Another Day of Life

‘The unexamined life is not worth living’.
Socrates

I've never been so lost or confused in my life.

Okay, so maybe that’s a tad melodramatic, but I’m feeling a bit out of sorts at the moment, in a bit of an existentialist funk (if existentialism isn’t your cup of tea, then cease reading now) or something.

Indecision, impatience and anxiety stemming from uncertainty are my biggest vices (coffee has been banished from the list since I’m down to no more than 2 cups a day now).

My friends think I live quite the charmed life; Andrew calls me a ‘rambling soul’. Others tell me how lucky I am. Luck’s got nothing to do with it.

‘Luck is the residue of design’.
Milton

‘Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity’.
Seneca

Don’t get me wrong here: I suppose I have been awfully fortunate in that I’ve had the opportunity to travel the globe as a means of assuaging my wanderlust over the past few years. It took me a while to get my act together, though I certainly haven’t got regrets. I still lament my lack of language ability and the apathetic attitude I had to them as a kid, even whilst living in Spain and Germany, though I’m suddenly starting to feel the world of possibilities is constricting my ability to think rationally. It was the Greeks who were the first to see that there was a rational order to the universe – have we progressed at all since then?

This has been an ongoing issue, but I can’t shake these feelings of emptiness that continually linger; I wonder if I’m impossible to satisfy. I’m not sure what I want, what I’m after, where I want to be, what I’m doing with myself. A nine month stint here, a three month stint there – is this a healthy way to live?

It is, perhaps, depending on one’s emotional constitution. Mine is weak: I become emotionally attached easily. And I hate goodbyes and the subsequent heartache.

I hate to use such crude financial terminology but time becomes an investment. Moving to a new place takes an investment of time, energy, and yes, emotions, with no guarantee of any type of future returns. It becomes a high risk/low reward strategy, and at some point, one does have to ask oneself, are the risks worth the potentially low rewards?

Meeting new people is a massive investment of emotions. Especially when it comes to those special people in your life, whether dear, dear friends or fledgling romances that offer so much promise only to crumble when you least expect it.

And then there’s that emptiness and longing that yet again surface when, during the goodbye process, the harsh reality that you may never see this person again hits, and your emotions play havoc on your soul. The anguish that inevitably follows is draining.

You start to ask yourself whether it’s worth it, and what the point of it all is. Why do we put ourselves through such strife and torment, especially when it doesn’t seem to get any easier.

‘To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all’.
Oscar Wilde

I can see how this sounds self-defeating. Surely the point is merely to ‘live’. These experiences in and of themselves shape us, make us who we are. Much like learning about history gives meaning to what makes us human, learning about ourselves sheds light on what makes us us.

But at some point we have to stop and ask: what is it that fulfills me?

What does fulfill people – is it work? Love? Happiness? How many people truly love their jobs? Honestly, truly, candidly, etc, etc?

According to Kierkegaard, the fundamental theme of our existence is the idea that we can achieve meaning for our lives only through a decisive, life-defining commitment.

‘Once I make up my mind I’m filled with indecision’.
Oscar Levant

So where does that leave those of us who struggle to make decisions? Those of us who are scared to miss out on something because of the limitless array of possibilities out there? I’m not just talking about jobs – I’m talking about life in general, new experiences, new friends, romance, feelings, getting to know yourself, opening your eyes to the world…

What about letting others make that decision for us? As in, when the timing and circumstances are right, things just fall into place. You may not be sure of where you want to go, but suddenly someone appears on the scene who seems to make the decision making process that much easier. Only it isn’t easier because there’s confusion coursing through the two of you, and the decision-making process gets murky and convoluted. It comes back to knowing yourself, in the end. How can you trust others to make the right choices if you can’t trust yourself? Or am I contradicting myself here?

And there’s a catch anyway: getting the timing right. Timing is everything. Which means it’s awfully frustrating.

As for that age-old question of whether to follow the heart or the head? These days I trust neither.

Kierkegaard also says that only by accepting our own life story as it is can we be liberated from the craving for some sort of large-scale teleological legitimation for our existence.

Thus, must we first accept who we are before we can find fulfillment?

How can we accept who we are – or, our life story – if we’ve got no idea who we are or what we want?

How sure can one be of anything? Is it relative? We may think we’re sure of something, but that’s probably only because we’re so unsure of everything else, making the seemingly sure bet that much surer only because we’re so unsure about the unsure bits. Thus, we’re sure about something because in comparison, it’s at the very least a safer bet than the alternatives.

(There’s a bit of Donald Rumsfeld in all of us.)

Is life one giant process of elimination? Let me try this – nope, no good, next. Oh, that’s no good either. Next. Let’s give this a shot. And so on and so forth.

