Indeed

"It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it."

Upton Sinclair (1878-1968)

Blue Bloody Murder

Listening to a radio interview with a UK politician the other morning, I found myself swearing blue bloody murder at the numpty. Answer the sodding question!!!!

Politicians and their policies are about creeping improvements, but with minimal change. We all know about obesity being an increasing problem in the Western world. But measures to tackle the problem are feeble, because the objective is to keep everything basically the same. Suggestions usually focus on improved information and education, so that people can make the choice to eat less crap and do more exercise. The talk is about 'empowering' people to take the small steps that'll make their existing lifestyles that bit healthier. For example;

- get off the bus one stop early.

- use the stairs, not the lift.

- have a salad, not a burger.

- have a low-fat burger, not a full-fat burger.

There's no serious examination of our existing lifestyles as being a root cause. The talk is not about empowering people to make the big changes that would overhaul their entire lifestyle, and our entire culture, for the better.

Given that obesity and many other lifestyle-created health problems keep rising in the West, I would argue that we need a more radical approach. It's not going to work, to simply use the stairs more. What is needed is a new way of looking at the entire system that's creating and maintaining these unhealthy and unbalanced lifestyles. And a real commitment to change. To act, not just to debate, and definitely not to dodge the question.

Image by Joao Paulo Correa de Carvalho

Windows

I'm on my Christmas holidays, and today is just Monday! The whole week stretches ahead, deliciously. Out on my run this morning, I'm unfocused and ok with that. I jog along, stop and start, stroll and sprint as the fancy takes me. I take an interest in other people's front rooms - glancing in windows as I pass, and admiring their trees, lights and decorations.

It's damp, still and mild down here on the ground. No sunshine to speak of. I look up in the sky, and watch the silent course of a plane as it passes overhead. Its vapour trail is lit up by the sun, a fluffy arrow of unearthly white. It makes me smile. I love that sensation of being up above the clouds as a new day breaks. Sitting next to the window hatch, gazing out at the view: blue skies, and landscapes of clouds piled high like heaps of clotted cream, every one with silver-hued and irridescent linings. The sense of calm, the contemplation, and the anticipation of being en-route to the next big adventure.

Running Gems: Hectic Sunday

Yesterday; a hectic Sunday, too much on, too much to do, got to get on, no time for a run. My brain kept telling my body that the day's run was off, but my body wasn't having it. My spine tingled naggingly, agitation built up in my bloodstream. I needed to go out.

Into my running gear, and out the door. I'm slapped in the face by horizontal rain, and knocked sideways by the gales. I run fast, buffetted from side to side, trees roaring over my head. I pull off my hat and gloves; weather makes direct contact with skin, nerve endings fizz. I am buzzing with exhileration. 15 minutes in total, flat out. Magnificent.

Running Gems: Something Suspicious

Wild storms yesterday. This morning, the sun's not risen yet but the sky above is fresh and clear. The trails beneath my feet are all mud, grit, mess and flooding. A stone picnic spot down by the river looks suspicious somehow - too perfect, too smooth and flawless. I peel off the track and approach. Normally I would take a flying leap down the steps, but today I step out gingerly. My shoe sinks an inch in deep sludge, skids a little. Fearful of slipping, I pick my way out to the railing over the river, a line of squelching footprints in my wake. There's something satisfying about being the first, about leaving my mark in the muck. It's like leaving the first footprints on an untouched beach - only less romantic. I can't bear to spoil them. I clamber my way along the railings back to the bank, and scramble up to the track. One line of prints left in the mud, with no return. I run on.

Image by Joyseph

I Do Therefore I Am

"I spent the early part of my life trying hard to be someone else. At school I wanted to be a great athlete, at university I wanted to be an admired socialite, afterwards a businessman and, later, the head of a great institution. It did not take me long to discover that I was not destined to be successful in any of these guises, but that did not prevent me from trying, and being perpetually disappointed with myself. The problem was that in trying to be someone else, I neglected to concentrate on the person I could be. The idea was too frightening to contemplate. I was happier going along with the conventions of the time, measuring success in terms of money and position, and climbing ladders which others placed in my way, collecting things and contacts rather than giving expression to my own beliefs and personality. I was, in retrospect, hiding from myself, a slave to the system rather than its master. We can't, however, discover ourselves by introspection. We have to jump in before we learn to swim. We find ourselves through what we do. "I do therefore I am" is more real than "I think therefore I am."

Charles Handy (1997), The Hungry Spirit

What do I do?

• I run, travel, and write about it - in order to connect, share, inform and inspire.
• I question the system and its impact on the health and happiness of people and the planet itself, and I act to change it.

What do you do?

Problems with Articulation

The Social Model of Disability argues that it is the way society is organised that disables people more than their individual impairments. Change should be directed at society rather than the person.

The gulf between the rich and the poor in Western societies is growing ever larger. If you're one of the comfortably well-off, and everyone you know is equally comfortable and secure, this might seem unlikely and of little immediate concern. But the current credit crunch and recession is laying bare just how tenuous the middle classes' notion of 'security' really is. Many people have found themselves just one unexpected event away from losing everything. And to me, 'losing everything' isn't the terrible thing, it's the stress, fear and misery that comes with it.

Much of the way our society works not only disables people, but also makes them ill, lonely and unhappy. Despite unprecedented wealth, health and technology, the stats indicate that our society is afflicted with ever increasing depression, anxiety, isolation, stress, obesity and a sense of never having enough time.

There is, of course, a lot about Western society that is wonderful. But I don't think that that makes it ok to disregard all that is not wonderful; that is awful, wrong and damaging.

We're not encouraged to truly question the status quo. I often question things, but I find it very hard to articulate what I mean, what I'm getting at. I struggle to find examples or data to back myself up, to justify my questionning. I can't think fast enough, or can't remember the details of the report that led to my questions. I don't have any answers, so I flounder.

I do have instincts, gut feelings and direct experiences that inform and illustrate my questions. Some of these find their way onto this blog. And I do listen to others and read the words of people who can articulate themselves better than me, who can collate data and marshall arguments.

In the meantime, I can say what I feel. I feel that the answers to these problems lie in the way we think about work. The way we value time, relationships and creativity in relation to money or security. The way we prioritise the environment versus economic growth. And the choices we make about moulding people to systems or systems to people.

An Inspirational

"If you are lucky enough to feel passionately about something, then really your only obligation is to be true to that."

(Del Kathryn Barton - painter & sculptor.

