A strange feeling of dissatisfaction

I like to think of myself as a pretty satisfied kind of chap. Whether this translates into a laid back under achiever isn’t something I’ve ever considered.

I work hard and I believe I’m blessed- we have a nice house and I have a lovely wife and two excitable children. Time is valuable and whilst we don’t live hand to mouth, money has to be watched carefully in case it tries to escape. All in all we’re fairly normal. And that makes me happy.

Royal Crescent- not on google maps

Perhaps I’d had one too many mojitos last night at the Ubisoft summer games event in Shepherds Bush but as I walked back to the tube station via Royal Crescent, I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of shame and failure. These huge high ceiling’d mainsons all had curtainless bay windows which, even at 10.30pm, were full of people (mostly men, wearing braces it must be said), who were so obviously better than me.  Maybe not better human beings, although the wearing of braces may have supported my claim there, but better at this getting on and living lark. I’ve never believed that the accumulation of material possession is a marker of success but what if you’ve accumulated material possessions, are happy and don’t work any harder than I do at the moment? I’d never thought of that.

 I’m not a dim bloke. Last time I did a proper accredited IQ test I scored a hundred and thirty something points. That’s not blowing my own trumpet, that’s me railing in frustration that I don’t seem to have utilised what I’ve got to any decent degree.

Am I letting myself down or more importantly letting my family down? That thought has started to haunt me now.