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I have been reading a book about the Japanese concept of Ikigai and one question I feel obliged to ponder involves sentimental values.

I wasn’t entirely sure what was meant by sentimental values and had to re-read the earlier paragraphs in the book to gain insight and context. All I could find was a description of a tatty looking chair that held sentimental value to the owner because it had been a gift from his father; to most other people, the chair was nothing special but to the owner, it was a possession he held dear.

If the question had been, “what provides you with sentimental value?”, I think I would have found it easier to answer but I was still finding the concept of sentimental values – plural – a difficult one to wrap my head around.

I think this is partly because the word “values” makes me think of core values – like honesty or authenticity; so, I find myself wondering how a core value can be sentimental in nature?

Using the tatty chair as inspiration, I managed to come up with a couple of examples – my love seat being one because, to me, it is much, much more than just a piece of furniture and is significant because it symbolises a space in my home that is my own and where I do my best thinking or creating.

But, not satisfied with my paltry list, I slipped the piece of paper between the pages of the book, hoping to have inspiration strike and to add to it over the coming days.

Strangely enough, I woke in the night and felt compelled to journal about my feelings of frustration that I have never really managed to adequately convey my appreciation for or articulate or express how I felt about certain things throughout my life: sport, for example, or music – specifically, the band, Oasis, who I adored during my teenage years, or tennis player, Andy Murray.

I went back to sleep briefly only to wake once more to jot down on a post-it, “swimming” and “where I grew up”.

I had forgotten all of this until I opened up my journal this morning and then came across the post-it. I struggled to remember the context of my middle-of-the-night musings. What had I been thinking when I’d written down swimming and then the name of the tiny village where I’d been raised? I saw Oasis and Andy Murray and I saw a link between the four beginning to form: clearly, these were all things that had mattered greatly to me at some point in my life (and even to this day carry a great deal of significance). And then, it hit me: sentimental values.

It was though, by slipping that piece of paper between the pages of the book, I had posed the question and, by allowing myself to be open to the answer, my subconscious had provided me with just that. These were all things that give me sentimental value.

My Britpop Era

Oasis is a reminder of a music scene I still hold dear. If you met me in a nightclub in my late teens or early twenties, you could be forgiven for thinking that Dance music would be my genre of choice and, while House and late 90’s Trance will always have a special place in my heart, it is the Britpop Indie scene that reminds me most of the glorious time in my life, growing up in the 90’s, feeling unburdened and just having fun; I was 15 or 16 and it was an exiting period, full of promise. I know that time for most people can be fraught with difficulty and teenage angst but it wasn’t like that for me. I can only remember feeling happy and hopeful, safe and secure in my own little bubble with a soundtrack that included some of the best bands Britain has ever produced.

It was also the first time I really recall having something of an obsession or hyper-fixation that literally carried me through high school, bolstering me from the stress of exams and peer group challenges. As long as I had What’s the story, Morning Glory playing on my headset, I could deal with anything.

I think this is why, when I go through difficult periods, going back in time to the 90’s and the Indie scene during that period, specifically, I feel especially comforted. I think it reveals a side of me that I’m most secure and comfortable in – perhaps the most authentic version of myself.

And then there’s Andy Murray…

I love Andy Murray. I have followed his entire career and was quite devastated when he retired from professional tennis earlier this year. For a while, I couldn’t summon up much enthusiasm for the ATP Tour which no longer included arguably the greatest British sportsperson of all time. As Sir Andy is still popping up on social media with a fair degree of frequency, I am relieved to see that just because he’s no longer playing tennis, it doesn’t mean he’ll be disappearing off the face of the earth, never to be seen again.

There are many things I admire and respect about Sir Andy including:

• his work ethnic and dedication
• his grit & determination
• his dry sense of humour
• the way he calls out inequality or injustice and isn’t afraid to advocate for others.
• his integrity and values

I love that he once bought a fancy car only to essentially drive round the block, decide it wasn’t for him, and return it the same day. I love that within 5 minutes of retiring from tennis, he’s already working on becoming a scratch golfer: once a competitor, always a competitor. People like Andy Murray are just built differently.

Mr. Morales & the Big Steppers by Kendrick Lamar

I wish I could convey what this album means to me. I wish I had the words to articulate how it makes me feel. I recall listening to it all the way through the winter months of 2022/2023, before, during and after the period in which I got to see him perform most of tracks at the OVO Hydro venue in Glasgow. When I play that album now, on an unseasonably warm mid-September afternoon, it has the power, like most good albums do, to take me back to that time. It’s always reassuring to listen to a piece of music that soothed your soul during a turbulent period, and to find that it still holds that power to do the same months, even years later.

Some people will laugh when I describe this album as a piece of Art but, for me, that’s exactly what it is. It’s an honest portrayal of a young black man’s therapy journey and explores themes like generational trauma, sexual addiction, sexuality and gender issues, and infidelity. It’s raw, vulnerable, honest, messy at times, and that’s why I love it.

Many of us find it difficult to be vulnerable and to share our own highly personal, sometimes traumatic experiences; even more so for a young, black man to open himself up to public scrutiny. Hip Hop culture often attracts controversy as some critics argue that it promotes violence and misogynistic attitudes towards women. In a culture rife with toxic masculinity, it’s rare to hear male Hip Hop artists express vulnerability or to discuss issues like mental health, gender or sexuality or to show accountability for their own behaviour including addiction or infidelity or to express a desire to be a better parent by addressing decades of generational trauma and to be a better person by undergoing therapy to manage their own various issues.

Its refreshing and necessary and an example of a role model using his public profile in a positive way, to raise awareness of various issues, and it’s this that might encourage more young men to talk about their challenges, to seek support and to want to better themselves. Its no wonder they call it hip hop with a consciousness.

The track Auntie Diaries gives me goosebumps because of the honest way it approaches the issues of gender and sexuality and the language we use. It’s messy and controversial; some might be offended, others won’t get it at all, but I loved the authentic portrayal of such a difficult subject. I liked that he was unafraid to explore the subject, his willingness to give it a go, knowing he might not get it right and that “you can’t please everybody”.

An Ode to Swimming (from my Instagram @a_wellness_work_in_progress)

The swimming pool. My safe place.
The place I go to exercise my body, my mind, my spirit, my soul.
The placed I feel most at peace. The place where I am most ‘me’.

I love to exercise. It’s one of my favourite ways to pass the time and a vital coping mechanism for when the tough gets going.

But not all exercise is created equal.

Swimming, my default go-to when my brain can’t focus on anything else.

It tickles my senses:

A blue space, the water transparent.
How amazing it looks when it’s all but empty, the water is still as glass; the smell of chlorine.
The weightless feeling of being in the pool, floating.
When you’re swimming, you forget a hangover, a headache, anxiety, depression. You can rationalise fear, anger, sadness, worry, overwhelm, as your arms slice through the water. A leisurely breaststroke. A vigorous front crawl.

Afterwards, I feel better. Energised. Uplifted. Proactive. Less anxiety, less overwhelm. Clarity & quietening of the mind.

Swimming: a gift from Dad, who watched me from a sports centre balcony, his patience, encouragement and support unwavering. Up and down, length after length, late into the evening, when he could have been at home, enjoying a beer, or early in the morning, when could have been enjoying a lie-in.

I have so much gratitude for swimming.

Thank you, Dad.

If that’s not sentimental values, I don’t know what is.