Seeing the blue sky and feeling the sun's warmth

Don't get enough of these, this time of year in Melbourne.

Popped interstate for "a quick dose of Adelaide" to revive my spirits over the weekend. It was just wonderful to get up on Saturday morning, drive up the top of the Torrens and run - IN SUNSHINE! (Sorry for shouting; I've just missed it so much.)

However, "mustn't grumble" (as they say on local radio in Adelaide): I've arrived back in Melbourne today, and the sky is blue, and the sun is trying its hardest ... and I'm grateful for these things. I'm grateful I can be aware of these things, have the freedom to go outside and experience them, am not imprisoned by ill health or infirmity or any other impediment.

I am fortunate, and I am grateful, and I am going to focus on these everyday beauties; because my life is what I make it - and I want it to be full of beauty. I hope, when my time comes, to have the opportunity to look back over my life; and if I have lived the way I want to, then my life will be characterized by beauty and strength. Not sure what I mean? Listen to the first movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto in D (Op. 35). That main theme - that's what I want my life to be like. (Ambitious, much? J)

Forgiveness

Unexpectedly coming face-to-face with a person who caused you much suffering; noting with surprised joy that you feel no anger; resuming respectful, delightful discussion; drawing a line under the past. Peace.



(and, of course, this - like so many good things - happened while I was out running ...)

Complicity

Finished re-reading one of my favourite books recently - "Complicity" by Iain Banks. My copy is so old that our dog, who died in January, had gnawed on its corners as a pup.

Apart from Banks' compelling writing, I'm drawn to the central theme of this book - that we are responsible for our actions. And not in some semi-trivial, almost impersonal manner, but in a viscerally, intimately; the things we do impact on each other and our world.

OK, this is taken to extremes by the 'baddie' of the novel, but is demonstrated over and over, right down to the final scene where ... no; no spoilers here!

This theme has personal relevance for me too, and I only acknowledged that link on this reading. Oh, I'd always loved the 'we are all complicit in the evil our lifestyle wreaks on others and the environment' message: that when we buy an item of cheap clothing, it's likely that somewhere in the world a person, probably trafficked and probably in some form of slavery, has produced it; and therefore we are complicit in that person's trafficking and slavery. That when we waste paper, a tree - perhaps even an old and dignified tree - may have died in vain; and that when we waste that paper, we are complicit in its death. However, I now suspect this book was part of that process of awakening which began a cascade of significant changes in my life back in 2008.

2008 was the year in which I not only accepted responsibility for the effect my actions had on others and the world at large, but also on myself. Perhaps a previous paradigm under which I'd been practising had taught me to neglect my own needs for the sake of others. (Perhaps it takes longer than three years for the patterns of that paradigm to completely fade away!)

Anyway, Iain Banks, thank you for being one piece of the puzzle which has lead me to a better life. I'm grateful.

The story of today's run: anger makes a great fuel

You know you’re procrastinating your run when you find yourself playing Minesweeper – yes, Minesweeper! – after shooting off a few early morning emails. However, I knew I needed to run today: needed it body and mind; so I pulled on my jogging clothes and braved the cold, damp weather.

The first kilometre my muscles were creaking like a car I owned years ago, an ancient Toyota who’d whinge and whine, choke and snuffle for the first hour of a winter’s day, but would always get me there in the end. Paradoxically, at the same time that my body was crying out “Go back to bed! Or at least go back into the warmth and have another cup of tea!” it was also springing ahead. I think, in some sense, my body knew how much I needed today’s run.

So I persisted – putting one foot after another, assiduously breathing ‘in through the nose, out through the mouth’ to avoid the shock of cold air hitting my windpipe as I pounded along the grey pavements. After the first kilometre, I began to feel better. Perhaps it was the sight of a young man walking in the opposite direction, playing his acoustic guitar and singing. (Had I ever dropped acid in my life I would have assumed this extraordinary sight was some form of flashback ...)

Once my body was on-side, so to speak, limbered up and stretching out and beginning to fly across the blocks, my mind was free to begin enjoying itself. I hadn’t yet achieved zen-running-state, but with my body managing itself, my brain could look back over the last few days and remember ... assimilate ... absorb.

I began to feel angry. My husband and I have some things to be angry about at present; this is not the place to air those grievances, beyond saying that the world can indeed be a cruel and unjust place. (Foot-pound) How dare people speak to me like that? (Pound) How dare people treat my husband like that? (Pound) We are good people; (Pound) how can these things be happening to us?

I look around; I’m farther along than I’d expected by this time, and see that I’ve sailed up a hill without noticing. Interesting; I had thought today’s run would be more about pacing out the kilometres rather than aiming for a PB.

Sailing down the other side, I notice the trees, breathe the air, begin to feel the endorphin rush. I’m happy I’m here, glad to have the freedom to be able to do this.

I enter the local botanic gardens and begin a series of hill runs, ranging from long-but-shallow to short-but-very steep. The adrenaline rush of my anger lends wings to my feet. I feel a moment of concern: I haven’t done this run for over a week; should I have stretched before setting out? Fuck it, this is just feeling so damned good, I just don’t care.

