On Stepping Outside the Human Narrative
Living on the Threshold
There is a library inside every human life - inherited before we can read, added to constantly, and largely composed of the same book rewritten. The human narrative recycles itself with every generation. We swim in it without noticing, looking for balance in a system that structurally cannot provide it.
My latest YouTube video is about a camping trip in the Lake District, about going outside with a notebook, and about the difference between becoming a footnote and becoming soil.
The video ends with a poem I wrote that weekend. I hope it leaves you, even briefly, at the threshold. I’ll put the poem below.
Camping i. Camping is an idea, a damp nylon, grassy-green, bun and frankfurter, chilly night with shared ablutions, kind of idea. We are, to the hill we're pegged against, a fly's tickle, an irritation to be suffered, a noise. ii. We dissolve like cubes of sugar into the coffee-coloured night leaving trails of unsettled sweetness as we try to sleep. iii. Tired, we walk to the top of Helm Crag and feel conquered, as we become children to a single moment of easiness.



I love everything you’ve shared here. Thank you so much.