Somewhere becoming rain

We tried and failed to see it. We went up to the roof of the building. But we suspect it was on the other side of a building. But the glow of the sun beyond the horizon, and the places turning over head and heading into the gold-orange distance of West London was beautiful. And worth it on its own. So all’s well that ends well.

I’ve tried writing poetry before, and always never get very far. I have written some in the past, but it’s always a bit more rubbish than I had hoped it was going to be, and I generally lose interest pretty quickly.

I hold two contradictory positions on poetry. One is that I think it is what could make someone like me almost the happiest I can be (or let’s say satisfied rather than happy). The other is that it is so meaningless and ineffectual, and that I could spend my life mastering it, but it won’t change anything important; it would be time wasted.

These are both such extreme ends of the possible spectrum! But I tend to think in such extremes in other areas of my life as well. Not the most helpful of habits.

The first point of view comes from the fact I think a lot about life (a very vague statement) and have a very strong emotional life. I notice so many things around me that I think most other people don’t (that has been verified by partners). I think in funny, silly ways about odd things. I love words and the precision and play that’s possible within language. I’m not saying all that means I’d make a great poet; but certainly they are helpful ingredients I suspect.

On the other hand, I can be quite nihilistic about the point of art, including poetry. I wonder how useful it can be in a world that seems to be getting more angry, more selfish, more caught in narcissistic self-absorption. I know there are many arguments against this, but it tends to be feelings based.

Plus, of course, it’s hard to move beyond writing drivel. That can take years and years of practice. And I’ve always found that process incredibly painful. That’s probably the real blocker; the fear of failure. I somehow expect to be good from the outset.

An obvious answer to the anti-effort sentiment of the last two paragraphs is to lower the bar. And to try my best to fight the eternal battle I seem to have been waging for much of my adult life…that it is okay to do something purely because it’s fun! Sounds silly I know, but I get so easily caught up in immediately thinking about getting so good at something that I’ll be publishing it or performing it, and that if what I am doing is not leading to that, then it’s pointless. Of course to some extent you always want your work to be shared and enjoyed and thought well of by others. But the fact that you could do something mostly for the pure enjoyment of doing it, is something I seem to have a problem with. I always want it to be leading somewhere. Instead of enjoying it in the moment.

Perhaps I can use this blog to practice setting the bar low on poetry as well (I mean as well as setting the bar low on publishing content in general). It can just be odd little snippets in free form to start with. Or prose poetry. I can just make some posts that, and see how it feels. Even something silly like dada-esque nonsense. Let’s see.

This low bar post naming convention’s going to get boring fast!

Initially I am building this habit by writing often and quickly, without waiting for anything interesting to say. I haven’t yet got into the swing of capturing ideas throughout the day.

If I had to list the things I am interested in writing about, it would include the following (in no particular order):

1. Nature and wildlife
2. Poetry
3. Literature
4. Life (vague I know)
5. Art/beauty/poignant things (also vague)
6. Interesting things (vaguest yet!); here I mean could be interesting little stories or facts, maybe from history, maybe from science
7. Travel
8. Humour
9. Maybe some short stories
10. Maybe some political/social justice kind of things (charities, thoughts on working life)

I should start incorporating these topics into my posts, so that I get used to writing my opinions, even in a badly argued manner; again, to set the bar low and just get used to the discomfort of putting things out there.

Very quick one today, as I am occupied this evening, but don’t want to break my streak.

I’ve just started reading So Long, See You Tomorrow, a novel by American author William Maxwell. I’d never heard of him until seeing the book recommended by Waterstones staff (a bookshop chain here in the UK). The new Penguin Vintage version of it is beautiful to look at, please give it a web search. It features Six Red Wagons by Adalberto Ortiz (https://adalbertoortizart.com/REPRESENTATIONAL-PAINTINGS/Six-Red-Wagons).

It’s a short book, so I’m almost a third of the way through, even though I feel like I’ve only just started.

