Alastair Humphreys

I struggle to believe the words coming out of my own mouth and live in perpetual self-conflict. 16 years of life on the move, from sofa to spare room to motel, from ditch to wood line, from desert sand to a dug out in the ice and snow. A world that is a shifting kaleidoscope of faces and places, of no fixed relationships, no place to call home. I'mm 45. I will be 50 before there is any chance of stability. I find that this internal pressure starts to change you in uncomfortable ways, numbs feelings, messes with your values and judgment calls. It's hard to define, as is the slow accumulation of years. But it's also interesting, in a macabre sense, that I am finding that frontier, learning what '˜to long' means, what that looks like.