Published in The Australian, 03/05/08)

It's About Compromises

It's Christmas time, and the shops are full of 2009 calendars. I had a day off work on Thursday, and went into the city to do some Christmas shopping. 8.30am and it was still pretty dark outside. As I walked along through the business district, I nosied in the bright-lit windows of all the offices. Many shades of grey lay before me. I was glad to be able to keep walking - through the rain and the icy patches - rather than climb the steps into any of those buildings and have to seat myself at a screen in a blanket-grey environment for the day.

After a bit, I noticed a colourful pattern developing as I passed building after building: it was in the calendars hanging on the office walls. Glossy pictures of amazing exotic beaches, of surfers catching splendid waves, of sunsets, autumn leaves, and astonishing natural wonders across the world.

On Friday, I went to my work and gazed at the calendar hanging above my desk - Scottish mountains no less - in a new way. It was meant to be motivational and inspirational. But really it's a compromise. A salve for an aching soul. Is that enough?

Therapy

Its winter, and I'm obviously suffering symptoms. Kinda like Seasonal Affective Disorder, only its colour I'm missing rather than daylight. This picture is therapy.

Running Gems: December Mornings

6am, dark and cold. The city sleeps. Stars twinkle overhead. Christmas lights flash-on-flash-off in the windows of tenement flats. I run, frost glittering by beneath my feet like a galaxy of disco lights.

Image by calebkimbrough

Underfoot

Making Time

The next thing about the Hobopoet's audacious plans is... training for an ultra takes time. Sure, time as in months, perhaps even a year or more. That's not a problem to my mind, that part of the appeal.

I'm thinking about the time in each day to build up the necessary mileage. As the distances creep higher, so too do the lengths of time needed to cover the distances. I know this deliciously well from marathon training - I adore the Sunday 20 miler out into the wilds, or the mid-week 9 miler through the botanic gardens and down by the river. But it can be a struggle to fit it in around my full-time job, commute, and other interests and commitments.

I'm guessing this may not be a problem for the Hobopoet, experimenting as he is with the 4 Hour Work Week concept. And I know there are plenty runners out there who manage it - I'm always mightily impressed by tales of hospital doctors, who fit in a bit of adventure racing across the Arctic on the side. But it must surely be a problem for most mortal souls.

Living the dream has its costs, and often its not so much the money that is the problem but the time. Maybe the question to ask is 'How can I make the time?'

The Hare & The Tortoise

The Hobopoet talks about one of his latest ventures - training for a 50 mile ultra. I ache and long for such an audacious goal... He outlines his training strategy: slow-oh-so-slow and steady. Sounds like good solid 'hare and tortoise' principals, and puts me in mind of the last marathon I ran - The Great Ocean Road in Australia. It's an amazing route, with scenery to cherish for all eternity. They close the roads for the morning, so the runners have probably one of the most driven tourist routes in the whole world, all to themselves! Magical. And also fairly hilly.

For the first 18 miles or so, I was mostly level with a guy with a very audible heart-rate monitor strapped to his chest. On the uphills, he'd barely take a few steps before his wristband started beeping frantically and he'd drop his pace to a walk. I'd keep chugging along at my steadily trained 'marathon pace', catch him, pass him, leave him in my wake (that turn of phrase makes it sound so glamorous!). But no matter how long or steep the hill, he'd always glide by me again before long, whenever we reached a downhill or a flat stretch. This pattern continued till around mile 18, when I began to break. The hills and the headwind got the better of me, and my steady pace broke down into a faltering mix of walking, shuffling, and pained jogging. The man with the monitor continued, effortlessly it seemed, off into the distance. I checked the results later, and found that he finished more than an hour ahead of me.

Slow-oh-so-slow works a treat. I don't know why I'm surprised. 'The Hare & The Tortoise' was one of my favourite childhood stories.

Image by rmricci

A Blaze of Colour

Mad Keen Runner

I've been a mad keen runner for a good 10 years now. I fell into it during a lonely year in northern Spain - even through the winter, the long siesta in the working day saw my colleagues lunch and snooze, but I never got the hang of that. Instead, every lunchtime I took myself off down the tracks that snaked along beside the river Ebro, to see what I might find. At first I just walked, but walking wouldn't let me get far enough in the time allocated. So I began to run.

Since then I've travelled lot. I've moved cities, switched countries, and worked and studied in numerous places within the UK. The same black and green rucksack has come with me on all these moves; much stitched, patched and emergency-repaired. No matter where I'm going or for what purpose, the first thing to be packed into that backpack is always my running kit. Trainers and a stopwatch are the crucial two items. Otherwise, kit has varied over the years and climates, though I have found that the sporty fabrics that are specially designed to wick and not chafe, are a mercy and a gift. I've never had all the sexiest latest gear, and I'm not immune to pangs of envy or inadequacy when someone jogs by who really does look the part. But as I usually choose to run trails and tracks way out the back of beyond, how I look is mostly irrelevant once I've got out there.

Running grounds me, and enlivens me. It ensures me a connection with the weather, seasons and terrain. Late summer comes and goes, and the lush greens in the fields gradually wither to husks and stalks... the first dustings of snow come... through the wild storms of winter... the arrival of frogspawn in the ditches... turning to darting teeming tadpoles... Cherry blossoms and daffodils burst into life... later raspberries stud the hedgerows, blaeberries nestle in the hills... This is an awareness and connection that I find is weakened to the point of irrelevancy in normal daily life in the city. Without running, the changing seasons and weather are reduced to scraping ice off the car, adjusting the thermostat in the house, deciding which coat to go out in...

Some of my best thinking happens when I'm out running. It seems to happen in the empty spaces - between the endless mileage calculations, the chanted mantras to stop me giving up when it gets tough, and the pleasure of being outdoors - there must be cogs a-whirring. Because out of nowhere, new thoughts materialise, problems are solved and clarity gained.

I often, almost always, experience moments of exaltant emotion: euphoria, invincibility, a gratitude and awe for the world. My running is driven by what must be a form of addiction, coupled with an urge to explore: always a little further, what lies round that bend, over that ridge, beyond those trees?

Running has carved a niche into my life. It's a passion. It's a form of bliss.

