Today is the third anniversary of my civil partnership to the fabulous Fiona and on this lovely sunny day, we went to see the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition at the Natural History Museum. Before we left the house, I changed my handbag twice - the first was too small for what I wanted to carry, the second too like a business bag.
While I was on the tube, I looked at the contents - my reading glasses, enormous purse (fat with no end of credit, debit and loyalty cards), the note book I jot thoughts in, my diary (paper, small, slim and I fear slightly inadequate in these electronic times), my iPhone, a lipstick (I took out the whole make-up case, it wouldn't fit) and finally my Kindle in case I got bored on the tube.
I wondered why I had so much stuff. Just ten years ago, I wouldn't have had this amount of paraphernalia. Now, I think I cram my bags with things to do in case I have a spare moment - papers to read, emails or blogs to write, my diary to plan.
So - is this the gradual erosion of "down" time, where you do nothing at all except let your mind go blank or - at a pinch - daydream? Which means of course, that you never have a spare moment and this, I think, is damaging. I recognise in a wired, connected world that such thinking is old-fashioned, heresy even, in a world where work never stops.
But work should stop. This gives tired brains the time to recuperate and in that recuperation, comes renewal. Research indicates that the time people are most creative when they are most unconscious. Daydreaming and "doing nothing in particular" is crucial - it's said that Nolan Bushnell, the founder of the Atari company, was inspired for what became a best-selling video game while idly flicking sand on a beach. What wonderful ideas could we all have if we stopped working all the time, and started staring into space?
So throw away the big bags - go out with money in your pocket and a phone which you need for emergencies only. Watch people and interactions rather than stare at electronic games or bury your nose in a paper. Let thoughts float around your mind and let it drift into new waters.
It may not only be better for your creativity, but having a lighter bag will probably benefit your posture too!
Sunday 26 February 2012
Tuesday 14 February 2012
A bucket list of possibilities
Heard of the phrase the 'bucket list'? This is a list of things you want to do before you die - or kick the bucket.
The idea is, of course, that when you make the list and see what is really important to you, the question to ask is why - if these things are so important - you're not doing them now.
I was talking to my partner about this, discussing what it is that makes people continue on the hamster wheel, rather than concentrating on doing what they really want, what will really make them happy. And it struck me that fear has a lot to do with it.
Fear of doing something other than the norm. Being on a hamster wheel, while it might be dull, is at least predictable. You know how to turn the wheel, it doesn't threaten your competence because you know how to do it. Getting off the wheel might mean you have to do something new and different - and the potential for failure goes up.
The other fear, of course, is fear of mortality. While you continue to do what's habitual, the grim spectre of mortality is hidden by all this movement. It's only when you stand still, think of doing something different, that the passage of years comes into sharp focus and the chill breath of death can be felt on your neck. The noise of the day-to-day hides this - and the silence of stopping it can be so unnerving that many people choose not to. It can often take something catastrophic to force that pause, the reassessment, the enlightenment.
And finally, the bucket list may not be all that it's cracked up to be. Part of the problem may be that individuals really don't know what will make them happy. A bucket list which promises so much but delivers little would be a massive disappointment, particularly in the still and quiet as we move away from the sound and fury of everyday life.
So is the answer to the fear of the bucket list to do it? Or not? I think the answer is probably somewhere inbetween. Do small things to give you respite from the hamster wheel, to challenge your mortality but not necessarily meet it head on. To stretch, but without letting go - until you perhaps find that the music of possibility is louder than the din of habit, and therefore harder to resist.
The idea is, of course, that when you make the list and see what is really important to you, the question to ask is why - if these things are so important - you're not doing them now.
I was talking to my partner about this, discussing what it is that makes people continue on the hamster wheel, rather than concentrating on doing what they really want, what will really make them happy. And it struck me that fear has a lot to do with it.
Fear of doing something other than the norm. Being on a hamster wheel, while it might be dull, is at least predictable. You know how to turn the wheel, it doesn't threaten your competence because you know how to do it. Getting off the wheel might mean you have to do something new and different - and the potential for failure goes up.
The other fear, of course, is fear of mortality. While you continue to do what's habitual, the grim spectre of mortality is hidden by all this movement. It's only when you stand still, think of doing something different, that the passage of years comes into sharp focus and the chill breath of death can be felt on your neck. The noise of the day-to-day hides this - and the silence of stopping it can be so unnerving that many people choose not to. It can often take something catastrophic to force that pause, the reassessment, the enlightenment.
And finally, the bucket list may not be all that it's cracked up to be. Part of the problem may be that individuals really don't know what will make them happy. A bucket list which promises so much but delivers little would be a massive disappointment, particularly in the still and quiet as we move away from the sound and fury of everyday life.
So is the answer to the fear of the bucket list to do it? Or not? I think the answer is probably somewhere inbetween. Do small things to give you respite from the hamster wheel, to challenge your mortality but not necessarily meet it head on. To stretch, but without letting go - until you perhaps find that the music of possibility is louder than the din of habit, and therefore harder to resist.
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