'Complacency is a state of mind that exists only in retrospect; it has to be shattered before being ascertained'.
Nabokov

Lately in my emails the buzzphrase has been something to the effect of ‘uncertainty is a cool thing in retrospect’. At the time, especially with someone like me who suffers from impatience as a vice, it’s a day-to-day killer. The anxiety can be overwhelming, rendering the simplest of everyday thinking tasks a challenge. Keeping my thoughts straight, thinking one day at a time, becomes downright impossible when the future is so cloudy and undefined. Don’t get me wrong: there’s a frisson of excitement to this kind of existence, but it’s hard to appreciate at the time, in a way like nostalgia. We might not be altogether thrilled with a place, but we often know, even while we are there, that we’ll look back on the experience in a fond light. And yet we remain powerless to accept and appreciate the situation for what it is. We become immune, and thus complacent.

'The world is what it is; men who have nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it'.
VS Naipaul

Here I am, with a few weeks left in my student-teaching placement, suddenly doubting whether this is well and truly what I want to do. On top of that, I’m terrified of committing to a couple of years somewhere when I’m not even sure of where I’m going with all of this. Sometimes I see my steps in life as a means to an end, but an end to what? What’s my ultimate destination? I ought to relish this uncertainty, the excitement and challenge of what lies ahead. But when your head isn’t clear, and making the simplest of choices becomes the most arduous of tasks, you come to a brick wall and are so tempted to bang your head against it.

Work: I’m not even aware of half of what’s out there, but I take comfort in the fact that most of us don’t. Then again, many of us are established in some sort of line of work, and a part of me admires those who have a firm plan and know exactly what they want to do. My students are mesmerised by the places I’ve been: when I ask them who would like to travel, around 5 or 6 amongst a sample size of over 60 answer yes. And the preferred destinations are usually England, France or Australia. When I ask whether they want to own their own homes, they look at me perplexed. When I ask about whether they want children, they’re incredulous when I tell them I don’t.

At times I wish I were like the rest of us. It would be so much easier.

But then life isn’t meant to be easy.

I’m delving pretty deep into my philosophical bag of tricks here, but I’m now turning to Marxism for help; surely the natural place to turn when one is confused about the world of work. What I lack - bearing in mind here that I’m not a Marxist, so maybe this isn’t even the problem – is that sense of being where the skill set required for success is a relentless instrumentalism. Alongside that is what I see as a pathological level of self-mastery of the emotions, only bought at the price of the corrosion of the capacity for intimacy and a stable, balanced sense of self. Somehow or another, that makes sense to me.

Ultimately, the ultimate harbinger of doom is time; more specifically, the lack of it.

Time is the most ephemeral of concepts. There just isn’t enough of it to satisfy all of my cravings. Time is finite, and thus an eternity is needed in order to accomplish only a smidgeon of what it is we want to. And perhaps even an eternity isn’t enough.

In the summer of 2002, whilst preparing for my Master’s at Edinburgh, I discovered the great, late Polish writer, Ryszard Kapuscinski. I fell in love with his work, and I fell hard and fast for Africa at the same time. Reading The Shadow of the Sun, probably my favourite book, whetted my appetite and curiosity for a place that was only satiated once I’d been to Nigeria. But the Africa bug never leaves us, and though I’m only mildly tempted to return at the moment, every now and then I do entertain the notion of a return.

Because the idea of time flusters me more than anything else, it must have been something like this that I could identify and find solace in. I quote at length because it’s so eloquent and stirring:

“The European and the African have an entirely different concept of time. In the European worldview, time exists outside man, exists objectively, and has measurable and linear characteristics. According to Newton, time is absolute: “Absolute, true, mathematical time of itself and from its own nature, it flows equably and without relation to anything external.” The European feels himself to be time's slave, dependent on it, subject to it. To exist and function, he must observe its ironclad, inviolate laws, its inflexible principles and rules. He must heed deadlines, dates, days, and hours. He moves within the rigors of time and cannot exist outside them. They impose upon him their requirements and quotas. An unresolvable conflict exists between man and time, one that always ends with man's defeat – time annihilates him.

Africans apprehend time differently. For them, it is a much looser concept, more open, elastic, subjective. It is man who influences time, its shape, course, and rhythm (man acting, of course, with the consent of gods and ancestors). Time is even something that man can create outright, for time is made manifest through events, and whether an event takes place or not depends, after all, on man alone. If two armies do not engage in a battle, then that battle will not occur (in other words, time will not have revealed its presence, will not have come into being).

Time appears as a result of our actions, and vanishes when we neglect or ignore it. It is something that springs to life under our influence, but falls into a state of hibernation, even nonexistence, if we do not direct our energy toward it. It is a subservient, passive essence, and, most importantly, one dependent on man.”