Choked with the Cold

9.30am on a frosty Saturday morning. The sun is rising through a gap in the trees, and bathing the living room in gold. I want to be out there, jogging the ice-crusted trails down by the river. But I'm not, because I'm choked with the cold: just the walk from my desk to the kettle makes my head pound and my eyes wince, let alone the 7 miler my training schedule suggests for today. What is even more galling, is that this is my first bout of ill-health in about 18 months (hangovers withstanding). It seems to say a lot, to me at any rate.

Whilst away travelling, my health was exceptional. No colds, flu, tummy bugs or any of the other common ailments that ordinarily catch me out a few times per year. It was a fear of mine - that I'd end up coughing and sneezing through the night while staying in a 8-share dorm somewhere. How unpleasant, unfair and annoying it would be for my room-mates. Or a stint of food poisoning, while sharing a small block of communal toilet facilities! How vile that would have been for other guests. I did carry around a vague anxiety about falling ill on the other side of the world, away from the familar system of free health care taken for granted in the UK.

But, luckily, it never came to be. I enjoyed over a year of perfect health. It doesn't take a genius to see why: lots of exercise, daylight and fresh air on a daily basis. A massive reduction in negative stress. Autonomy and control over pacing and activity levels - if I felt a bit tired and rundown, I could opt to rest. If I felt buzzing with energy, I could run/hike/write/work like a fiend. Constant changes of my environment and the people around me probably boosted my immune system over time. The need for very cheap and very simple food meant a super-healthy diet of fresh fruit, veg and carbohydrates most days. Being a budget nomad was so good for me.

Now I'm back, have been for 4 months now, which seems to have been long enough for all the good contributing factors to slide away and a pesky dose of the cold to incubate. It'll be over in a day or so, it's no big deal, and I'm grateful that this is the worst health problem I have to complain about. But the compare-and-contrast is resonant. In comparison to before, life now is characterised by significantly less control and autonomy, less exercise, less exposure to daylight and fresh air, more negative stress, a less healthy diet, and less engagement in creative fullfilling activities.

Normal life is bad for my health.

Re-adjusting to Life Back Home

This always makes me both laugh and feel nostalgic. Don't know who to credit for it, its done the rounds on Facebook I don't know how many times, but whoever you are out there, thank you. This is great!

"Having trouble readjusting to life back at home now that the travelling is over? Here are 9 handy hints to help you settle back in:
1) Replace your bed with two or more bunk beds, and every night invite random people to sleep in your bedroom with you. Ensure at least one person talks in their sleep and at least two people snore like trains. Remove beds one by one as symptons improve.
2) Sleep in your sleeping bag, forgetting to wash it for months. Add some bugs in order to wake up with many unsightly bites over your arms and legs.
3) Enlist the help of a family member to set your radio alarm to go off randomly during the night, filling your room with loud talking. This works best if the station is foreign. Also have several mobiles ringing, without being answered (at least one should have the default Nokia ring). To add to the illusion, ask a friend to bring plastic bags into your room at roughly 6am and proceed to rustle them for no apparent reason for a good half hour.
4) Keep all your clothes in a rucksack. Remember to smell them before puting them on and reintroduce the use of the iron SLOWLY.
5) Buy your favourite food, and despite living at home, write your name and when you might next be leaving the house on all bags. Your food should include mainly pasta, two minute noodles, cans of food with very plain labels, apples and chocolate.
6) Ask a family member to every now and again steal an item of food, preferably the one you have most been looking forward to or the most expensive. Keep at least one item of food far too long or in a bag out in the sun.
7) Even if it's a Sunday, vacate the house by 10am, and then stand on the corner of the street looking lost. Ask the first passer-by of similar ethnic background if they have found anywhere good to go yet.
8) When sitting on public transport (the London Tube would be ideal) introduce yourself to the person sitting next to you, say which stop you got on at, where you are going, how long you have been travelling and what university you went to. If they say they are going to Morden, say you met a guy on the central line who said it was terrible and that you've heard Parsons Green is better and cheaper.
9) Stick paper in your shower so that the water comes out in just a drizzle. Adjust the hot/cold taps at regular intervals so that you are never fully satisfied with the temperature. Because of this frustration, shower infrequently.

These simple but effective instructions should help you fall back into normal society with the minimum effort."

Living The Dream: Costs

Freycinet Peninsula, Tasmania. A nice place to hang out for a few days marathon training. I put in a couple of magnificent 12 milers here, round the Hazards-Wineglass Bay loop, at the crack of dawn while most of the tourists and hikers were still fast asleep.

What a dream. But how much did it cost?

Cost:

Youth hostel accomodation/night = AU$24.

Food for a day = around AU$10, depending on what you can find on the hostel's free food shelf.

Entertainments = running (free), sun-bathing (free), reading (free book off the hostel's exchange shelf), writing/drawing (cost of a biro and a notepad - a cent or two per day), conversation with interesting people (included in price of hostel), likewise any TV viewing.

Thats AU$34 for one's day's simple but blissful living, or £14.50 in UK money! How many hours work is that? 2.5 hours on the minimum wage. Less if you're lucky enough to be able to command more cash for your labour.

Now, ok, maybe it's not as simple as that. An airflight from the UK to Australia is a hefty price (besides being desperately bad for the environment, something I'll deal with on this blog some other day). But if you work out the cost of a round the world/return ticket of approximately £1000, across 365 days... Comes out as £2.74/day! That's less than a daily commute costs just about anywhere in the UK, unless you walk to and from work.

And yeah sure, if you want to be super pernickety, there are other costs: The clothes on your back. Running trainers and shorts. Deodorant, soap, shampoo, toothbrush... etc etc. The list goes on, but not indefinitely. With a minimal kit bag of essential gear (a lot of which can be picked up for free on the road from hostels' free-shelves or other travellers moving on), the cost spreads out very cheaply over several months of travel. Probably a lot cheaper than your lifestyle at home.

It certainly cost me a fraction of my lifestyle at home, and I'm not a particularly extravagant person. For somewhere in the region of £20/day, I was able to live my dream.

How Our Economy Is Killing The Earth

For a brilliantly informed and thought provoking series of articles on the relationships between the economy and the environment, follow the link to New Scientist, edition dated 16th October 2008, issue number 2678.

http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20026786.000-special-report-how-our-economy-is-killing-the-earth.html

Anti-Stuff

Been thinking about 'stuff' a lot lately. Cataclysmic economic difficulties across the globe have prompted all sorts of views and debate on the topic and its solution... To little ol' me, the message seems to boil down to... If you're lucky enough to still have money to spend, get out there and spend it! It's your duty to the economy - and by extension, your community, way of life, and the entire social order.

