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.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
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.
"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.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Bliss On The Road
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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:
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:
- 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?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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!
'... 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...
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.
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.
Monday, September 15, 2008
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.
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.
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.
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