Wanting Less, Living More

What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?

People often talk about “having it all” as though it’s some finish line hidden behind a bigger house, a flashier motor, or another few zeros in the bank account.

Truth is… I don’t think that’s it at all.

Because wants and needs are two very different beasts.

A want whispers.
A need sustains.

And somewhere along the line, society convinced us they were the same thing.


To me, having it all is much simpler than people make out.

It’s being able to pay the bills each month without lying awake at 3am wondering which direct debit is about to knock you sideways.

It’s opening the fridge and knowing there’s food in there.

It’s having enough left over for little moments that make life feel human — fish and chips on the beach, an ice cream on a warm afternoon, a coffee shared with someone you love while the world rushes past unnoticed.

That’s wealth too.

Just not the kind they advertise on billboards.


Having it all is also love.

Not the Hollywood nonsense.
Not grand gestures and violins in the rain.

I mean real love.

The kind where someone stands beside you when life gets messy.
The kind where they steady you when your own mind becomes too loud.
The kind where they push you towards your dreams while reminding you not to lose yourself chasing them.

A good woman.
A true partner.
Someone who helps carry the weight of the world when your arms are tired.

That matters more than any sports car ever will.


I think the mistake many of us make is believing happiness lives somewhere else.

In the next promotion.
The next purchase.
The next achievement.

So we spend years running.

Chasing.

Grasping.

Only to discover peace was quietly sitting beside us the whole time, waiting patiently for us to notice it.

There’s an old idea found in a lot of eastern philosophy — though you don’t need to shave your head or sit on a mountain to understand it — that suffering often begins with attachment.

With wanting.

With believing life must look a certain way before we allow ourselves to be content.

And maybe that’s true.

Because the older I get, the more I realise happiness rarely arrives with fireworks.

Usually it turns up quietly.

In ordinary moments.
In enough.
In gratitude.
In learning the difference between what fills the soul and what merely fills the shopping basket.


So, is “having it all” attainable?

Yes.

But only once you stop trying to own the world and start appreciating your small corner of it.

Once you separate wants from needs…

You stop chasing peace.

And finally begin to find it.

Stay safe,

Bc

The Ordinary Things That Matter Most

What personal belongings do you hold most dear?

This is actually a tricky one…

I’m sure people expect the obvious answers. My wedding ring, some ancient family heirloom passed down through generations, baby photos, or maybe some ridiculously rare comic hidden away in a protective sleeve somewhere.

Truth is, it’s much simpler than that.

My old DSLR camera and my mobile phone.

Now before anyone rolls their eyes and mutters something about modern technology taking over our lives, hear me out.

My DSLR was my first “proper” camera. Not the fanciest bit of kit in the world, not one of these eye-wateringly expensive setups professional photographers use. But it was mine. The camera that taught me how to look at the world differently. The one that came with enough lenses and buttons to confuse me for several weeks straight.

It also helped me capture my first proper moon shots, which honestly felt like a tiny personal victory against the universe itself.

Worm Moon (March 3rd)

I still pretend I know what I’m doing with photography, by the way. Half the time I’m just pressing buttons and hoping for the best. Occasionally though, the universe rewards me with something beautiful.

As for my phone, it’s less about social media and doom-scrolling and more about the fact it’s basically my portable life support system at this point.

It’s got my emails, banking, contacts, calendars, reminders and enough important information on it that losing the thing would probably send me into cardiac arrest.

The social media side of it? I could honestly live without that quite happily.

Now, honorary mention…

My first magazine publication.

That moment mattered more than I can probably explain properly. Seeing my words printed for the first time was the moment I stopped feeling like someone who just scribbled random thoughts into notebooks and started believing maybe — just maybe — I was actually a poet.

Or at the very least…

A Scribblologist.

Stay safe
Bc

From Rubber Keys to Restless Days

How has technology changed your job?

I remember my first computer like it was yesterday. A rubber-keyed wonder that felt like the future had crash-landed in my living room. Hours spent typing lines of code just to make a dot bounce across the screen. Simple times. 

Fast forward to now… and everything is faster, shinier, and infinitely more complicated.

Back then, if something went wrong at work, you fixed it with your hands, your head, or a bit of good old-fashioned teamwork. Now? There’s an app, a system, a login, a password you’ve forgotten, and a mandatory update right when you need it most.

Don’t get me wrong, technology has made life easier. Communication is instant. Tasks that once took hours now take minutes. I can sit in my shed, write a poem, take a photo, and share it with the world before the kettle’s even boiled. That’s not nothing.

But it’s also changed the pace. Everything is “now.” No breathing room. No chance to just get on with the job without something pinging, beeping, or demanding your attention.

I suppose the biggest change is this:
We used to control the tools.

Now it sometimes feels like the tools control us.

Still… I wouldn’t swap it entirely. That old Spectrum might have started the journey, but it’s the modern kit that lets me keep rambling on here, sharing my scribbles with whoever happens to be listening.

Swings and roundabouts, I guess.

Stay safe,
Bc

Twenty-Five Past Eternity.

Staring at the clock, it mocks my plight.
Five minutes left, or so it claims,  
But time has turned to molasses;
Every tick a tiny giggle,  
As my coffee grows cold,  and
My chair re-forms to my shape.  
It’s then that I ponder
The deeper questions,
Like if I can train my stapler to fetch,  
Or if the printer is secretly plotting against me?

Words, & Illustrations (c)BobChristian