Unfortunately, this clashes big time with all the thinking, reading and living that I've been doing over the past year or so. I've been heading in a steadily anti-stuff direction all this time.

• Buying 'stuff' buggers up the environment - and for what? A brief buzz of acquisition, and then, too much junk and clutter lying round the house, and ending up in landfill.
• Having lots of 'stuff' weighs you down, mentally and physically. There's nothing like trying to backpack your way round the world, to make you get brutal on exactly what stuff is essential. I found that I'd prefer a light backpack and the ability to run for the bus/train, rather than lots of lovely clothes/laptops/gadgets/books - but an inability to lug it comfortably around with me. Plus when you've got lots of stuff, you've got to worry about how secure it is, what happens if you lose it, insuring it...
• Needing stuff means needing an ever-renewing ever-increasing money supply to buy the stuff. Which means working lots. Once I quit work I found, after a bit of an adjustment period, that I preferred having loads of time to run/read/write/paint/soak in the sun/think/hang out with friends. There's a certain level of cash that is necessary to earn - to meet the basic needs. But after that, to me, time seemed more valuable than nice gear.

I didn't work for 8 months last year. I lived off savings that I'd expected to last a maximum of 3 months. But they just seemed to stretch and stretch, as I simplified and streamlined my lifestyle and my needs. As I passed through hostels, I gradually shed clothes, books, shoes and gadgets. And in exchange, I got to train for a marathon, running 5-6 times a week, in some of the most stunning places in the world. It was heaven.

Anti-stuff. That's the way to go in every way. Except for the economy.

The Freedom Not To

Lately, I've been reading a lot of Tim Ferriss, AJ Hoge, Rolf Potts, Chris Guillebeau and similar. All guys who describe their routes to a particular pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: portable empires, 4 Hour Work Weeks, internet businesses.

They focus on how their business models have freed them to travel as much as they want, whenever they want, while still running their businesses and making their fortune... And how anyone can live the dream!

I like the dream. And there's no denying that I love to travel. But part of what I dream about, is the freedom not to have to keep wandering. I'd like the option to stay put, in a particular remote corner of the world, and build a life there. But remote corners of the world don't tend to have many jobs going...

And maybe that's going to be the key thing that saves me from a lifetime of wage slavery? I actually like my job, most of the time. Well, I love my work and I think it matters - though I could do without the bureaucracy and the corporate nonsense that comes with it. But I don't want to live here, in the city, for the rest of my days.

I want to combine the work that I care passionately about, with a place I care passionately about. 

In Love Again

I'm just back from a few days up north. I always get a shock as I drive up the coast, round the bends at Berriedale, and eventually emerge out onto the Causewaymire. Its bleak. There's nothing there. Weeks and months spent in the city shrinks my horizons; I get used to built-up streets and estates, hustle & bustle, advertising and traffic everywhere. There's always something in front of you, and it close up and in your face and noisy as hell usually.

Head up north, and the further you go, the less there is. Caithness in November, is a landscape blasted by gales and sleet. It's miles and miles of rolling moorland in dreich greys, browns, blues and purples. The wind turbines turn steadily, clustered against a wild backdrop of Morven and storm clouds. When I see it all for the first time in a while, it makes me gulp. Is this really the place I love and miss so much? I get out of the car, and am halfway knocked off my feet by the wind. Its bloody cold, and the hail stones sting. I hurry indoors, and close the door behind me.

But by the next morning, I am in love again. The sky rolls by ever changing, and creates unique moments of light that make my spirits sing. Three geese honk overhead in formation. The wind roars through the tops of the Braehour forestry. The moors unfurl ahead of me as I run out to Loch More. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, not in the whole wide world.

Duty To

It's our duty to the economy to buy more stuff. It's our duty to the environment to buy less stuff. Hmmm.

Impossible Goal

I've not blogged for a few weeks. I've been feeling tired and sluggish, and getting increasingly overwhelmed with work and the daily commute. I was letting it all get to me, and my little efforts to sort things out didn't seem to be making much difference. It took a while, but I finally came to the realisation that the only way to sort myself out, was to set myself an impossible goal. No spare minutes, let alone energy, in the day? Think I'll set myself a marathon!

So I have. The Lochaber Marathon on 19th April 2009. I've a good 6 months to train, which should be more than enough. And I can't wait to get stuck in.

No More Of The Counter-Productive

Sometimes, blogging becomes counter-productive. After the initial fizz of starting this blog, and putting the the thoughts into words for the first time, I found myself stuck. I'd gotten too busy thinking about the issues, reading about others' stories, thinking back on past experiences, and dreaming about the future. The distant future. Not next week or tomorrow, let alone today. Instead of getting up with the sunrise and going out for a jog, I was getting up and spending that time surfing the internet... Blogging got me deeper enmeshed in everything I've been fighting against!

So, here I am, I've not been exercising as much as I like to, and my body feels sluggish and tense. I've not been out into the wilds for weeks, and my mind feels brittle and grey just like all the city streets and concrete. Instead of freeing myself from wage slavery, I've been thinking overtime about work. Enough.

As of today, I'm going to sort myself out. Do! Don't think. What is one of the best things in my life? Running. So it's time for new targets, to get me back on track, and moving forwards.

My fitness is about rock bottom at the moment - barely chugging out more than a mile or two, a couple of times a week. But there are some damn good marathons and adventure events lurking over the horizon in 2009. Time to get training, time to get going again.

The Slow Food Manifesto

(Written by founding member Folco Portinari, on November 9, 1989).

"Our century, which began and has developed under the insignia of industrial civilization, first invented the machine and then took it as its life model. We are enslaved by speed and have all succumbed to the same insidious virus: Fast Life, which disrupts our habits, pervades the privacy of our homes and forces us to eat Fast Foods... A firm defense of quiet material pleasure is the only way to oppose the universal folly of Fast Life. May suitable doses of guaranteed sensual pleasure and slow, long-lasting enjoyment preserve us from the contagion of the multitude who mistake frenzy for efficiency..."

True, and the argument is not restricted to food. 'Fast Life' forces us to buy ever more things we don't need, to consume ever more information, to accept wage slavery as a fact of life, and to never ever have the time for the things that matter. Its speed over quality in every way.

The manifesto for the Slow Food movement could teach us a lot for a slower, more rewarding life in general.