Rounding a bend, I can see much of Melbourne stretched out to the west. All those people: how many are feeling as angry as I was a few minutes ago? How many are feeling that life is unfair, that we suffer more than we deserve? And on the other hand: how many are free to do what I’m doing right now, taking an hour of my day to simply run and enjoy it?

Today is the day I loop around to take a look at this mysterious artefact: two poles placed on the ground and surrounded by a black cage, topped with barbed wire. It looks just as mysterious close up, and there’s  nothing to explain its purpose. Weird.

Great – the hardest part of this run is behind me. I’m flying down the hill, sticking to the gravelled side of the path for traction. My breathing is even, my legs are stretching out; this is joy.

Have a long wait, again, at the lights to cross the highway– major buzzkill –the second time today. Mild bummer; can feel my heartrate plummeting as I wait for the signal.

There’s one last, deceptive hill before I reach home. Running up it, I start to feel anxious again. When I get home, this little bubble of running-joy will break and I’ll be back in the real world.

But I feel the ground beneath my feet, feel my breath flowing in-and-out, my heart beating soundly within my chest. I am. I am strong. I can take whatever today throws at me.

Finish the run in style, sprinting to the front door. Am very surprised to see I’ve shaved three minutes of my previous PB for this route! And that shower is going to feel fantastic. Endorphin rush; elation. All is well.

Monday bloody Monday

Comments of note this Monday morning:


"I just put my Monday morning face on and keep smiling."

"Ten minutes down, four days seven hours fifty minutes to go."

"Weekend wasn't long enough."

"Happy Monday!" (accompanied by sarcastic grin)

"Ten days until payday."

"Well, you've got to be grateful you're alive, really."


Yeah, you're right ... none of these are all that funny ... or noteworthy ... but it was Monday morning, after all.

Manners: they matter

I am officially "getting old". I wasn't convinced by the encroaching presbyopia (first spotted last November, anxiously observed ever since), the accumulation of changes to skin tone - facial and otherwise, nor my decreasing ability to bounce back from a late night; no, the clincher is this: I find myself becoming less and less tolerant of bad manners.

Foul language doesn't bother me per se, provided it's not used as a tool of abuse. Conventions such as one gender opening doors for another still baffle me somewhat. I don't even particularly care which knife you use to butter your bread roll at the dinner table; these are not the 'manners' I'm talking about - they don't matter terribly much. However, I am increasingly incensed by those who ignore the rights and needs of others, even (or perhaps particularly) in small matters.

Take my journey home from the CBD today, during which I observed two examples which may illustrate my point.

At Flinders Street Station, three boys in their tweens zoomed on through the crowd on skate boards, narrowly missing many people and causing various minor collisions. Is this cool? No. It's just plain bad manners.

On the other hand, forced to switch from train to bus at Dandenong Station due to 'rail upgrades', a crowd of commuters crushed through the gates to claim a precious seat on the connecting buses. One woman in her thirties charged through the cluster, literally pushing all aside with loud "excuse me's" trailing in her wake. I can only assume she had a pressing need to be somewhere; so was this cool? I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and say "yes (provided ...)".

But my biggest gripe at the moment is when individuals do not return messages. I have to be precise here: I'm not talking about messages I send to a company or workplace - there can be constraints beyond individuals' control placed on those (part-time work, the appropriate person not being available, internal procedures, etc). I'm also not insisting that every person I call, email or text reply immediately: the world does not revolve around me!

But I do not like this trend I'm observing of people not returning personal emails or texts for days, and I am incensed particularly when repeated personal phone calls are left unanswered. In my opinion, there is simply no excuse for this, when a simple text along the lines of "Really busy, lovely to hear from you, will call when I can" would take mere seconds and would mean that my care for the recipient was acknowledged, returned, dammit - that I mean something to them.

The only positive I think I can take from all this is a personal determination not to inflict this indignity on others, and to apologise - here and publicly - for anyone to whom I have been inconsiderate in this manner in the past.

And to cringe as I observe my devolution into a peevish woman ... and I don't even turn forty until September! What will I be like at sixty? Long term friends, beware.

Climbing a hill

This morning my husband and I did something we've been meaning to do for ages: walk around the outer loop of Wilson Botanic Park, ascend its highest point, and contemplate the metropolis of Melbourne. Lousy weather had caused us to postpone this the last few weekends, so we grabbed the opportunity this beautiful autumn morning afforded us and sprang forth. OK, I may be overstating the facts here: I was springy, he was ... participating; I must admit I'd been looking forward to this more than he had!

I was particularly keen to walk him up the steepest tracks in the Park: "See? I can run up this hill!" - childishly proud of my fitness, and wanting him to appreciate it, too.

Climbing up hills always has symbolic meaning for me. Perhaps it stems from my childhood, spent in a small town on the western side of the Blue Mountains; perhaps it's simply that, metaphorically, I've had to climb a few hills in my lifetime.