I’m ready to concede defeat to time. It gets the better of me. I can hardly believe I’m about to quote my mother here, but she likes to say on a daily basis, to the point of annoyance, ‘take your time, or time takes you.’

Let it, I say.

Here’s a challenge I’m now posing to my dear and loyal readers: why don’t you decide on the next step for me? I’ll entertain all [relatively serious] suggestions, weigh them with great consideration, and choose the best option, if the opportunity permits. Keep in mind my skill set, or lack thereof, and interests. This is also a test as to how well you know me. Consider this some kind of grand experiment. I'm open to a lot of things.

There’s an infinite world of possibilities out there: that is exciting.

But there’s also the tragic possibility that the one thing we finally discover we think we want the most, more than anything else in the world, which for a while is there for the taking, fleetingly slips from our grasp, while we’re powerless to stop it.

It’s that kind of heartbreak which terrifies me the most.

Working out the right angle

“Some have been afflicted by bibliomania through idleness, and for them there is small hope of cure; others, I count myself among them, from excess of affairs. Many, like asses that wear out their time for provender, are so buried in the minor and immediate tasks of earning a living as to get confounded promptly and permanently with the victims of commercial ambition, whence it comes to pass that, slyly and insensibly perverted, nerves frayed and brains dulled, they take to books as sick souls take to drugs. They hoard at first against a time of leisure when they may perchance read, and end by hoarding for the sake of hoarding, thus allying themselves with those dizzards who wallow among possessions which they cannot use, and who die before they have lived.”

Anatomy of Bibliomania (Holbrook Jackson)


Not that I’ve ever been a big believer in New Year’s Resolutions – I seem to be stuck in a school/university mindset where, if I make resolutions, I make them in September - but I may be one of those rare breeds of people who keeps telling myself that I need to read less. Aren’t people always saying that they ought to read more? I’m quite the opposite: reading rules my life and it’s proving to be more and more of a hindrance as the years pass me by.

I realise I’m a bit late in talking about a New Year’s resolution; after all, we are fast approaching the Ides of March. But this is my first posting of 2010. The original trickle of concerns/complaints from my legions of loyal readers has gone from a piddling stream to a raging torrent (though thankfully no vile insults directed my way just yet) and before I get deluged by the floods, I reckoned it was about time that I inundated my followers with a scatter-shot diatribe of my not-so-coherent thoughts. (how’s that for water and flood metaphors?)

I’ve got a feeling that I may be quoting a fair few friends today, and I’ll start with Yonni, who sometime ago offered me some generous and kind flattering words of praise and as well as some very valuable advice, the gist of which was this: just write. Just put words down [on paper], they don’t have to always make sense, just write, write, write. I’d long been putting such simple advice off for lack of the ‘right angle’. I should elaborate.

I’m currently in the midst of student-teaching (civics and world history) at a local high school. It has certainly been a challenge and it’s not my intention to discuss that at any length here, for a variety of reasons. First, it would probably be deadly boring – think about, if you’re aware of them, those cringeworthy memoirs in the form of a daily diary written by first year teachers at inner-city schools (I actually only know of one book, but there are a few blogs out there). Second, it would strike me as rather unprofessional. Third, I need a break from even thinking about it. And fourth, it would inevitably turn into me whingeing and ranting and raving and I really don’t want to do that – let’s keep things cheerful and positive.

That said, I may every now and then share a tale or two if it’s of wider interest to a theme I’m crapping on about.

I’m certainly awfully busy these days, which is one excuse for not writing more, but there’s also tiredness, motivational issues, brain-mushiness after a day of being used and abused at school and, most of all, a lack of inspiration. There are one or two things that, in a vague sense, I’d like to share, but the thoughts aren’t really well-formed enough to constitute thoughts that would make much sense in their current, inchoate states. Nor is the angle there just yet, if that makes sense.

Back to the reading thing. I hope to avoid sounding, uh, pretentious here.

Why do people read? Sounds a silly, obvious question, but I’ve lately been asking myself this question. In a recent, way-too-short-for-my-liking conversation with Grant, this topic came up. I wonder about this because it seems like these days much of what I read fails to sink in. I feel terribly guilty for reading fiction, unless it’s of the stimulating, existential (bah!), thought-provoking kind. Plus, as an aspiring social studies teacher, I should be reading plenty of non-fiction, which I do anyway. And which I love.

Or do I?

I quote Elizabeth here, who once accused me of liking the idea of reading more than the reading itself (apologies if I’m misquoting here). I reacted in an overly flabbergasted manner at the time, but oftentimes my mind wanders back to that conversation and I think that perhaps she might have been onto something. This is potentially tragic. It could also be explored in greater depth, but I shan’t just now.

