Dan Morris: Pharoahs and The Final Frontier

This month has marked 100 years since the discovery of the tomb of Egyptian boy pharoah Tutankhamun by British archaeologist Howard Carter.

I was eight or nine the first time I saw a photograph of King Tut's iconic death mask, and it was here that my obsession with ancient history began.

On reflection, it may have been treasure that I was first hooked on, rather than tales of civilisations lost (it's always been a pirate's life for me, me hearties). But something about the magnificent blend of gold and lapis lazuli that crowned the young king's mummified form eventually triggered a broader interest that would almost define my formative years and dictate my path into adulthood.

As a kid, hours of my time were whiled away lost in books on the ancient world, my young brain set alight by the fascinating past of Greece and Rome, the rise and fall of Egypt, and – moving quite a bit forward through history – the Crusades, and the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs.

When not busy immersing myself in stories of these incredible cultures, I was often busy trying to recreate their escapades via Lego bricks, or reliving their bloody and tempestuous histories through a certain Microsoft video game series that plenty of us now entrenched in our mid-thirties will remember well.

My childhood fixation broadened, and by the time my teenage years arrived I was an irritating aficionado in almost every time period other than my own. And this was in line with an equal obsession with science fiction, looking up to the stars, and a frustration that the rock beneath my feat was the only one on which I was able to tread.

I remember my father laughing at least once or twice at the fact that his son always had his mind entrenched exactly where it wasn't – either exploring the wonders of the planet's past or romanticising about living in the human race's space-faring future. There's just no pleasing some people, especially young men.

My fixation with worlds long lost followed me earnestly into adulthood when I choose to read Ancient History at university. When choosing a degree course, many people very wisely opt for either a subject which will start them on a defined vocational journey or one for which they simply have an aptitude and passion. I fell into the camp of the latter, though was one of the fortunate few among my peers whose love and enthusiasm for said subject didn't wane even after three years of hard study and blurry-eyed research in the library.

There were too many occasions to count when I woke up with a copy of either Caesar's The Civil War or Herodotus's The Histories stuck to my face. And even when you're drooling into one of these respected tomes, drool is drool, and it ain't pretty.

Still, from the moment I matriculated until my scroll was finally placed in my hands, I loved my course and everything that came with it – including wind-down time chugging vintage episodes of Star Trek by the dozen, and dreaming of George Lucas's galaxy far, far away.

It was somewhat ironic that when I finally settled into the career that was the one for me, its essence was to absorb oneself in the here and now and report on it accordingly. Not only could I no longer be uninterested in the present, it was my responsibility to keep other people informed of it.

It's a funny old life, that's for sure. Since becoming a journo all those moons ago I've learned that little is actually as exciting (and often troubling and disturbing) as that which is unfolding in real time. The days in which we currently live are difficult for many, yet they are history being made before our eyes, and comprise an important chapter of which we are all a part.

In many hundreds of years, I wonder how many young children (whose feet are not limited only to the third rock from the Sun) will look back on our time with fascination, and find themselves spellbound by what for them is world they can barely imagine, but for us has been as real as it gets.

It's important to look up and forward to the stars, and also to never be ignorant of the past. Just never let the significance of the present pass you by.