We all have creases in our lives, some of which cannot be ironed out. You simply have to learn to negotiate those permanent speed bumps while never losing sight of the significance of driving on.
We all have to live with the consequences of poor decision making, be it by one’s own hand or due to the consequences of someone else’s actions. I have, and not without some difficulty, learned to define myself by how I act, by what I say, by what I do and what I write. How I relate to the wider world is all on me. No-one is to blame for my demerits other than me.
As I approach my 42nd birthday, and this is hardly a rare occurrence for someone of my age, I have both gained and lost a lot over the course of my life, the details of which are only shared with those whom I know best.
Whatever career I’ve built has not been accelerated by my cloudier diary entries. My treacle-laden spot of bother will remain my treacle-laden spot of bother rather than a CV-boosting bullet point.
But somewhere between the ages of 33 and the present day – it was a gradual process as opposed to a Eureka moment – I chose not to define my day-to-day existence in terms of what I’d lost. Around a decade ago, I came to a fork in the road and chose the route that has, thankfully, worked well for me in the interim. And my goodness has it been a great aide to me over this past shitshow of a year.
Most of my days over the past 12 months have consisted of consciously doing the following activities. I get out of bed and know I’ve got two dogs downstairs who need walking so Buddy, Zippy and I set off for a two-mile walk, while listening to a podcast that I know will make me laugh: be it Smershpod, Adam Buxton or, in more recent times, Tommy, Hector and Laurita.
After breakfast, I take to the back bedroom upstairs and get interviewing, reporting and occasionally editing for the Waterford News & Star. I’ve not been blogging as much on here as I did when I initially committed to the site; in fact, I’ve consciously tried to get away from the laptop beyond 6pm most evenings over the past six months other than when it’s entirely necessary. I’ve tried to handwrite at least one letter a week too – right now I’m just below the one per week mark. It’s a ratio that requires improvement.
I ensure I take my lunch hour between 1pm and 2pm – something I didn’t do for far too long during my Munster Express years – and then it’s back to the laptop for the afternoon, downing two to three cups of tea before either going for a run or walking the dogs again. I’ll listen to either an audiobook or another funny podcast while out walking/running before enjoying the company of and dinner with herself, watching some news – but not much, mind you – before bringing the dogs out for their final walk of the day. Over the course of the day, I’ll probably have read three to four news pieces along with one lengthier piece or interview and between midnight and 1am, I’ll turn in, sleeping deeply before the whole show cranks up again the following morning.
“Let us therefore set out whole-heartedly, leaving aside our many distractions and exert ourselves in this single purpose, before we realise too late the swift and unstoppable flight of time and are left behind. As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.”
Seneca, as many of his fellow stoics did many lifetimes ago, was definitely onto something. Every day over the past year, I’ve walked the dogs, I’ve read, I’ve taken photos, I’ve drunk tea and I’ve laughed with herself, luxuriating in the good fortune that our paths crossed almost five years ago.
Five to six days a week for the last 12 months, I have written. I still love it. A book I ghost wrote was published last November, which was incredibly satisfying and certainly life-affirming on a few levels. I’ll probably never make a penny on the back of it but that was never the point of it anyway. I’m just thrilled it’s out there in the world – and if you happen to have read it, thank you so much. I’ve done some fence painting and cut lawns, bushes and hedges, activities I’ve always drawn a deep sense of satisfaction out of, the things my Dad and Grandads did for years.
Montaigne wrote that he found it quicker to change a painful idea than to subdue it. “If I cannot substitute an opposite one for it, I can at least find a different one. Change always solaces it, dissolves it and dispels it. If I cannot fight it, I flee it; and by my flight I made a diversion and use craft; by changing place, occupation and company I escape from it into the crowd of other pastimes and cogitations, in which it loses all track of me and cannot find me.”
The sum total of my actions since last March have helped me make the best of each day during this godawful suspended reality. I’m driving on. Why? Because there’s no option. I am seizing what is fleeing. My flights remain my diversions.
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