We're not easily persuaded

“I drive around the streets
an inch away from weeping.
ashamed of my sentimentality and
possible love.

a confused old man driving in the rain
wondering where the good luck
went.” – Charles Bukowski, I made a mistake

Life, as they say, takes on a repeat.

And that’s no bad thing at times, but when you can see your life leaching out from the soles of your feet, you know you’ve got to attend to a different set of marching orders than the one(s) that (currently) order my days.

Work, work and more effing work.

The end is in sight, though.

And yes, I’ve said that before – too many times, perhaps – but I know it’s not forever, assuming that is, I’m still here. As I say to my wife: I have no expectation of waking up each day expecting to live. I don’t blame anyone or anything for this mood-altering position save that getting too comfortable with life – the thing we receive and not corral into our desired shape – is taken too much for granted. It’s a bit like that overbearing bugbear of mine; namely, our obsession with living up to our potential. And that’s not to say I’m a masochist, looking for as much pain and suffering as possible, but there is a sense that just when we think we’ve made it to the promised land, there’s always something to upend our little scheme. And we’re not very good, or so it seems, of dealing with a sudden deviation in life’s plans!

I know for some people that work isn’t the moribund affair that has been my life but whatever your interpretation of what it means to live a life of meaning, I’m not convinced work is the launch pad for very much more than keeping the lights on. I wish it were otherwise. No, I really do, given how much of my heart and soul (and great gobs of time) I invested across the years, but there’s never been a spark of joy, less still any sense that ‘my job’ was or could ever make a difference. I suppose that’s hardly surprising given I’ve only ever worked for profit-making enterprises. Could it have been different? It’s a bit late to ask that sort of question but I suspect if I’d not been quite so driven to prove everyone wrong, I might have been less sure of my sureness which has turned out to be like ash in the throat of my undoing.

As to the rubric, well, a few days ago I was walking the dogs and it suddenly came to me: We’re not persuaded by very much these days. BAU is the order of the day. And when I say BAU, what I advert to is not simply the need to keep the capitalist wheels in motion but all the structures that prop up and support its infrastructure. Take school. Now, it’s been a few years since my youngest daughter left the local Secondary school and even more so for my other two children, but I’m doubtful if very much has changed, given the continued programme of chest-beating about examination success that seems to be the raison d'etre for the sector. What’s wrong with that you say? Indeed. What’s wrong with tutoring children to pass exams? I mean, what else would they do with their time? Learn something useful, perhaps. Like what? How to mend things; how to use their hands for something other than playing on their mobile phones; spending time in the great outdoors; learning how to listen to nature. Of course, that wouldn’t translate into very much and I can almost hear the siren song of panic from the parents in discovering that their dearly beloved wasn’t living up to their academic potential. But, seriously, how is this form of education working out? For some, they might say that school was the best days of their life, but I suspect there are quite a few kids who are bored senseless, disengaged and lacking in any ambition to repeat the folly of their parents, who appear to work morning, noon and friggin’ night.

I realise that I’m grossly over-simplifying a delicate and important subject but I’ve never heard anyone question the education ‘system’ to the extent that it’s not preparing our kids to do much more than pursue the same ideal life and lifestyle that my generation was told was their birthright. 

And ask yourself, when everyone is told that they need to get educated to enable them to be on the receiving end of a well-paid job, what does that mean for the earth that has to support all that potential run amok? Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to work out very well or not when the AI machines come racing down the track. But then again, I’m not convinced by very much these days; and I’ve this unerring sense that we’ll rue the day we ever started down the road of mechanically altering our living quarters – i.e. the earth – to the extent that we thought our modus vivendi sustainable – a chortle-worthy word if ever I heard one. 

But this persuasion point of mine isn’t confined to education. It’s writ large wherever you go. It’s at this point, I’m reminded of something that Stephen Jenkinson said in Come of Age:

“There are exceptions, no doubt, but it seems to me now that crunch times in human affairs tend not to transform very much. Instead, they seem to congeal and to intensify what is already there, sometimes to an almost impenetrable degree of faux clarity and indefensible, intolerant conviction about right and wrong, about love and leaving and limit and ending. Crunch time turns out to be one of those times when “right” and “wrong” are only two of a handful of possible actions and outcomes. You’d think that getting old enough, and old enough to know better, ​would serve someone in good stead, that good judgement would prevail. It turns out that getting old is one of those ragged, dissembling crunch times, too. If you wait for the wisdom of age to take over, you often wait in vain.” (My emphasis added)

Another way of elucidating my point, is that we’ve slated mystery and wonder to be replaced by solution-mongering, the quick, easy answer and reverting to a search engine or bloody AI to make sure we’ve got our ducks in a very precise row. Instead, I’d ask you to consider when was the last time your beliefs were radically and inexorably altered. Perhaps I’m in the minority of one, but as I’ve traversed this thing called life, I’ve met very people from my former years who I’ve thought were changed or even willing to open their minds to a new way of seeing things. A case in point might be an inner exploration of all that we believe is real, be that in the outer or inner realm. Previously, I’ve made a thing of asking What is this? and had few, if any takers. What relevance is it, anyway, to invite that sort of question into our discombobulated lives? Exactly. But then again, if you were able to cease your overactive thinking for a few seconds, how then would you apprehend and navigate the world? There is so much that has been superimposed on us that never gets questioned. 

Perhaps it’s just my predilection to constantly ask difficult or awkward questions – I am sure my wife thinks so – but I’m not someone to assume I know anything. And I mean that. 

Take this little vignette. And ask yourself where you find yourself:

Where do we come from?

Where do we go?

Is this a temporary way-station to somewhere else?

Or is it the whole deal?

I have sat with where that takes me for hours. It’s no different to my love affair with stars. My mind goes off in all directions but there’s no absolutes, certainties or inclination to do anything more than sit in a warm bath of unknowing.

I realise (of course) that I’m going out on a limb in making the foregoing declaration about our inclination to be changed but then again, I think of all the things we know now about our anthropocentric predicament and I can’t help but wonder why we haven’t been persuaded that we’re a menace and we’re slowly killing all sentient life, including our own species. And that’s not to over-dramatise things: if you can’t see the effects of the Anthropocene be that the weather patterns, the absence of nature or pollution of every stripe then, me thinks, you’re probably living under a metaphysical rock.

I do want to end on a less sombre note. 

I want to know, not in a desperate or must-know basis, how I can help you or someone you know. It occurs to me that there’s so much more I could be doing with Substack. And that’s not code for saying: I want to sell you on anything more than how I might listen – deeply, reverently and for you to be heard. I could of course go ‘live’ and see if anyone tunes in but if I do that I’ll have to do it elsewhere and if I do I’m going to take a few themes rather than just speak on the hoof. In the admix is bound to be grief, endings and death. I know, hardly best sellers but in my bailiwick they’re the things that have been pushed to the back of the existential cupboard, never to be shown the light of day.

And so, this is my invitation for you to tell me how I can help.

Enjoy your Sunday.

Blessings, and much love.

Julian

Photo by Kenjiro Koya on Unsplash