When I first began regularly running, back in 2008, I wasn't very good at hills. (Who is?) As a friend pointed out back then, "there are no small hills when you're jogging." I had been attempting a particular long, steep climb for a week, and had been beaten by it each time, reduced to walking the last hundred metres or so, thighs burning and breath rasping. It was a couple of kilometres long: a straight line which became steeper and steeper as you ascended; the mathematically minded might think of an exponential graph.

One memorable morning, in the pre-dawn dim, I stopped at the bottom of that hill and gave it a good, hard look. I said to myself: "Catie, all you have to do to get to the top of this hill is keep putting one foot after the other until you get there." It wasn't a pretty run - perhaps 'stagger' would be the best term to describe those last few blocks! - but it was the first time that I'd made it to the top without stopping or walking.

It was fun to relive that memory this morning, to remember that truth about running, about life: to get there, no matter how hard it is, you simply have to keep putting one foot after another. I think I needed that reminder this week.

One foot after another, one foot after another; sometimes, in running as in life, endurance is the name of the game.

With luck, it comes with an endorphin rush!

Starstruck: Catie meets her idol

The past four weeks have been extraordinary, even for someone accustomed as I am to living at the more “vivid” or “textured” extremes of human experience.

I like the word “texture” because it acknowledges the rough and the smooth, without commentary; the whole of one’s experience is recognized, accepted, without moral judgement or distinction.

In this post, I want to tell you about just one piece of that texture, which also happens to be one of the most wonderful things I’ve experienced in a long time.

Pekka Kuusisto is the world’s greatest living violinist. He has had a great effect on my life, in manners I won’t describe here beyond noting the way that experiencing something of great beauty changes the way you see the world. A good portion of my “Most Played” are his recordings – Bach, Vivaldi and of course fellow Finn, Sibelius. In my mental thesaurus – and probably to my friends’ bemused exasperation – he’s affectionately known as “the divine Pekka” (with accompanying self-mocking hand-pats to the heart).

I discovered that on Sunday 8^th May he was playing a gig at Bennett’s Lane, a jazz club in Melbourne’s CBD. Having attended an acquaintance’s book launch that afternoon, I’d hung around in the city for a few hours, experiencing a chill, drizzly Melbourne evening.

I must admit that, damp and cold, my faith wavered a little. After all, I had a long drive home after the performance, and a week’s work ahead of me –I’m not at my best when sleep-deprived; was this chance to see my favourite performer worth some days’ discomfort? Yes, I determined, being among the first through the door and securing a front-row table.

I am not a music critic, so I won’t attempt to describe the concert in technical terms. I will acknowledge that until Finnish jazz pianist Iiro Rantala introduced the concert, I had been unaware that there existed a tradition of tango composition in Finland! Pekka restored my stereotypes of Finnish music by pointing out (?jokingly) that most Finnish tango composers drank themselves to death, even as young as thirty seven ...

I can, however, say a few words about how I experienced their performance.

Pekka and Iiro were electric on the stage. Both of them played with their whole bodies – I swear, even their eyebrows and earlobes contributed to that alchemy of an expert duo playing incredible music! As I said to my companion during interval, I’m not quite sure whether the best analogy is sexual – their focus on each other was so intense – or canine, because (and I mean this in no derogatory sense whatsoever) even when their eyes were focussed elsewhere, their attention was on each other – just as one can observe between dogs.

Pekka is a true master of the violin. Whether he’s playing a Bach partita (yes, during a jazz concert!) or holding it banjo-like and plucking an accompaniment to his whistled tune; whether beating an amazing array of sounds out of his precious instrument or bowing so vehemently that hairs are flying apart with each stroke, he is in total control of each sound produced (with the endearing exception of accidently striking the goose-neck microphone stand at the conclusion of one piece).

After the performance I had the chance to speak with Pekka (twice!), Iiro and tour manager Henk. I will admit to becoming a little starstruck when Pekka gave me a small embrace upon hearing that I took up the violin after hearing him live for the first time. I did restrain myself from asking if I could have my photo taken with him: how gauche! (But, in hindsight, would I have been happier now? No, my memories are ample mementos).

I have been to many concerts in my life, but this has joined that very short list of nights I will never forget. The memory of it lies in my heart like a jewel: glittering, enduring; a talisman against mediocrity; a reminder that life can contain Robert Henri’s “more than ordinary moments of existence”.

I type these words after a few rough days in which my psyche has been battered and bruised. Upon reflection, I’m glad that busy-ness kept me from writing about this concert until now: today, in particular, I needed to touch base with beauty, be reminded of the hours of perspiration which allow inspiration to flourish, to rebuild my defences against the drabness of an accumulation of oh-so-ordinary moments.

People who give us these moments of beauty ... we owe them so much. I’m not talking now about virtuosos, but about the down-to-earth kindnesses we can show each other. Typing this I’m reminded of others who have shown me grace and beauty this week: the student who chose not to get angry when he was kept waiting for help because I was disciplining others; the attendant at the petrol station who meant it when she wished me a “good day”. Please don’t let me sound preachy or idealistic! The world isn’t always that kind. But it can be. And that’s a good thing.