Bliss On The Road

The heat in the Northern Territory makes me hot and bothered. Irritable, lazy, nippy. A signpost suggests a range of walks in the Kakadu National Park, all between 1km and 3km, and I drag my heels and if given the chance opt not to bother. In this heat, even 1.8km is too far...!

The mozzies infest the Cooinda campsite, so we retreat into our stinking hot van as night falls, and lie there, sweating in the nude, swiping and squashing the mosquitos that bounce along the ceiling. We are on high-alert and tense to their high-pitched whine. By sleep-time the roof, curtains and sheets are pitted with mosquito corpses and dark stains of our own blood... When we waken with the dawn, the mosquito screen over the window is seething with mozzies, all waiting to get in and gorge on us for breakfast.

The driving is easy, out here in the Northern Territory. They have long, clear, mostly straight roads, with light traffic, that is either going as slow as me or has no problem overtaking. We zip along at a comfortable 80km/hour - the excuse of fuel economy lets me drive a full 50km/hour below the speed limit with no criticism or exasperation from others. The air-con blasts, and we're comfortable - till we have to stop. As soon as the engine comes to a stand-still, thick heat fills the van.

An ice-cold beer out of the eski is my treat, when we come to a final stop at whatever campsite we decide to call home for a night or two. Cold and crisp and refreshing, and the nail in the coffin for any ideas of more driving. I love it. It goes straight to my knees, my joints generally, and I feel woozy-relaxed.

I like this hippy lifestyle. I like not having much stuff, and I could certainly still get rid of more of what I've got. I like swimming in natural swimming holes in the morning, reading my book, writing, sketching or dozing in the afternoons. I love going out for a run in the cool of the mornings before the sun burns orange through the tree canopy.

We sit about and pipedream our futures - travels through Canada, New Zealand, Chile, Ireland and on... I suddenly feel unworried. I could happily 'drop out' after all. I'd manage to find stints of work of some kind. I'm not that interested in accruing lots of the latest and bestest stuff, and that means my hard-earned cash will buy me a whole lot more travel or other simple pleasures...

I'm enjoying this lazy life, but I wouldn't want that to be all there is for the rest of my days. I'm pursuing a reduction in stress and a truer sense of freedom, but I don't want to be idle.

It's freedom to do more, not less, that I'm after.

Image by NeilsPhotography

No rush

Mid-morning and everyone is out - at work, or at school, or at the shops. I have the place to myself. The rain clouds clear, and the ground begins to dry before my eyes. I sit out the backdoor and drink my first cup of tea of the morning. This is a good example of bliss, and perfection. I put the washing on, and I talk to RockRock - who slevers all over my trousers. I tell RockRock what I'm thinking - that this is perfect and I am happy. He looks up at me with big brown eyes, and slevers some more on my trousers. 'What shall I do today?' I ask the dog. He just nuzzles into me. A flock of cockatoos squawk overhead. A pair of galahs pass over. A tiny black and yellow pointy-beaked bird flutters and dives for insects, lands on the tin fence, tap dances for a moment, then flits off again. I soak in the sunshine while I think about it. This is perfect, and there's no rush.

An Essay On Gumption

Something I've lacked, so far, is gumption. I've always been an agreeable sort of a person; sensible, hardworking, and conscientious. Particularly in my younger days, I also had dogged endurance in spades. I got through 13 years of schooling using an unsurpassable 'keep your head down' approach, despite being in a relentless state of fear and dread for most of it. I didn't skive, I didn't rebel, I never scrapped, and I did fine academically. I hated nearly every minute of it, but I endured it steadily and unquestioningly, and most of all, I never ever let on.

I'm now into my 30s, and while I've seen my endurance skills falter, I continue to play my cards so close to my chest that no-one else would even know I was in the game! It uses a lot of concentration, energy and strategy to be on the defensive as much as I am. I quake at the thought of exposure, I can't bear to let people know my dreams, because I hate it when I'm either cautioned against being 'reckless' or I'm mocked or criticised for being 'unrealistic.' And I definitely cringe at the thought of the chorus of 'I told you so' if it all goes wrong. That is why I am an avid reader of the Hobopoet - because reckless and unrealistic is what it's all about.

The satisfaction, excitement, focus and fulfilment I found while away travelling was a revelation. But to keep doing it, to pursue it onwards - that's going to take gumption. I'm still keeping it all under wraps because I'm not ready to hear what friends or family might say. I don't want the wind taken out of my sails, unless I know I can propel myself on regardless.

But wouldn't it all be so much easier if I was upfront about it all? So friends and family would know where I was coming from, and where I was trying to go? So I wouldn't have to put so much energy into covering my tracks and minimising my real emotional investment. It's hard work pretending I don't care, when really my dreams are consuming my every waking moment I feel so passionate and inspired by them.

I'm not going to achieve the life I'm dreaming of by continuing the pretence that all I am and all I want conforms with the daily grind.

Searching Out Others

"Great feats are rarely achieved by individuals in isolation; more often it is a team effort. A team which understands its strengths and weaknesses and pulls together to face the challenge will achieve the seemingly impossible." Robert Swan.

I thought I was alone in all this. I thought it was only me who struggled with the daily grind, and instinctively felt that there must be another way. It was only browsing the internet that made me realise that that might not be the case, and that there are tribes and networks of individuals scattered all over the world who have similar ideas and drives to mine.

Linking in to those tribes helps enormously; searching out others who are doing, or have done, the same thing. And 'the same thing' encompasses all sorts of elements - people who are writers, artists, or entrepeneurs in their field... People who have sussed out simple living or 'voluntary simplicity' as a means of freeing themselves... Explorers and travellers who demonstrate all the different ways of getting out into the world. Thinkers and bloggers who rant about the deeper ideological and cultural issues that underpin how the status quo is maintained, and what it takes to break with the norm. The individuals who are at the various stages of their own struggles and journeys. And the friends and family who not only show how massive progress can be made from everyday beginnings, but also support and contribute to my own journey more than they know.

Searching out others is essential on the journey.

Who's Got The Power?

Trudy from the recruitment agency calls me again! She keeps trying to fix me up with work. I'm not sure if I want to work. I want to know what the pay will be - if it's worth my while. I want to know exactly what the work entails, and what level of experience they're looking for, and does it match closely with the experience I've got. I want to know what skills I might gain from it, and if that fits with my evolving game plan.