I get irritable and cranky if I can’t find the time to read in a day. That’s why the past few years of teaching English have been great: it affords me ample time to read (it’s either that, or going out to bars and clubs and getting stocious and then my ribs cracked or - horror of all horrors! - actually spending the time to learn the local language).

Reading rules my life. Whether it’s news or sport or whatever else, I put reading before so much else, sacrificing the things that really need to get done. Like now, for example. I really need to work on my CV and send out some covering letters for teaching positions, which can be lengthy affairs, plus of course, some lesson planning.

And don’t get me started on technology. Things like the Kindle and various other computer-type readers scare the bejesus out of me. What’s the future coming to? Should we celebrate or lament the decline in print journalism? What if newspapers start charging for content – many already do – and linking them via a subscription service to one of these wretched e-reader devices? What will happen to the fun of spotting the cover of a book someone’s reading on public transport and then saying ‘Hey, I read that recently, so what do you think thus far?’ (such a geek am I that I can’t even use this as a thinly-veiled excuse to hit on women, as I seem to ask more men about what they’re reading, though you may recall the time at Keene where I asked a girl what she thought of Cod, only to be met with a caustic ‘Uh, I have a boyfriend’).

But here’s the deal. I spend ages and ages reading whatever intrigues me (which is a lot) and I make calculated plans on when and how I’m going to get them read. I take notes in the margins. I take notes in various notebooks and journals, which have rapidly piled up over the years (where else do you think I get all these endless quotations and tidbits from?). But for what? I do seem to get some pleasure in reading, but a few hours later I’m hard pressed to remember much of what I’ve read. And then I think to myself, what was the point of that if I’ve just forgotten it all? Shouldn’t I have spent my time doing something more substantial and productive?

No doubt after wrapping this up, I’ll probably pick up another book: I tend to have 4-5 on the go at a time, and quite a few others with a bookmark languishing 1/3 of the way through from who knows how long ago. I’ll never learn.

Anyway, while I’m on the topic, a couple of words on a couple of books. I recently finished Freakanomics (on audiobook, no less, which means there might be hope for a Luddite like me with e-readers in the future; this coming from the same guy who swore never to cave in and get an Ipod) which has been somewhat of a sensation in the economics world (the Guardian named it one of the books of the decade, in fact). This is just one of a glut of books out there trying to bring the esoteric world of numbers and finance to a mass audience – I like this kind of stuff, because I find economics fascinating yet struggle with things like equilibrium curves and the Black-Sholes Model or Theory or whatever the hell it’s called. These books tend to be engaging, accessible and revelatory.

Freakanomics, however, was a massive disappointment. It’s one of those typical books that has about 15-20 pages of truly original material, padded out with pages upon pages of dross and fluff. It could have – and should have – been part of a series of essay collections. After the initial, sometimes bewildering insight, the chapters veer off into a morass of dull statistics and over-elaboration. For my money, better books out there include The Undercover Economist (Tim Harford) and especially Naked Economics (Charles Wheelan).

[Another book which left me similarly underwhelmed despite the heaps of critical praise piled upon it: Black Swan (Nassim Taleb); I found it full of holes and flimsy arguments, though I do agree with the general premise: looking at the impact of improbable events which are near impossible to forecast. In other words, why bother with risk models when some potentially catastrophic event can come and wipe everything out? That’s the book in a nutshell, no read to bother reading it now.]

Trivia question for fellow football geeks: according to Uefa, in which city can be found the only stadium in Europe that ‘conforms to every single safety and security measure that [Uefa] stipulates’? The complex comes replete with two full-size stadia, an arena licensed for international meetings of any indoor sport, a five-pitch training ground, a sports academy, a hotel, bar and restaurant. The answer is awfully surprising, and to give you a clue, I read about this in McMafia: A Journey Through the Criminal Underworld (Misha Glenny). Which means the answer probably isn’t London or Madrid. I’ll answer this in my next post. (by the way, terrific book thus far)

Okay, so maybe this is why I read – I didn’t know that before and now I do. It all makes perfect sense now – I really needed to know this in order to enrich my life!

I feel some sort of apology is due for the banal nature of this post. If it was somewhat insipid and torpid at times, it’s mainly because I’m rusty, but also because my brain isn’t fully functioning and I simply felt like spouting off a load of piffle. I blame it on the deleterious effects of student-teaching – either that, or I can blame Yonni. Although I can’t promise to do better the next time, I do aim to try and churn one of these things out every weekend for the foreseeable future. I’ll work on providing a little more ballast to future endeavours.

Thanks for reading anyway. Happy New Year.