When I read the newspapers or watch the news it makes me think, as I suppose it should. The problem is it’s rarely anything good or uplifting that I’m thinking. Although I’m mildly grateful that I have any thoughts at all. Much like my thoughts after reading the article represented in the picture above.
I found it in the colour supplement of The Observer on the Sunday just gone. It made me think because the woman who wrote the article, Kiran Sidhu, in the Self and Well-being section of the supplement was extolling the virtues or trying to make a case (you decide) for being still. Not exactly literally but similar. What still means in this case will become clearer as we go along. I usually ignore this section of the magazine because, this article apart, the writers of the articles are always trying to promote their book or business or sell something or other.
Unless I missed it, Kiran was simply writing about ‘being still’ after six years of, to use her own word, turbulence. I wouldn’t want to pretend that my retirement life has been turbulent, but I could definitely make a case that this last couple of weeks had had its challenges and we’re both feeling a bit weary.
But, and it’s a big but, any attempt to counter-balance this excess of activity, of stress even, by being still finds me agitating for action after no more than a day or two. So I was intrigued to see what the article had to say. Would my motivation be increased by reading it?
Kirwan had moved from the ‘turmoil of London’ to the tranquillity of the Welsh countryside where she had met a sheep farmer, name of Wilf. Nothing unusual in that, but what was surprising was Wilf’s lifestyle (extreme maybe even for a sheep farmer) and, even more surprising, how much Kirwan admired it.
For example Wilf had only left his Welsh valley once in his 70 plus years and that was 30 years ago. As Kirwan wrote, ‘there was me, running to places far and wide, like a magpie attracted to all that was shiny and new. All the while, Wilf stood still.’ Nicely put I thought.
It didn’t stop there because Kirwan backed this up with, ‘because of Wilf, I was beginning to understand that there is movement in standing still – if you notice the changes of the season; if you allow yourself to hear the cuckoo.’
Impressive I thought but so completely not me. My version of standing still is of the ‘always running to stand still’, type of approach to life. And it’s true to say that the older I’ve got and the more decrepit my body becomes, the harder I’m running. You might call that a paradox if you were so minded.
There’s no doubt that, as I engage in this theoretical running there is a little voice in my head saying, slow down, be still, notice the moments, value the small things, you know all that kind of malarkey. And then I think, nah, bugger that and keep running, I keep (to revisit and old theme of these retirement blogs) searching for that missing link in my life. Looking wistfully over the fence at that greener grass. At its most extreme I’m thinking if I only keep running I will find true happiness. (I don’t really think this but you get the idea).
Can’t seem to stop. As I say the older I get the harder I’m running. But the extreme in this article and probably a line in the sand with this ‘keep it simple’ business, is Wilf and his eating habits (and the word habit is not misused here), because he apparently eats the same food every night. Wilf reasons that because he had found the food he loved, there was no need to try anything else.
I was with Kirwan for a large part of the way in understanding the case she was making for what, the still and simple life? But here she lost me I’m afraid. But she did not give up on him she was still enamoured of Wilf’s lifestyle.
And while we’re on the subject while I’m fessing up to my shortcomings vis a vis not being a still kind of guy, if I’m like Kirwan then Mrs Summerhouse neatly fits into the Wilf way of doing things. It must run in her family. She had an uncle, Francis who lived and farmed in County Leitrim, Ireland. We used go over and stay with him. Delightful, although the lack of indoor plumbing, well any plumbing, took a little bit of getting used to. He’d never been outside of his immediate area. Why would I want to go anywhere else he would ask?
On the one occasions we persuaded him into our car for a drive round he spent the whole journey going, look at that cow, and that one, that’s a beautiful beast, sure it is. The simple things certainly defined him. He even managed to get killed by a cow – it kicked him in the head while he was milking it. Simple life and a simple death you might say.
But I’m not trying to make light of the general concept behind the article, I really do need to take it seriously. I do need to slow down and simplify my retirement life. But then, unless I become a very much better writer than I am (you know the kind that can write a whole book about the passing of a second) then I wouldn’t have much to put in these retirement blogs. So I probably won’t bother trying to change my life style right now. Maybe next time.
KISS – Keep It Simple Stupid