Something magical happens. Something that has never happened to me before. She starts trying to persuade me. She offers me a sweetener if I'll take the job. She almost, very nearly, begs me to take it. She needs me to take it more than I need it. She's the one who is desperate, not me! I feel I've got a power I've never had before. I could push it, I could negotiate for a sweeter deal, for something more on my own terms... I've heard other people talk about this, but I've never had the gumption, or confidence, or security to try it. I've always been desperate for any job I go for. I've always made myself super-agreeable, with the attitude that I can make myself whatever it is that they're looking for. And I've always been up against competition that makes me quake. I've always been pitching outside my comfort zone. The power has always totally been with 'them' - the employers with a vacancy. This is something new, and I like it.

What's more amazing is that even when I turn down the job, she keeps calling me. Another job that might suit... I sense in her voice a feeling that I'm all too familiar with - the 'I have to keep chasing, even though I'd rather not.' Don't get me wrong, I know she's not chasing me because I'm excellent at my job - I've a feeling she wouldn't know if I was good, bad or indifferent. That's not the point here.

I also wonder, being choosy, looking for what is truly right for me, not just any old thing... How does that come across? I call up the employer, and have a good chat with a couple of the staff on the team. It's the most assertive and enjoyable job-related phone conversation I've ever had. I get a really good feeling off them. I don't take the job - I don't have the skills and experience they need.

I walk away feeling great. I've made the right decision, for the right reasons. I've not been desperate, I've not sold my soul for a paycheque, I've not conned myself with long-term strategic rationalisations, I've not pretended to be something I'm not.

My 20s hae been all about striving and pretending. I'd like to start just doing and being.

Don't Go For The Job

I got an email from the locum agency, about a potential job in Launceston. I got awfully excited - go back to Tasmania, earn some money, gain valuable skills. I emailed back, asking for more information. Then I got thinking... My year out travelling has been a phenomenal opportunity - taking time out, not having to clock-in to my job 5 days/week, seeing and experiencing amazing landscapes. Over the course of this year, a bit of a dream has blossomed - to pursue my creative potential in earnest. Each week, each day, this dream has grown arms and legs. I find I'm more enthusiastic, confident, with more conviction and direction and passion than ever before. Vague daydreamy notions are gaining sharper edges, they're clearer, and more possible. The ideas in my head are coming easier and easier, in rich and thrilling detail, and connections are fizzing up in front of my eyes left, right and centre. It's an incredible journey.

It also has to be said that a lot of this wonderous stuff has bubbled up out of bored and frustrated periods. The meat and the content and the inspiration all come out of the people I've met and the things I've seen and done - in Tasmania, on the Great Ocean Road, across the Northern Territory. But buckling down and doing something with it... Making the space - in time, in my head, in my journals - to sit down and see what emerges from a blank page. That has come from being skint, physically knackered, and bored silly in a youth hostel in Melbourne or a friend's house in Adelaide. If I was out working, none of this thrillling stuff would be happening in my head or in my journals....

Maybe I need to be conscious of the trade-off. Being skint and less than fully engaged in employment, may be a pre-requisite to success in creative or other self-directed endeavours.

I don't go for the job in Launceston.

A Punch to the Solar Plexus

As I trawl the internet in the library, I tap in a search for artists in the Scottish Highlands. The results come back with Shelagh Swanson (see links). Wow! I knew her at school! I click through her website, and am flabbergasted by her work. It's fantastic. I am so impressed.

And there's another, stronger emotion flooding my insides. I'm not sure what it is. It feels almost like a punch to the solar plexus, my heart is beating rapidly, and my head is almost spinning. For goodness sake, what is this?! It could almost be... Panic? Regret? It's a realisation that the things I privately dreamed of, but put away as childish, unrealistic, or not practical - they're do-able. Not only that, but real people out there are doing them.

An empty, hollow discomfort niggles me as I walk back home for lunch. She's living my dream. The dream I packed up in a box, and shelved for a myriad of reasons. The force of the emotion I'm feeling surprises me. I thought I'd made my peace with my decision, such as it was, made by a daft 17 year old in the throes of a slightly late teenage angst. Not to go to Art School, or to pursue other creative avenues. I had a whole raft of explanations and justifications for it - good, genuine, true and accurate all of them.

• If it was meant to be, I'd have got my arse in gear and done my portfolio instead of mooning about, getting drunk, and going off to do other things.
• If it was something I'd truly wanted to do, I'd be doing my own creative work, regularly, in my own time. And most of the time, I'm not. So I clearly don't have the dedication for it.
• I probably don't have the talent for it either. Sure I was good at school, but that's 'big-fish, small-pond' stuff. I'm probably rather mediocre, and thinking otherwise is embarrassing, and has the potential to be humiliating.
• It's just as well I didn't, because there's no jobs in it. It's not realistic to think I could've made a living out of it.
• I love many of the things I've done instead - languages, travel, teaching, health.
• There's a future to think of, hopefully involving settling down and having a family one day. That'll make home ownership, pensions, security so much more important. So I can't go swanning off on half-baked plans to follow dreams of art, or whatever else.

There, see, loads of good reasons. So, why the emotional upheaval? Is it the realisation that all the negative, pragmatic and 'realistic' voices I've listened to weren't necessarily right. I did give in and accept, at some point, the message that I should put away the childish arty-farty nonsense, and buckle down to a real job. That there was no future in anything I might dream of. Shelagh's website makes me realise - that wasn't necessarily true.

But then, seeing Shelagh's website has shown me that it's possible! I've not missed any boats, and it's not too late. Everything I've done in the meantime isn't wasted, because for all that I have found myself buckling to expectations and trapped in wage-slavery at times... other times I've done the right things that I've been passionate about. I can develop those things, enrich them. I feel a fizzy rush of excitement. Adrenalin. I visualise fragments of my dream life, and I see they're all do-able.

Living and working close to the outdoors.
Running, walking, hiking, cycling lots.
Being largely self-employed and self-directed. A life of late nights and early mornings, working hours fuelled by passion, discovery, creativity.
High intensity stints of work, followed by periods for travel and meandering.
Being part of a community and network of people with similar passions and principals.

It might well be 'unrealistic' but its worth striving for.

Works Better, Not Having

I think it works better, not having. I used to buy books, and magazines, and prints of writers and artists who's work I admire. I think it's important to support the work of talented people, and its nice to have these things at home to browse. But having on the bookshelf doesn't mean 'having' in my mind - purchasing the object doesn't help me know the content of the book any better, or to internalise the beauty or technique of the artwork.