It is simply and delicately written, so far. Hard to describe really; I don’t have the language to describe the prose style more elegantly, especially as I’m in a rush right now. His description of the character’s childhood, in the early pages, is so poignant and sad, and so accurately captures the way children think; especially in the face of certain kinds of events (I won’t divulge more).

Anyway, it’s possibly not a good idea to recommend a book before finishing it, but sometimes I like to live life by the seat of my pants!

Starting a little earlier tonight. But still not with a huge amount to say. At least not from the outset. Starting to write actually seems to unblock things, and something starts to come out.

A very blustery, rainy day here today. Definitely an Autumn day. Cosy. I like it. I like the cosiness, the jumpers, the soups, the sloe gin, the fireworks, the wind and rain, the smell of wet leaves and earth (“an exhalation arises from the black earth” – James Joyce, Epiphanies).

Not such a huge fan of leaving work when it’s already dark, but there you go. We are seasonal creatures, so it’s good to actually absorb the seasons and roll with them. I know other people say this as well, but we try our best, in the modern world, to live outside of the seasons; we think we’re above nature. We can get strawberries or avocados in any season, and have bright light at two in the morning, but we’re missing something when we try to ignore the outside and ignore how our biology is linked to it.

I think it extends beyond the merely biological, though. And this is something I tend to forget when it applies to my own life: I think it’s fine for us to let our habits and routines ebb and flow with the seasons as well. I tend to be a bit harsh on myself when I start something, keep it going for a month or two, then drop it. But when I’m being a bit more reflective, I realise I should go a bit easier on myself. Naturally we do more outdoorsy things in summer, and are likely to be more active; naturally we’re drawn to the indoors, to more sedentary activities in the winter. It’s great to try to buck the trend and head out into the fresh, cold air for a hike, but generally the pattern is of drawing in, in the darker, colder months; and of course that has knock on effects on the whole of your life. Maybe you see fewer people in the autumn and winter. Maybe you read and knit and vegetate a bit more. Maybe you bake more and eat more.

It’s life-enriching to have your yearly cycle of habits and routines and traditions. We have them collectively anyway: Halloween, Bonfire night (I’m from the UK), Christmas. But it’s a nice idea for you personally to say, ah yes, this is how I move into autumn; this is how I celebrate the transition, and say goodbye to summer and hello to a temporarily slower (perhaps) way of living. To change seasons more consciously, and connect with the changes in the natural world; even if that’s just a park, or a conker tree (horse-chestnut).

In some ways I’m drawn to ideas that are on show in pagan or druidic ceremonies. Primarily for their symbolic values; I’m not necessarily commenting on the belief system behind them. Honouring, symbolically, nature, and our connection to nature; our biological, animalistic part. And in a communal fashion too. This is sort of what Thanksgiving and Christmas were about, before they became a different kind of thing. They at least mostly retain their communal element. But to go outside, as a group, and to symbolically acknowledge the power and “benevolence” of nature, to show gratitude, and communion with the animals also, I think that would actually help and heal a lot of people. They might feel some piece of the jigsaw of happiness and life-satisfaction slot into a gap they didn’t even realise was there.

Anyway, those are my thoughts for this evening.

It’s got to be a quick one today, as it’s late and I’m extremely tired. I’m prepping for an interview presentation tomorrow (or maybe Thursday; was not confirmed by close of play earlier today; fingers crossed for Thursday!).

Not much to say really, so another low bar practicing blogging discipline kind of entry.

I tried a very basic spaghetti dish today, just spaghetti, onions, asparagus, chilli oil, garlic oil and salt. It was not mind-blowing, truth be told, but I wanted to try using my new garlic and chilli oils (they’re just a common brand, nothing special), as I’ve been looking for ways to enjoy them recently, as they are pretty delicious.

So far I’ve tried:

1. On toasted bread with butter and both oils at once: delicious
2. On fine-milled oat cakes with butter, peanut butter and both oils – surprisingly tasty
3. Chilli oil on mashed avocado, salt and paprika: also delicious

These experiments are probably doing nothing for my cholesterol and waistline.

