ingehygd

After many trials, he was destined to face the end of his days in this mortal world; as was the dragon, for all his long leasehold on the treasure.

Beowulf's final battle was a draw. The dragon was slain, but in-so-doing, Beowulf acquired a wound that would become his undoing. Without him, the Geats will surely also meet their end.

For all his efforts, is the world better for it?

hwæt

I have a lot to be happy about.

I have a close, supportive, loving family. They live nearby, and they like to help. We have shared interests. My mum is one of my best friends. My dad will ramble through the country with me.

And what a country. I live so close to it. The town is large, well-run, full of polite and friendly people, and increasingly cosmopolitan. Yet, I can be in the country in five minutes. Hills. Villages. Brooks. It's widely regarded as one of the most beautiful places in the world.

I have an amazing network of friends. Many of them are right here. They are my oldest friends and we have had similar journeys. There's mutual respect, understanding, and massive overlap in hobbies. We can expound the night away with some wine and a board game or two.

I am in perfect health. I have no allergies, no congenital illness, no need for glasses or other assistive technologies. I have had precisely one prescription in my entire life, and it was a simple course of antibiotics. I am in my late 20s and in great shape. My friends and family are similarly in great health.

My job is well-paid and comes with wonderful benefits. I can work remotely, if I wish, from practically anywhere in the world. My colleagues are respectful of the time I have to myself. I work fewer hours than the national average with a salary nearly three times the national average. I can cycle to my office in less than 10 minutes. I enjoy my work.

and yet...

There is still discontent. The past year has been one of much change, and until quite recently, all the evidence pointed to all my decisions being the right ones for me.

“Discontent” is perhaps an understatement for how I've come to feel in the past month or two. I'm yet to put a finger on exactly what it is I'm feeling or why it might be the case.

Hence ingehygd.

Maybe I can work this out by putting pen to paper... or 1s to 0s.

I suspect this could be my first existential crisis. As with Beowulf, one wonders if it all will come to naught after the effort of life.