When I travel, I'm in no position to buy books of interest, or cards and images from the exhibitions I find amazing. I can't go printing off all the gems I find on the internet, and I can't pay for the time to copy things down word-for-word, or even shorthand. I'm forced to just look at the things I see that are wonderful, to read the information I want or need. Pay attention to it. Remember and absorb what I can, and then walk away. Later, I might take the time to write or sketch it out. I'm surprised at how much I remember, and it's interesting what comes out. Not exactly what I saw or read, more like something strongly-influenced but new, a creative fusion. And then ideas bubble and fizz and increase exponentially! It's magical.

When I'm in full-time employment, I rarely have the time to browse things, then let thoughts stew before writing or sketching them out. But I do have the money to buy the book. I build a great collection with little depth. For greater depth and personal creativity, it works better, not having.

Be Bold

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it" Goethe.

Shortly after arriving in Japan, I became good friends with an American guy who'd also come to Japan to teach English. As the weeks passed, he found himself chronically underemployed and his efforts to do his job, and do it well, were met with both apathy and sabotage. Unsurprisingly, his initial enthusiasm, passion and drive gradually... faded. He became restless, jaded and frustrated.

One day, in the depths of the Japanese winter, he packed his bag, grabbed his passport, left his car at the airport, and went. He didn't hand in any resignation, or advise his schools in advance. He didn't tell anyone amongst his friends or colleagues in Japan. Quite simply, Monday morning dawned, and he was gone.

His leaving like that was dynamite. His employers were furious, outraged and flummoxed, though I believe that this was only because the whole thing didn't reflect well on them. They were only mildly inconvenienced by his actions, but acutely embarrassed.

It was the reaction amongst friends and peers in the ex-pat teaching community that really struck me;

• There was some concern for him - is he ok?!
• There was a sense of loss - he'd be missed.
• Some felt his behaviour was irresponsible, immature and selfish. That he'd treated his employers with unacceptable disrespect. And that he'd done no favours for everyone else left behind. That we'd all be tarred with the same brush, we'd all be penalised for his actions, and it would exacerbate problems that many others were having in their schools. Disapproval and condemnation reigned. (It should be noted that the people who held these views were mostly the ones who were doing well and aiming high within the system).
• But the majority expressed a hesitant but heartfelt admiration. Perhaps even envy. He'd broken the rules, and he'd done the thing that many of us dreamed of doing - but never would. Why wouldn't we? Because we'd internalised so many reasons not to do anything radical and true. Each and every one of us had a well-honed work ethic, or sense of responsibility, conformity, commitment. We didn't want to attract disapproval, disappoint others, or gain a bad reputation. We had practical reasons like financial debt, or too many possessions that we couldn't just up and leave like he had done. All of which ensured that none of the rest of us would be so bold, no matter how demoralising and utterly pointless our working lives became.

He'd dared to be bold, and to act where the rest of us just dreamed. And the consequences? I don't know much about all the other ex-pat teachers who kept their heads down and slogged on. But I do know that that particular American guy has gone on to realise many of his dreams, and continues to inspire others to do the same.
It seems that its true, that boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Image by Mihai Japan

Personal Priorities & Principals

Running in magnificent places.

Running on a daily basis.

Wilderness, countryside, the natural world, the great outdoors.

Creativity, writing, art and thought.

Community, family and friends.

Minimal financial entrapment.

Voluntary Simplicity

Autonomous self-directed work.

An independent and sustainable income.

Time and energy for all of the above.

And anyway, what's with this 'work/life' dichotomy?! Are they really two mutually exclusive states?

How NOT To Get the Work/Life Balance

The lifestyle sections in newspapers and women's interest magazines are full of features along the lines of:

• How to Get The New Work/Life Balance!
• 7 Ways to Stress Less, Do More.
• I Lost My Mortgage, & Gained A Life.
• Work Less, Without Guilting Out.

(Red Magazine (UK), October 2008 edition)

It's clearly not just the odd-bod hobopoets and anti-wage slave idealists who know there's something very wrong with the way we live our lives today. The knowledge is now mainstream.

But every reader who browses the features stated above, will also then turn the page and flick through another umpteen pages advertising objects (clothes, makeup, furniture, accessories) that also promise happiness. The same edition of Red magazine followed the above articles with:

• New Season Shopping Special: 60 pages of buy now wear forever fashion!

Contradiction anyone?

What's It All About?

This blog is all about my struggle for more freedom, autonomy and pleasure in life. My trail running is one symbol and experience of that, as is travel generally, writing, art, and family. I believe that there is a whole lot more to life than the 9-5, the daily commute, home ownership and that mythical pension pot at the end of the tunnel. If you're happy with that, and some people are, that's fine. But I know that I'm not, and I know that there are others out there like me.

For years I'd been desperately unhappy and frustrated in that straight-jacketed world view. Then, just over a year ago, it all got too much, and I opted out. I pulled together some savings (supposedly meant for a deposit on a house) and took a Career Break. I went travelling, to see what'd happen... and do you know what? The only things that happened were wonderful. What I'd thought was going to be horrendously risky - career suicide, the end of my chances of ever getting on the property ladder, and frighteningly lonely - turned out to be no big deal. I rediscovered positivity, health, and energy. I made friends who also believed that a mortgage wasn't the be all and end all. I began to write again, paint again, draw again, dream again - my creativity re-grew its wings and took flight. I took pleasure in the moment, every moment. And I upped my running from a burl round the park to ease out work stresses, to long heavenly explorations of some of the most beautiful places in the world. It was magnificent.

Now of course, I'm back. A Career Break only lasts so long, and here I am, back within the daily grind, like as if I'd never been away. Except, it is different this time. Direct experimentation proved to me that there is more to life, and that it is realistic to pursue it. I now have direction, hope, and determination.

I am on my way.

What A Life!

I read a review of Haruki Murakami and his new book, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running."

'... This is a man who goes to bed early, gets up before dawn, writes for a few hours, runs for a few more, then listens to some records before turning in again...'

What a life!

Too Canny For Any Of That Nonsense

Last year, things were not too good at work. Morale was exceptionally low, staff shortages were chronic, the new pay deal was felt to be a slap in the face. And so the management paid for us all to go to a 'motivational day.' The speaker was a guy who'd worked in the same field we do, suffered burnout, then rose from the ashes, all phoenix-like. He ranted about the overwhelming negativity of our culture, the language we use that oppresses us, and the lifestyles that entrap us. He pointed out the harm we do to ourselves and each other by bending to those pressures, and then the shame that we all go on to re-inforce those pressures on others. He waxed lyrical about inspiration, creativity, vision, and dreams (loosely, very loosely, within a work context). And he worked the crowd big time - he had us all eating out of his hand, he had us excited, energised, enthused. It was a grand day out, and as we left the conference centre, I saw friends and colleagues with their eyes shining and their hopes and dreams re-ignited.

