St Thomas Aquinas had many insightful thoughts.

One, in particular, has been resonating with me since the release of my album.

“Desire is the movement towards a good that is absent; delight is the rest in a good that is present.”

We are always, he argues, either seeking something we want but don’t yet have, or resting peacefully in the warm glow of accomplishment.

Like lots of people, I imagine, I’m very familiar with moving in desire, but I struggle rather more with resting in delight.

I've had glimmers of it as I've turned the finished record in my hands — the weight of it, the sleeve, the quiet satisfaction of something finally, undeniably existing.

But there's always a nagging voice, somewhere in the back of my mind, asking: so what now?

It’s the human condition in a medieval nutshell.

We’re dopamine machines.

The problem with dopamine, though, is that it spikes when we’re in pursuit of something, and crashes pretty quickly once we get it.

And this cruel irony is what keeps us moving as a species.

It makes sense, from an evolutionary perspective.

Ancient (and, occasionally, modern) life is characterised by the need to keep walking forwards.

It’s unlikely our ancestors would have survived long enough to reproduce had they been easily satisfied—much less explored continents, built pyramids, forged empires, or landed on the moon.

The Book of Genesis embodies this idea.

When we find ourselves with nothing else to want, we’ll sacrifice paradise for the bite of an apple.

Desire doesn’t disappear; it simply turns inward.

Since Stars finally landed a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been feeling a little East of Eden.

I don’t know why this comes as any surprise—clearly, we’d identified this pattern thousands of years ago.

When you put enormous amounts of time and energy into something, only to see it finally happen, you quickly realise that not much has changed at all.

And don’t get me wrong—I’m incredibly proud of the achievement. I’ve been shipping vinyl to Berlin, Madrid, Australia—you name it.

It’s still a wonder to me that it now exists as a body of work, and knowing that other people have been getting so much out of it is genuinely touching.

It’s definitely a milestone on this strange road I’ve chosen to walk down, and it’s already started opening doors.

But whether I’ve been “resting in a good that is present”, I’m not sure.

It feels more like the moments after a storm, when the clouds part and the sun breaks through, and you stumble into the street, blinking in the light, wondering what on earth you’re supposed to do now.

It’s an appropriate time of year to be feeling that way, I suppose—2025 is drawing rapidly to a close, and 2026 will soon be here.

At the time of writing, Christmas is around the corner, and the world seems to be building towards some kind of crescendo.

Shops are full. Roads are crammed. The endless loop of festive hits has become inescapable.

All of this tends to fill me with the typically contrarian urge to find a quiet place and curl up in a ball.

But life doesn’t often allow for that.

Like every Christmas for as long as I can remember, I’ll be traipsing from bar to bar, from office Christmas party to December wedding, knocking out the songs.

It’s a gruelling time. But there are still bills to pay, obligations to meet, and—as always—the next project to fund.

This year, though, I’m determined to try and relax and enjoy it.

It’s another cruel irony of the human condition that, in all this searching and wanting and working we do in pursuit of the life we think we want, we often forget that our actual life is happening right in front of us.

If today is a constant penitential sacrifice at the altar of tomorrow, you run the real risk of waking up one morning and wondering where all those todays have gone.

So, this Christmas, I’m going to try my very best to give myself a break and take it all in.

I’ve kept my diary a bit quieter than normal.

I’ve even taken New Year’s Eve off for the first time in over a decade—a prospect which is already making me feel slightly uncomfortable.

But sometimes you’ve got to force yourself to slow down and try to let yourself rest in a good that is present.

Because St Thomas Aquinas probably knew a thing or two.

Whether I’ll really manage it or not is another matter entirely.

Keep dreaming,

Rob