OBSERVATIONS & OTHER ACCIDENTS

Six months of writing that does not celebrate, it merely persists.

On 1 March, it will be six months since I started this space. Just over a year ago, the idea would have seemed improbable, almost impossible. Not because writing was unfamiliar — back in 2008, in the early days of blogging, I started two blogs that I maintained with genuine pleasure and a certain naïve enthusiasm. Writing has always come naturally to me, almost instinctively — the blogs were simply the visible outcome of that inclination. There was curiosity, lightness, a desire to build.

In recent years, however, writing had ceased to be a place I could inhabit. A particularly difficult period left me inert — creatively, impulsively, intellectually. I continued to write professionally, because it is my field, but the words came out of obligation, never expansion. There was no desire to start anything new. Much less a blog.

And yet, six months ago, I began. Not from sudden enthusiasm, but from choice. Observations & Other Accidents emerged as an exercise in consistency: writing every week, regardless of mood, inspiration, or external noise.

I write professionally. I work with deadlines, frameworks, expectations. This space answers to none of that. It is not an extension. It is its own territory. Here, writing is not about delivery. It is method. It is deliberate observation.

The world has never been so volatile, so contradictory, so saturated with stimulus, and, paradoxically, so inhumane. There is too much opinion, too little understanding. Comprehending it is no simple task. Ignoring it would be easier — and less responsible.

I am interested in behaviour. In what we repeat without noticing. In the tension between identity and performance, intimacy and exposure, what we feel and what we display. I observe at a distance when dismantling is required, with empathy when understanding is necessary, and with critical scrutiny when indulgence would be easier.

Over these months I have written on excess and restraint, productivity and silence, fragility, aesthetics, discipline. But, at the core, I have always written about the same question: how do we inhabit the world without dissolving into it?

Some pieces helped clarify social, emotional, and cultural mechanisms. Others preserved the doubt. Not everything demands a conclusion. But almost everything demands precision.

Discipline has proven structural. A rhythm compels sustaining an idea beyond immediate reaction. It requires cutting through noise — including your own. Inspiration is unstable; attention is trainable.

There were weeks when it seemed there was nothing to write. There was. There always is. The world is an open field of patterns and contradictions awaiting reading.

The most significant part of these six months is not the range of topics. It is the continuity of the gaze. Consistency is not repetition. It is depth.

To still want to continue is not enthusiasm. It is commitment to interpretation.

As long as there is behaviour to analyse and contradictions to explore, this space endures.

The rest is not celebration. It is interpretation.