By Joel Buckley
On the way home from work yesterday a guy was knocked off his motorbike and killed.
It was on a stretch of road I ride my bike down twice a day.
It happened 20 minutes before I got there.
It could have been me.
As I rode around the wreckage my own pressures and problems shamed me.
They felt incredibly petty, even embarrassing.
I’m tired. I’m skint. I’m stuck on a brief.
I don’t want to turn this tragedy into a convenient topic for a SCAB; that would be crass.
But I do want to use it to take stock of my life and put things back into perspective.
Nothing that is happening in life right now is worth even an ounce of stress.
And if I start comparing my life with that of a Syrian refugee…
Life goes on, and if I don’t appreciate every moment, then quite frankly, I’m a dick.