Somewhere out there

It would be an interesting exercise to ask people who write blogs why they do so.

Some do it because they have things they're keen to say, others do it because they're just desperate to be noticed.

I've asked myself many times, 'why do I do this?'

The answer is that I don't really know.

Actually, that's a lie. I do know why I do this.

I've had some shit in my life, largely crap that I have brought upon myself and I guess I write all of this nonsense in the hope that someone else, who's mired in the same shit that I was, will find some comfort to know that they can work their way out of their predicament, like I have.

Yes, it sounds completely self-righteous but then when has a noble ambition been a bad thing?

I mention this because of the complex sentence I wrote, before the line above.

About seven weeks ago I wrote that in 2003/4 I worked in a shitty office for a satellite broadcaster in West London. I said I cried in the toilets on a daily basis and that I hated every aspect of the job and as a result, I hated myself.

Someone in West London, who worked for exactly the same company, read what I wrote. They too were going through the same pain I was.

I told them that if they wanted to, they could jump. It was in their power to leave. They didn't have to suffer.

To quote from the Book of Esther, I wrote; "get ready to jump and don't ever look back."

This morning the following arrived:

Dearest Bobby,

I thought you might want some feedback on something….

You may remember a couple of months ago, I posted a comment which centered on the fact we shared some history. We had both worked for the same broadcaster, the one based at the end of Heathrow’s second runway.

And that whilst you had moved on… I seemed stuck in the nightmare that is Osterley. A nightmare that was driving me mad, I mean literally, driving me mad. Crazy. La La. Fucking homicidal.

Well, you kindly responded to that post, and I got to thinking… why the fuck am I putting up with this shit? How had I gotten myself to a point at which I tolerated the depths of my despair…not too mention a god-awful commute.

Why couldn’t I change the situation? After all it was only a job, right?

Well, a couple of weeks later, I saw a post advertised that sounded interesting, and I thought why not? Why not indeed?

Well, to cut a fairly long story, a little shorter, I sent off my CV … and what do ya know?
I have just delighted in handing in my resignation at _ _ _, so no more shuttle buses or crap coffee in shitty sachets for yours truly.

I start my new job, on July 1st, with a substantial wage hike and it’s based right across from Bush house on Gt Portland Street. Civilisation, here I fucking come. You better be ready.

I shall think of you... your kind words, and how a little encouragement, plus a tale of a drive that you once took past your old home, reminiscing about a life you once inhabited, a life that left you miserable… how all that, affected me, and my life. How it spurred me into action and onto a much brighter future. One full of potential.

How life changes, hey?

Cheers Bobby.

Ever grateful!

G

When I sit down and type this blog and ask myself why the hell I'm doing it, that is why.

Someone who I've never met, found what I wrote and decided to change their position.

I guess in a way I am flattered, mainly because someone took me seriously! More importantly though, I am honoured.

I am honoured to have, in some small way, helped someone else. Someone who I've never met.

'G', I hope your new job is everything you hoped for and I just hope that you have the best time ever. You deserve it.

I have never met you and you have never met me.

Maybe we've stood next to each other at the Tube station or perhaps we'll walk past each other on Regent Street.

I'll go to bed tonight thinking of you and maybe you'll think of me.

Somewhere out there is a stranger who helped another stranger. You helped me realise that the path I've trodden and the tears in the toilet weren't all in vain.

Thank you.