Once, what feels like so many years ago, my life seemed to be a very clear place. I knew who I was, where I was, and where I was going.

The funny thing is, I was wrong. So very, very wrong. I didn’t really know who I was. I didn’t see my reality for what it was and what it meant to me. I certainly didn’t end up where I thought I was going.

Over the years, I’ve realised that we don’t know much about anything. Life takes us on this wonderful journey, and we shouldn’t waste so much of it pretending that we understand. The highs and the lows, the excitement and the boring bits: none of it is expected. If we knew where we were now, would we pay any attention to it? If we really knew what was going to happen tomorrow, what purpose would we have to see the day through?