Jim Corbridge's deep thoughts.

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 “Where’s your life headed?” I've noticed people ask that like it’s a train schedule? Like there’s a platform somewhere with your name on it, and if you miss it well tough luck, matey, next life in 45 years.

Life isn’t headed anywhere. It’s happening. It’s just this long, slow, beautifully ridiculous process of turning food into regret.

We spend the first third of it trying to figure out what the hell we’re doing, the second third pretending we know, and the last third wondering who moved all the furniture.

They tell you to “follow your dreams.” What if your dream’s an arsehole? What if your dream wants to live in a van, write poetry, and borrow money from your parents till you’re 50?

They say “life’s a journey.” Sure. But they forget to mention the potholes, rush hour, and the idiots doing 30 in the fast lane. Or indeed 70 in the slow lane And half the time, you’re not even driving you’re just strapped to the roof rack hoping the bloke driving knows left from right.

And somewhere along the way, you realise there’s no destination. No big cosmic finish line where they hand you a medal and say, “Well done, you made it through all the pointless meetings, the traffic, and the in-laws.”

No. You just keep moving. You laugh, you screw up, you buy the wrong insurance, and then one day you’re a photograph on someone’s phone they never look at again.

So where’s my life headed? Same place as yours, matey
Nowhere in particular, but fast enough to miss the view if you’re not paying attention.


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