July Hibernation

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Sometimes when I’m running on my treadmill I’m struck by the irony of what I’m doing and its symbolism of life in general. Working hard but going really nowhere somehow seems futile even when it feels good.

It gets a little weird thinking like this. It’s not actually how I experience life. I’m generally more optimistic. When I’m open to the idea I find every day is slightly different, like different flavours of ice cream. It’s the subtle nuances that make the experience positive despite the basic sameness of the underlying stuff. No matter how much you like ice cream however, there comes a time when you are just sick of it and need something else. Something savoury.

People get funny ideas about me. Perhaps it’s the orange hair or Frankie, my pet hyena. Whatever. But that’s not who I am. It’s my thoughts that make me MLC Man. The things I believe and like or don’t like. For example, I don’t like crowds, or driving in traffic. I do like peace and quiet, nature and art. And primal stuff. Snowy mountains, rain on a tin roof, surf crashing on a beach and wind howling through the power lines. I hate lawn mowers, chainsaws and especially those noisy garden blower-vac things.

I’m materialistic, but hate being so. Stuff appeals to me, but when I acquire it, the magic disappears. All material stuff is the same. Like Homer’s Sirens, materialism drags you onto the rocks with enticing, but empty promises. This is why art should be free. When you pay for it, you debase it and it isn’t art anymore.

Money affects everything - art, religion, and especially sport.

A good run makes you feel great, like the wedding of a close friend or a magical day in the mountains. But a bad run is like a bad day at work. The ones I remember are what motivates or discourages me for the next run. And my memory is prompted by recent events. So a bad week at work is highly unlikely to encourage a run. This is a pity, because that’s when I need it most.

Time is running out. It’s not just race day that approaches, but the end of life as well. To achieve anything means to race against time. But nothing is easy, and time is short.

Often I wish I was a talented and famous artist, and could reach people with messages that make the world a better place. Messages about being kind, and thinking more about the future and less about holding grudges from the past.

I get so tired of everyday things. Go to work, go home, sleep, get up, go to work, go home, sleep, get up … but that is life, and when I’m honest, it’s the life that I chose. It’s a life I could change any time I want to. I have that freedom. I am not a slave. And that’s the thing. It’s not actually everyday things that kill me, it’s the knowledge that I have the freedom to change them, but don’t.

Perhaps I should live a simpler life. Give myself more time to walk in the mountains, write my novel and learn to paint watercolours half decently. Time to take long walks on deserted beaches, and to run them too. But I don’t think I’d handle it very well.

Have you ever taken a big ripe juicy tomato, put it in your hand and just squashed it? Felt the juice and pulp squeeze through your fingers? Smelled the aroma of virginal tomato juice enticing your nostrils and had your eyes excited by the vividness of multitudinous shades of red? And then marvelled at how easily you crushed the life out of one of nature’s sensuous miracles?

No, nor have I, but I think about such things, especially when I’m running. I sometimes wonder if we don’t squeeze the life and soul out of ourselves just as easily.

But these things are easy to write about. The uncertainty of life is felt keenly by anyone who stops to consider it. What though, of love and faith, spirituality and religion? People here seem keen to discuss faith and religion in particular. I’m not so keen myself, for reasons that are hard to explain, but think of it like this…

Suppose for a moment that there was only one, true form of art that gave purpose and meaning to life and was the key to the hereafter.

Now, go out and find that one true art form, convincing yourself that you have found the right one and that everyone who disagrees with you is wrong. Let’s further suppose for the sake of argument that the one true art form is rockabilly.

Now go and convince everyone who disagrees with you that you are correct.

Let me know how you get on.