Finally finished "Billy"

It's been a while since I read a book that made me think about my outlook on life. Am I really so comfortable with myself? Is this, the sum total of who I am and who I always will be, this package of flesh bone and mind, is this the thing I'm pleased to have ended up with?

Yes.

I have something in common with Billy Connolly. He too would love to be a travelling hobo, carrying his world on his back, living on his wits and the goodwill of humanity. I dream of just walking out on all this, of following my heart and disappearing. The Australians call it "going walkabout".

There's a little story in one of my Doctor Who novels, about a travelling man who keeps scraps of paper in his pocket with pieces of his name written on them. Now and again, he invites people to join his journey and gives one of these scraps, a part of his name, so that they might be changed by it when they leave him and carry on their own journeys.

When all the little pieces of paper are gone, the little wandering man knows he will fade away, but he doesn't mind because all those parts of himself he left with those people he's met along his path keep his essence alive in some small way.

It's just a little silly metaphor in the book, relating to how the Doctor makes an impression on the companions who share his adventures, but I loved that little story. It kinda spoke to me about my own hopes and ambitions. I hope I've had an influence on the people I've met along the way. I hope someone I've touched comes away a little richer for the experience.

I think that's the greatest compliment I could be paid, that I'd changed someone's life.

That's why it's so important that I do a good job raising my children. It's my job to mould their small lives, to write their future to an extent, to armour them for the battles ahead but also to help them recognise the joy of living.