A Prosaic Life
Reflecting on the Everyday.
Welcome to A Prosaic Life, a journal chronicling my life, thoughts, and experiences—I’m Ben Benoit. Here, I share the everyday chaos and calm of life in my sixties, from family antics to the odd aches that remind me I’m not as young as I want to feel. It’s a space where past memories collide with present moments, where the small and the significant get equal airtime. With a bit of humour—debatable—and a lot of honesty, I’m piecing together what it all means while hoping for more than mundanity.
Table of Contents
The Initial Journal Entry…
This is where A Prosaic Life begins. The first journal entry captures a moment in time, though as you read on, you may find entries that reach back to the past as much as they explore the present. Every story has a start, and this is mine.
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Funeral Reflections
Today, I attended a funeral for a friend—a good man, gone at 85. It was one of those days that quietly rearranged your perspective.
Introduction
Right then, a quick intro. I’m Ben Benoit—short for Benedict Benoit, though I rarely use the full version. My parents, with their peculiar sense of humour, thought it clever to mix the French “Benoît” with the English Benedict. It sounded distinguished to them, but the world quickly distilled it down to “Ben Ben,” a nickname I’ve begrudgingly carried ever since. I am in my sixties (just) and have settled (finally) in Petersfield, Hampshire, with my wife of 35 years, Becky.
I write for a living—content mostly—though these days, my AI assistant does a lot of the heavy lifting, and sometimes it’s unnervingly good at mimicking me. Still, the bigger dream—the one I never quite seem to catch—is to write my own book, but I am starting to realise this is more of a pipe dream.
I’ve started A Prosaic Life to capture the days as they come, realising I might not have as many left as I once thought, and it may only be just one more day! So check back if you’re curious; I’ll be here, tapping away, one day at a time—occasionally.
The Latest Journal Entries…
These are the five latest entries for A Prosaic Life, a glimpse into the thoughts, stories, and reflections of a 62-year-old navigating life one day at a time. You might wish to start at the beginning of this riveting—soporific—journal. In that case, it begins here with reflections on a funeral. Otherwise…
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The Lost Art of Fiddling
This morning started innocently enough: a quick tidy-up of my desk—or so I thought. What began as a bit of paper shuffling and cable untangling somehow escalated into a full-scale…
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New Years Eve
New Year’s Eve—what a curious little tradition we’ve concocted. There’s something both absurd and wonderful about staring down a ticking clock, champagne—who am I kidding—beer in hand as if midnight…
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Failing to Write 2.0
I could tell you I’ve been busy with meaningful things—the kind of tasks that fill a life with purpose and tick all the right boxes. But once again, I have…
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Failing to Write
I’ve been neglecting A Prosaic Life, haven’t I? It was meant to be my touchstone, a place to anchor fleeting moments before they vanished entirely. Instead, it’s sat there, quietly…
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Funeral Reflections
Today, I attended a funeral for a friend—a good man, gone at 85. It was one of those days that quietly rearranged your perspective.