Roman Walls

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Stop growing and you’re already shrinking. Resolve to hang on to what you’ve got and you’ll probably lose it. Stick to what you’ve always known and you are getting stuck. The best bet in life is to give up self-defence – and march ever onwards.

This came to me, when I was talking to a nice person at work, about her natural desire to protect what she has. When we feel vulnerable or change is in the air, we all get defensive. I admitted I had felt very much the same, until quite recently. Then something I read about the Romans came to my assistance.

Historians sometimes mark the height of the Roman Empire as Marcus Aurelius’ defeat of the Germanians. But you can trace the start of its decline two emperors earlier, to Hadrian’s decision to stop advancing and instead build walls. The construction of walls marked the edge of civilisation and was designed to keep out barbarians. For which, Hadrian famously put one up across the North of Britain.

But in that moment the Romans subtly and implicitly signalled their limits – and invited attack, decline and fall. No longer advancing, assimilating and civilising; they’d said: “That’s it, we’re digging in, hanging on and giving up.”

My conversation partner and I reflected on the fact that perhaps life, and indeed working life, are much the same. Keep moving forward, keep an open mind, keep learning and doing new things; and momentum, new challenges and opportunities come along.

Hunker down, dig in and hang on – even behind the most impressive fortifications, and you’re already sinking into decline and fall. And this couldn’t have been more amply demonstrated, than in a valedictory interview I watched, between two ageing newsmen a few day later: one, retiring, cynical, dogmatic and closed minded; the other delightfully open, interested and enthusiastic about life, other people and the world.

There are always more intellectual aqueducts to construct, chasms of ignorance to span with new bridges and viaducts, roads to pave to fresh knowledge and ideas. Whatever the temptation to stop, rest or settle, the best answer is always to keep moving on, growing and learning.

Great Men

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The Greeks invented tragedy. Shakespeare explored its every facet. Hollywood is more ‘goodies’ and ‘baddies’. But does greatness invariably end in disaster? It depends on what you think great is.

Most of the ‘great’ men I’ve met have been greatest in either stature, ego or self regard. Far fewer in warmth, kindness or humility.

It’s this simple I reckon: if you’re great on the backs of others – expect one day to fail and fall.

If you’re great for and because of others – great of heart, integrity and kindness – you may stumble, but I believe you will never truly fall.

Why? Because those you have truly cared about and cared for will reach out to catch you in your hour of need, and will gently forgive you your honest mistakes.

The only greatness worth having is that which is earned for, from and freely bestowed by others.

Tree of Life

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Instead of ‘keeping plates spinning’, I’m coming to the conclusion that a better metaphor for my middle years, is a spreading oak, full of twittering birds.

Many feathered, they can’t be tethered; birds come and go and freely choose your branches. Some stay a while, some just pass through. Some coexist peacefully with the rest of the tree. Some scare others away. Some sing beautifully, others cheep incessantly. And quieter birds just appreciate the support and shade.

Right in the centre of my tree is the ramshackle but solid nest which is my little family: cheeping, pecking each other and squawking periodically for food. Sustenance delivered, this nest is the driving purpose of my whole tree.

Sadly my oak – like so many urban trees – suffers regular vandalism. A couple of people regularly urinate on it. Every now and then a f#ckwit carves “I am a f#ckwit” on it. Periodically someone tries to strip the bark and make my branches droop.

But my tree is home to a good many happy singing birds most days. From the smiling faces in the coffee shop, via the cheery waves from security and the cleaners to the rather more demanding nesting birds of the people who work for me. And of course the noisy but life-filled family nest, bursting with love, at each end of the day.

My tree of life ain’t a bad habitat. And seeing its many occupants cheeping, twittering, singing and flitting in and out is a happier picture than the pointless spinning of plates.

Keeping the vandals away, the ravens at bay, the roots deep and the branches strong, is all I need to do to enjoy life-filled and happy days. That, and a heart of English oak.

Cogito ergonomics sum

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I think therefore I am – ‘the cogito’ – is Descartes most famous contribution to philosophy. I might doubt everything else; that I am thinking is a certainty.

But thinking – and doing something about it – requires a comparative absence of distraction and ideally a modicum of comfort. And that’s where design comes in.

One of the reasons I’ve written less in the last few weeks is my new shiny iPhone 5. In many ways a splendid device. But more is sometimes less. And I find I can’t write on it.

It’s too big. I can’t reach the top corner ‘action’ buttons. It feels like it’s constantly going to tip over backwards – and tumble and smash into small, beautifully machined Apple pieces.

So I’m back tapping on the iPhone 4 (which I couldn’t give up despite a generous financial offer from a good friend). Fast, fluid, typing is a doddle again.

Ergonomics matter. Hard to think when you’re uncomfortable, hard to write when your hand hurts.

Technology isn’t always getting better. The iPhone 4 is my perfect writing device. Like Hemingway’s Moleskine or Remington’s typewriter, when it comes to writing iPhone 4 is the classic.

Hmmm

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Half me, half her.
Qualities mine, faults hers.
Hmmm.
Some things about him aren’t either of us?

Ok.
Quarter her folks, quarter mine.
Makes sense.
Hang on a bit,
Her folks aren’t all bad.
Some of his qualities might be theirs?

Ok.
One eighth my paternal grandparents,
One eighth my my mum’s parents
Hmmm.
Right old mix there.

The truth dawns.
He’s not half me, half her.
He’s one hundred percent him.
Unique.
A joy.
A beam of sunlight in our lives.
But his talents and shortcomings are all his own.

Mixed results for the boy at school this week. Some parental adjustment and effort required. But the big penny which is dropping, is letting go of the ‘me’ in him and truly embracing him.

Not hard – he is wonderful. But he is ‘he’, not a mini me.