Do you know this parable about the Buddha? I can’t remember where I first came across it, but it is described here: https://www.marziahassan.org/blog/buddha-and-the-farmer-with-the-83-problems, which itself adapts the story from Buddhism Plain and Simple by Steve Hagen.

Essentially the parable is that we can’t get rid of our problems, we can only tackle our resistance to problems. We can only work on our acceptance that we will always have problems in our life, and that we must do our best to live our lives nonetheless. As soon as we rid ourselves of one problem, another moves up into its place, from the infinite number life presents us with. If I was someone who gets tattoos (I’m not), this might well be one of them. Not the whole parable of course! But maybe just “The 83rd problem”.

That could be on one arm, and on the other, something that sums up another parable worth remembering, from the film Soul (Pixar, 2020). It goes something like:

There’s this story about a fish.

He’s swimming around, and passes an older fish, and says, “I’m looking for this thing they call the ocean.”

“The ocean?” the older fish says. “That’s what you’re in right now.”

“This?” the young fish says. “This is just water. What I’m after is the ocean.”

The film really makes the point clear – and I recommend watching it, even if you’re an adult. You’re always living life for some perfect point in the future, when you have achieved everything you wanted, and can put your feet up and relax and bask in the glow of satisfaction. But that point never comes; you are never satisfied with what you have achieved, there is always more dissatisfaction waiting at the top of that hill; dissatisfaction that can only be fixed by a new aim, a new achievement to be obtained. Once you begin to spot this pattern, it has less hold over you. But it’s tough. And I’m constantly falling into it.

An evening walk up to the Heath today. The sun shining as it met the horizon. Thick clouds traversing, in a caravan, above the houses. The long grass is pleasant to see, and to walk beside. The rustle of leaves on the trees at the Heath’s edge. Summer is definitely coming to a close; Autumn is coming. The air, cooler. The crows were out, looking for insects.

Not much to say right now. But writing something anyway: keeping the bar low.

I should start earlier in the evening, rather than just before bed. But then I might feel I need to say something more meaningful. Instead of practicing saying nothing at all, and not caring how I say it.

I just watched The Prestige for the second time, after a long gap. I still think it’s a great movie. I don’t want to say too much about it, but it leaves you thinking…

Anyway…I was just reading about Eneagrams. Type 4 in particular. I haven’t really looked into Eneagrams before, I don’t know what it’s based on, but I’m a bit of a sucker for this type of thing, even if I am sort of a scientist.

Anyway, I seem somewhat to overlap with Type 4 and I found the Personal Growth Recommendations here (https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-4/) to be uncannily relevant to me. The simple advice: don’t pay too much attention to your feelings! Don’t put things off until things “feel right” or you feel “ready”.

To quote: “Working consistently in the real world will create a context in which you can discover yourself and your talents.”

This is such simple truth. But to someone who has always prioritised feelings, or been held hostage to them (somewhat dramatic), it is something I struggle to live day to day; even though I now, as someone who has lived a bit, recognise the validity in the sentiment.

The aim is to set the bar very low in terms of the content I post…to just flipping post something!

I.e. the idea is to form the habit of posting and to continually practice breaking through the perfectionism that has prevented me from blogging for a long, long time, by posting every day; regardless of whether or not I can think of an interesting topic; regardless of whether or not it is well written. It is primarily practicing sitting down with the laptop; typing for a bit; then pressing publish. It is not the practice of writing anything engaging or original. That can come later.

Today is one of those days that I can’t immediately think of anything to share. So I’m sharing that!

It’s an Atomic Habits type mindset I’m trying to foster (full disclosure, I haven’t actually read the book, but have listened to the author a few times): set the bar just low enough to enable you to make some kind of step towards what you are aiming for.

I can see the crescent of moon, large on the horizon through my window as I type. And the airplanes are making a low melancholy moan as they slowly descend over the city towards the airport through the cold air…I can feel autumn is on the cusp of arriving. My favourite month I always think*…the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness and jumpers and the smell of damp earth after rain and soup and sloe gin.

(*but then I think the about every season when it starts)