Like everyone in their thirties, Rhys is now free from the burden of his own potential, never to be called ‘young’ for an achievement again, unless that achievement is dying.
There’s nothing like lifted pressure to make you realise a few truths about the world; none of us are self-aware enough to write our own New Year's resolutions, every vote for the Green Party has been an unfortunate waste of paper, and until you’re wearing a plaster you don’t realise quite how frequently that part of your body is wet.
More to the point, he’s discovered mindfulness is a scam, made up of little more than empty mantras, intentionally freezing showers and glorified PE.
Everyone may be fighting their own mental battle, but they’re doing it wrong.
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