November 2018

Eventually we stop running

Running away from awful situations is a good survival strategy. It works, simply because in situations of dire stress or difficulty, sometimes it is the best we can do. And I have run away many times, from lots of situations that tired me out or that I could not handle. But running away is only a survival strategy because eventually we have to ask ourselves, “What do I stand for?” and stand for it. Eventually, we stop running.

People who typically run away might suppose that life’s consequences will range from disappointing to catastrophic, and the sooner they outrun such dire likelihoods the better. Being the inheritor of a Presbyterian cynicism with its folk wisdom such as, “If we’re spared”, “It’ll all end in tears” and “mark my words…” in my neck of the woods, being positive and cheerful is sometimes likened to the kind of naivety that is simply begging for trouble. It can be hard to remember that not only does every situation the potential to end well, but sometimes, “bad” outcomes are superb teachers.

As I finally stop running and stand and wait for whatever happens, I don’t have to talk about it. I don’t have to share my intimate thoughts. I can just notice the change. Perhaps, once again, this is the result of ageing: we tend to run when we are younger and fitter, but even as we do that, we are admitting that it is a temporary strategy and that “one day” we will sort everything out. So, maybe that day has come, and it’s an opportunity to do all the things I’ve been dreaming about, take those chances, while I’m still fit enough to enjoy them.

And we do have to stand up for what we believe in, otherwise, what is the point? We can’t always take refuge in daytime television and bags of popcorn.

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A different kind of harvest

I believe in environmental sustainability, and I believe in the essential capacity of most people to overcome challenges. So I’m not too gloomy about our future prospects, though many people and organisations paint a bleak picture about the future of this planet.

But I have a slight problem with those who say I must cut down my carbon footprint and do more to live sustainably. Sustainable options usually involve the exchange of convenience – a car to drive to work, a plane to fly us to Australia – for something less impactful, that takes longer and gives a new pace to life – so we take the bus to work, or we walk – and this I do understand. Except that I already live quite a modest life, and, as far as I can, I live low-impact. I cut down my use of water and turn out the lights, I eat only a little meat, I don’t do dairy or sugar or beef or white flour, and I have clothes in my wardrobe that I’ve had for two decades. The list goes on.

Yes, I would love to do more to reduce the impact of my life on the environment. And yet, the time it would take me to go swimming, riding or shopping without a car would make these activities a practical impossibility. I would have to hire taxis, and how environmental is that?

I’m glad my daughter can leap up and down the stairs like a gazelle. Some days it takes me ten minutes just to reach the front door. So the injunction to her to cycle or walk might be a minor inconvenience. To me, that kind of injunction means I would live almost exclusively at home. Which is not how I wish to live.

So the question becomes, what can I do to help with the environment in such a way that I do not feel personally and socially compromised almost to the point of atrophy?

I went out to pick brambles recently, and there were none. Someone has cut back all the bushes, and anyway, it is far late in the season: the warm weather may be deceptive, but I can’t cheat the calendar.  So instead, in a different kind of harvest, I filled a bag with litter, recycled most of it and threw lots of shredded plastic into the bin. That is something I can do, and do regularly, to help the environment, gain some exercise and fresh air, without surrendering more of my normal life to the cause of environmentalism.

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I’m sure in a year’s time…

It is a challenge to keep faith with our ambitions when there seems to be so little tangible reason why we should. I’m sure in a year’s time, all the reasons why, will become clear…

Life and its routines continue much as usual, with the added dimension of seeing my mother much more often, of helping her, while also helping myself to see the advantages of her society. And her lessons to me – not always the ones I expect – help me to prioritise the necessary disciplines of writing, blogging and planning future projects.

We may say that, in aiming to do what we most yearn to do, it is a good idea to steer clear of politics, bad news, projects or people that drain our resources. And of course, I agree. But I also know that there is value to be gained even from those things that I don’t like. Thank God. Almost everything that happens – even the sad, the exhausting and the dubious – carries within it very valuable lessons.

I say, for example, that I am “tired of doing the housework all the time,” but in fact, that is merely me, telling myself that I have got used to doing too much for other people; and that if I have turned housework into a constant bugbear, it is up to me to change that into something more manageable.

If I don’t like spending my time doing mind-numbing jobs, reading mediocre books, listening to music that does nothing for me, or watching violent movies, there is a very simple solution. I can stop. I don’t “have” to do anything for anyone that they are capable of doing for themselves. I can stop (!!) doing laundry, making meals, organising diaries, remembering stuff. Because, by doing that kind of thing, I am actually implying – so subtly that I haven’t even realised that is what I have been doing – that other people can’t do it for themselves. A belief and a message which is destructive and entirely counter-productive. How, then, can I get more help with stuff I don’t like doing? Stop doing it.

So the things we say we don’t like, give us very valuable lessons about how we see our lives panning out: an increasingly important message for me when I feel that my days as an independent, professional person are numbered. Having had a very sore back for the best part of two weeks, I have been saddened to reflect that when I had a healthy back and better mobility, I did nothing much with that, except lots of things for everyone else! How disempowering my behaviour has been, to me and to others.

Instead of simply choosing to gravitate towards what I enjoy doing, I have used the bully-stick to do stuff that others would so much rather do for themselves. But if it takes a bad back, a sore head and some painful, sleepless nights to see a way to do what I prefer, it is worth it. Which is why I say, all life contains lessons.

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What I have learned

It’s interesting, in the midst of life’s tribulations, what I have learned, and how lessons suddenly distil to small realities: when I fall over my walking stick – FGS! – which I am deploying because my sore back is recovering after I blew my nose – FGS! – I have a choice. In the midst of confusion, boredom and tiredness, I can either (a) give in to a sense of hopelessness, bemoan my fate and wish myself elsewhere; or (b) I can laugh at the absurdity of everything. It often boils down to a simple choice: I can laugh, so I do.

What use do we make of the things that happen to us? We can worry about what has been, and what will be; we can fret about wasted chances, mistakes, boredom and the horrible repetition of small tasks that drives us up the wall; we can recognise that everything that happens is a gift that we are squandering and feel bad about that and filled with regret; OR we can decide that life is always a gift, and that nothing that happens needs be a squander or a waste, because there are lessons to be learned in everything: the good, the bad and the ugly.

Believe me, when I am getting myself up from my umpteenth fall in the last few weeks – a sign, typically, that all is not well – it helps to remember that we are unerringly free. An instant cure for despair, you might think, or the ramblings of a deluded fool, perhaps.

I don’t care how solace comes to me, so long as it works its magic and allows me to keep going for another day. So I drop all the regrets, the worry and the hopelessness that threatens to swamp me, and I simply relax, knowing that all is well and that every smile makes a difference to what happens next.

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