Greetings fellow Traditionalists The road that brought me here has been long and winding, so I’ll do my best to describe it it as best I can without boring the poor reader too much. (APOLOGIES FOR THE LENGTH OF THIS POST) I’ve not written this journey down before, but have thought much upon it, so I’ve retraced my steps before but have only tried explaining it to others once before and now sadly that person has gone from my life, so maybe it’s time to get this down somewhere in black and white. I was born into a fatherless Catholic family, but one that fled the Catholic church shortly after my birth – considering the church behind the times and in need of reforming itself. We never re-rooted into any other tradition, despite many failed attempts, and I’d describe my mother’s faith as liberally inspired soft perennialism, looking Eastward more than West. What affect a lack of paternal influence had on my life I can’t be sure, but from a very young age I adopted a militant atheism and became highly anti-theistitic, having special contempt for Christians. I feel there’s much to be said for the connection of fatherlessness and atheism; however my atheism as especially aggressive for one so young, which certainly wasn’t as common back then (I’m a gen-Xer) as it is today. Anyway atheism would define my sense of self from my preteens to my late thirties, while my political philosophy was less certain, drifting from an ardent (if entirely uninformed) wannbe communist to (an equally uniformed) anarchist, then sliding into an apathetic nihilistic hedonism in the 1990s that culminated into a massive anhedonic depression that lasted years… eventually I resurfaced enough to make it through university as a mature student, but this false dawn faded immediately afterwards and after another bleak depression I found myself adopting a philosophic pessimism that lead to a period of flatline stability - a living death. My politics over this period, especially post 9/11, drifted rightward into something like libertarianism, I guess. It was my Ligottian/Zapffesque pessimism that defined me tho asa I got older and through my pessimism my eyes grew more accustomed to staring out into the abyss. I certainly had sympathy for the antinatalists, although I found them too Utopian for me. We were meaning seeking automatons tragically thrashing about in a meaningless universe, (on a side note I still believe that pessimism is the only honest philosophy for a materialist to embrace), however while I could pat myself on the back for my astute understanding of reality, I couldn’t shake certain paradoxes my philosophy required. The first was what evolutionary use is seeking meaning in a meaningless universe – why should I crave meaning? The second was a paradox alive in Zapffe’s Last Messiah essay and one he points out himself: he suggests there’s certain ways a human might fool himself into thinking that life was worth living (distraction, etc), the last being sublimation: where a person acclimatises himself to the misery of existence though a catharsis-like mechanism of embracing the misery itself, as Zapffe himself was doing in his own essay. Therefore in what was was my philosophy of pessimism superior to those of an existentialist (who I rightly looked down upon)? If life really wasn't worth living, an unwanted gift, then why don't I end the tragedy right now. Why satisfy myself with my intelectual masturbations about the meaninglessness of it all? I can’t say that these two paradoxes had an immediately transformative effect upon me, as at first their sheer perversity tickled my intellectual tastes for the counter-intuitive, but over time they continued to nag me. My tastes in literature were also changing. I had long since passed my nihilistic phase of post modern authors and reverted back to my original tastes of science fiction and fantasy, but as I got older it was Lovecraft who I most readily returned to, and through Lovecraft other reactionary weird authors, such as Arthur Machen, M.R. James, Algernon Blackwood, J.R.R. Tolkien, Clark Ashton Smith, and Robert Aickman. Now while they all shared Lovecraft’s conservatism they are all, of course, of a very different metaphysic. And here is the thing, the more I read of them the more they opened me up to my own experiences that I had otherwise dismissed as mere imagination. I’ve gone on to long already in this intro so I won’t bore you with the details, as they’re more often than not feelings than apparent phenomena, but these authors really helped me grow to accept an alternative perspective that I had previously been so hostile to. Politically I was increasingly becoming socially conservative, initially in a classical liberal mode, but now increasingly dismissive of the Enlightenment. It was around five or six years ago when the online SJWs were at their height that I started picking up on the various anti-SJW content that was manifesting as a response, especially in the manosphere, but this lead to me being exposed to the fringes of neoreaction, which lead to me reading Julius Evola, amongst others. Then the migrant crisis hit... A few years before in a nihilistic despair I had cashed out half a dozen credit cards and fled to Mexico with the plan of dying on a beach somewhere. This didn’t happen… I grew ill and returned to Britain to recover massively in debt and all washed up in my late 30s. But a strange thing occurred to me there (or upon my return) I released that it wasn’t the, alien to my European aesthetics, Mayan ruins that spoke to me, but the colonial churches and architecture. In my childhood I had loved the ancient world up to the late medieval period, but as a grew older I embraced post modernism, the bizarre, the deviant and the perverse – forgetting my love for my own heritage. But now when I got back I realised that I loved England very much. ...so the migrant crisis hit and I was filled with an overriding sense of existential horror as I realised what it heralded and I realised what I had been blasé about. How could I have been so stupid for so long. That feeling of horror still manifests itself in me today when I read about more waves of Third Worlder and I really have to cut myself from the news these days. I know what’s coming and feeling enraged about it won’t help. The rage helps to awaken you, but it isn't sustainable long term. So where does that leave me now? Riding the tiger. I’m a Traditionalist without a home. I am still travelling down that long road looking for meaning. I can’t say I’ve found my spiritual home yet… Catholicism and Orthodoxy call me, but so does Paganism. I try not to worry about it just now. I’m a late comer with no Brahmin and no God-King, but the Tiger is here, so I'll learn from that. Christianity of all persuasions around me (I live in a university town full of liberals) is utterly cucked and while I know some Traditionalists can see through that for their own spiritual guidance, at the moment I can’t. Paganism, as far as I’m aware, in the UK seems to be the domain of middle aged new age feminists and their beta male orbiters. I will not dignify them with my presence. So for me it’s a matter of reading and learning at my own pace, however I do thing community is an important part of Tradition, so in the absence of a real world one I thought I’d take a look here. I’m pretty self sufficient, but burning off leftwing friends leaves one isolated, which isn’t healthy in the long term. So here I am. Apologies again for the epic first post. I hope this convoluted tale is of some interest to someone other than me.