outdoor pickleball court in Cádiz, Spain.

This is my first time playing abroad and first time playing outside.

A dangerous combo for sunburn and ego damage.

I knew that June was going to be busy and chaotic, but I made myself a promise.

A newsletter. Every Friday. 2pm. No excuses.

You people keep me accountable and that keeps me going.

So thank you.

Now let’s give you a taste of what’s coming:

🐥 A hot sauce I basically use as squash
🐥 Thoughts of an introspective twenty-something year old
🐥 Where do we stand on TK Maxx?

🥚Eggstra News🥚

Your weekly dose of some fascinating and fun finds:

🌲Beau Miles – In 24 hours, he plants a forest. What did you do yesterday?

📬 1% Better – A lovely little newsletter to help you improve… just a bit, every week.

🌶️Hot Sauce – If you see it, buy it. Don’t ask questions.

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Guilt Across Generations

Your grandparents have already lived their 920 months. And yet, they’re still here. Strong. Still going.

You hear people say things like, “They’ve probably got another five years,” and you tell yourself you’ve got time.

But then you do the maths. Maybe you see them five times a year.

5 x 5 = 25.

Your favourite timetable sum when you were ten.

Twenty-five more interactions. That’s it.

A finite reality staring you in the face.

And on the other side of the spectrum, you watch your niece growing up. You remember being able to hold her in one hand. So infinitesimally small.

Now she’s strong, stomping around in mermaid shoes, learning to walk.

You don’t regret not holding her more, but you find yourself telling your friends, the ones now having children, to savour that stage.

That short period of time where a child is entirely dependent on the grasp of whoever’s arms they’re in.

You’ve got a lifetime to watch this side of the spectrum grow.

But it’s your responsibility to show up at every stage, because how a child is socialised shapes how they lead their life.

You pray for their health. You pray your time is up before theirs.

As it should be.

You remind yourself to teach them. To guide them. Because these early years matter.

These are the future decision-makers for the world you’ll one day leave behind.

And yet...

You don’t see either generation as often as you could.

As often as you should.

In any given month, week, day or moment, you know you’re constantly making choices.

The choice to write this in this very moment.

The choice of what to eat.

The choice of which spoon to stir your tea with.

You’re acutely aware of all this.

You’re aware of how little time you have left with your grandparents.

Grateful that you still have them at this age.

Grateful for the lessons, even as recent as last week, sitting at the edge of their hospital bed.

The strength. The Stoic mindset.

An inspiration.

You see your parents every day.

But do you really see them?

Always close in proximity, but with limited conversation.

You’re busy.

But what does that even mean?

Define busy.

Too much going on?

The priority of other things?

A choice, always a choice.

Opportunity cost, you could argue.

You choose one thing, which means something else must be sacrificed.

And yet...

You make time.

You make time to hit a plastic ball with a giant table-tennis paddle.

You make time to lift heavy things in a gym.

You make time to write.

To reflect in your journal.

To create something called: The Paradox of Now.

These choices aren’t good or bad.

They’re just yours.

And you believe, overall, they provide a net positive.

If they’re not directly improving your small corner of the world, then at least they’re helping you become someone who can.

Someone who shows up with a better shot at making a difference.

The late twenties are the most confusing time of all. And I won’t dwell on it too long here.

Instagram’s got that covered.

Not a bad thing.

It just is.

You’re working multiple jobs. Spinning multiple plates.

Trying to figure out who the f*ck you are when no one else is watching.

You’re doing it for a future.

For a better one.

For those who come next.

You’re trying to improve your small corner of the world.

While being so deeply, painfully aware that you’re only able to try because of those who came before you.

Only possible because generations before you fought for that chance.

And somehow, miraculously, two of those generations are still here.

That’s rare at 28 years old.

So how do you balance it?

How do you see them?

Acknowledge them?

Thank them?

Appreciate them?

How do you make time for more bubble-blowing, more peek-a-boo, more wobbly walks?

We haven’t even mentioned friends and relationships yet.

Some of your friends have children too.

Children still small. Still dependent. And you want to be there, to hold them, support them, feed them.

Some of those friends are your best friends. And you haven’t seen them in months.

But that’s for another day.

This is about the generations.

This is about balance.

This is about choices.

This is about vulnerability.

This is about a kind of apology.

Maybe from me. But maybe from all of us who feel this too.

We’re not asking for empathy. Far from it.

These choices are a privilege.

A gift beyond measure.

We’re just trying to find the answers.

We want to hear the stories of the past.

We want to see the growth of the future.

But we also want to feel the present.

All our senses, scattered across generations.

No one said it would be easy.

And in living it, we’ve learned they were right.

So this becomes a letter of thanks.

And a letter of apology.

On behalf of all the twenty-somethings doing their best to hold it all.

🐥 Haiku’s Haiku 🐥

Haiku made the pilgrimage to Penarth Pier this week for his seaside waddle.

On the pier is a a really old sweat shop and outside is an old man with his arm outstretched.

On separate visits, I’ve seen him offering a custard cream. And once… a ten pence piece.

And yet, somehow, I’ve never perched Haiku in his palm.

What a missed opportunity.

What a fool I’ve been.

Next time, old man. Next time.

🌴 Palm Tree Euphoria 🌴

A good question to ask your mates:

I reckon I’m a TK Maxx sort of guy.

Bit chaotic. Slightly overwhelming.

But dig deep enough and there’s some decent stuff in there.

Now your turn to answer in the comments on the poll.

Let the self-retail therapy begin.

See you next week Dashing Ducks! 🐥

P.S. if this question felt like a hidden gem in life’s bargain bin, pass it on to a fellow duckling you care about.

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