Next morning, at the water coolers, people talked over the day with delight. Mostly about the irony of our employer paying for us all to go see a speaker who urged us to follow our dreams! Mass resignation anyone?

But by a couple of mornings later, the talk had turned scornful and cynical. People sneered and dismissed. He'd played us with sales technique and charisma, but strip that away and it all boiled down to a load of unrealistic clap-trap. With a hint of smugness, it was agreed that we were all too canny for any of that nonsense. No half-arsed salesman would be putting one over on us. And that was the end of that.

Once again, everyone buckled back down to the graft, and lunchbreaks continued to be long drawn out grumbles about pay and conditions. I didn't buck the trend. But I did squirrel myself off onto a computer, and looked into company policy on Career Breaks...

This Is Contentment

This is contentment. I'm holed up in a funny wee cabin-on-stilts that is my four bunk dorm at Lorne's YHA. No one else is here right now. The heater behind me is on, low and steady. Outside, it is a damp chilly autumnal afternoon - in June! Australia's seasons disorientate me utterly. A kookaburra squats on a branch down below, and sulpher-crested cockatoos squawk raucously as they gather on the decking outside the hostel's kitchens.

This morning, I ran 3 miles along the beach at Lorne and over the rocks. At the turning point, stood on a spur of hollowed-out honeycombed rock, I watched the surf roll in, and the sun rise behind the lighthouse away off at Airey's Inlet. I caught myself feeling invincible.

After breakfast, I packed an apple and a banana, and marched up to Erskine Falls and back. A 13 and a half mile roundtrip, up steep hills and through grey chilled eucalyptus forests and fern-tree gullies. Along the way, I picked up a smooth branch as a walking stick, and bashed the undergrowth as I went, uncharacteristically concerned about snakes and isolation. As I walked, layer upon layer of exploring memories separated out, letting me back in on chinks of exquisite past expeditions, before concertina-ing back in on themselves. I was transported back to the backwoods of Aomori in Northern Japan. Back to the rainforest guches of Maui, damp dripping trails, my feet scuffing tree litter as I pass, on my own, as ever. Back to the misted hills of the Scottish Highlands. Wineglass Bay in Tasmania, and even the Cremorne-Mosman path in Sydney!

I am an explorer.

It doesn't matter to me that my explorations take me along trails that countless others have walked before me. Why would that matter? I gather my maps and provisions, and I head off into what for me is the unknown, to see for myself what's there. I push myself, and I'm glad my body doesn't fail me. And the return is always one of triumph and well-deserved rewards - a scalding hot shower, a steaming mug of tea, a cake where the calories are already accounted for, or a plain buttie that hunger transforms ino fine food fit for a king.

This is contentment. This is all there needs to be.

On Liberation

One of the most liberated years of my life was a year spent teaching English in rural Japan. It wasn't an easy year. I had both euphoric highs and some of my most desperate lows ever. So why such liberation? I believe it came down to finding myself outside the usual social pressures to conform.

Japan might seem like a strange place for liberation. Isn't Japan renowned for rigid social structures and group cultural norms? "The nail that sticks up gets hammered down" and all that? Yes, but I didn't fit in, and I couldn't fit in. Not really. I tried to join in, and I worked hard to carve a role for myself in my workplace and community. But while I could do that, I couldn't belong. A 'gaijin' is just that - an outside person.

It took a while. I had to get used to looks, and pointing, and exclamations in my direction - often simply for just being a foreigner - something I couldn't change or adjust, and which in the long run probably helped. It certainly helped that I didn't know enough of the Japanese language to understand specific comments. Incomprehension freed me from the sting of people's words. And as I grew more accustomed, I also found it rarely hurt as much as I would have expected it to. My fear of disapproval, disagreement or condemnation proved... excessive.

I had to become accustomed to getting it wrong, no matter how hard I tried. In one short year, there was no way I could master the subtleties and subtexts that riddle any foreign culture, so I blundered all over the place, often oblivious to my errors and faux pas. And I gradually found that that too wasn't all that big a deal. I could just roll with it.

After the initial distress that all this caused me... after much weeping and gnashing of teeth... it became liberating!

Outside the norm despite myself, I began to make the most of my new found status, and the opportunities it afforded. I did more of what I wanted to do, more of what I believed in, and more of what I personally thought made sense - not just what was expected of me.

Like what?
I walked barefoot through town.
I socialised as extravagantly as I liked.
I quit following the pointless rules at work.
I climbed trees!
I biked way up into the mountains, and ran remote trails, on my own.
I said outright what I thought, what I liked, and what I didn't.
I danced in my living room, and played on the swings in the school grounds.

These are small things, unexceptional things. Childish, playful, enjoyable things. These weren't rebellions, and I was not trying to be radical. They were just examples of me doing what came naturally to me, instead of trying to do or say what the majority, or those in authority, expected. I guess some people may read this list and think it laughably trivial. But I'm not describing revolution, I'm describing a small personal liberation.

And what were the consequences of my actions? Increased freedom, confidence, self-respect and delight in the world.

The First Big Step

Its a big step, this switching from the privacy of my journals to the (potentially!?) public forum of a blog. It's daunting, but necessary. I've been writing away to myself for years, playing with gut feelings and vague notions on page after white page. Devouring the stories and opinions of writers and bloggers whose words ring true for me, reflecting on their messages, applying them to me and mine. And then... putting the journals back in the cupboard and getting on with the same old same old.

All that privacy was necessary to start to get to grips with my instincts - slightly unconventional, mildly subversive, potentially non-conformist! But privacy has only carried me so far. Until now, I've lacked the gumption - to not only decide what i think, but also to say it out loud.

So that's what this blog is all about. Putting gut feelings into coherent words, and then putting those words out there.

And what exactly am I on about?

Freedom, Autonomy and Bliss. Passion and Meaning. Running, Travel, and Exploration. Creativity, Sensation, and Simplicity.

Wonderful things, that need chasing.

A blog for dreams of running, dreams of the wilderness, dreams of creativity, and dreams of making it all happen.