Of life, of death, of course
Ruminations after dark concludes a boiling hot summer day
Time to loosen those finger joints again and get busy on the keyboard. This one's for my old pal Marc, who treated me to lunch today and we were talking, amongst other things, about me and writing. I told him someone had asked me to think about what is my purpose a few days ago, but to take a few minutes before answering. In theory, my purpose should be my holistic therapy - working with people to transform aspects of their lives. And that's not something that I am going to stop doing, but I realised that my 'purpose', if I have one, is actually writing.
I don't do it as much as I should, although this time last year I had just started this very Substack with the crazy notion of writing every day until I surpassed the age of 100. That was nuts, although I can recall doing then exactly what I am doing now. Sitting out on the balcony of my apartment on warm nights after it had turned dark and churning out around a thousand words, give or take, for my readers.
It didn't really take off, in terms of either my pushing it heavily to increase the eyeballs or those that did read it deciding they wanted to actually pay for it. Now it's all free. There is a paid option for those that want to support my work, but everything that's published now is available to all. It just disappears behind a paywall after two months. Ultimately, it's a gateway to my work.
Only in England… Old Father Time is the focus of a weathervane at Lord’s Cricket Ground
But people buy from people, right? So yes, I'll at times talk about aspects of my work, but other times I'll just let the muse take me. More and more of what we will read going forward is going to be the creation of Artificial Intelligence, but I think eventually a lot of people will prefer the humanity, the nuances, the real. So there will always be an audience for the real thing. And the reason I felt that writing was my actual purpose was that it is the most natural form of expression for yours truly.
But here's the thing. Some of my greatest writing is in emails to clients. Confidential, only read by the intended recipient, but sometimes life changing. It's something that I'll see if I can replicate on occasion here. Some very real stuff has been going on lately. When my son was of pre-school age, he used to go to a local playgroup and my (then) other half got pally with the other mums. One was a sweet woman of Portuguese origin, who was married to a guy who worked as a producer in the sports department of BBC Radio Five, the BBC's sport and news radio station.
When myself and my (now) ex were allocated a vegetable plot (AKA allotment) soon after, we discovered our neighbours there were this couple. In truth it is the wife that kept the plot going, but her husband sometimes showed his face. He was a character.
Over 20 years on, a couple of days ago I was told that he'd suffered a heart attack and did not survive it, on a visit to Wales. He was a little overweight, gregarious, in truth liked a drink, and probably didn't score heavily on the healthy lifestyle chart, even if I imagine he ate a lot of organic vegetables. He was about my age, and it was a salient reminder that there are no guarantees. Let's say he was 60 for the sake of argument (I recently turned 61). The average life expectancy of a male in the UK is around 80 years old.
On that score, 60 feels like no age at all. The official retirement age is 67. But the reality is that for the statistic of life expectancy to be what it is, then for every man that becomes a centenarian, as it is my ambition to do (with my mind and body still functioning), then there is someone that only makes it till about 60. Maybe he should have worked the veg plot. I was speaking to another neighbour over there this evening and he told me about a former neighbour of his that was working his plot until his death at the age of 98. It's interesting how I seem to enjoy the pottering around on my own plot more and more, and with the time invested in it, I am having my best summer so far in my quest to stay on top of the weeds and get the whole plot planted.
The last two days have been - for London - incredibly warm. The temperature reached 35 degrees Celsius today - which for London is crazy and uncomfortable. It was too hot to really be out in the daytime, certainly out of the shade. I cycled the 700 metres to the underground station and then in central London walked about the same - on the shady side of the street - to meet Marc at the Italian restaurant. I watered the veg plot early in the morning and then went over to do odd jobs there once the sun was on its last legs and after it set until darkness was imminent. Aside from that I did what I could to stay cool.
I know a lot of people can die from the heat. Their bodies struggle to calibrate and just shut down in the end. There was a day about three years ago when the temperature rose above 40 degrees. One lady I knew who was in her eighties was found dead in her home, where she lived alone. Honestly, if it's that hot and you are getting on, the best you can do is sit in a cool bath and stay hydrated. At least it gives the body a chance. I recall being on a Greek island in the 1980s and witnessing, every early afternoon, fully clothed local Greek women of a certain age come to the beach and, with their clothes on, just sit in the water and allow the tide to keep them cool.
It's a bit of a morbid offering today, but that's ok. Where there is life, there is death, and it should be remembered that the death of the mortal being is not the death of the soul, but a release for it, from the pain and suffering which is part of the deal of a life on this earth. And much as I work with people to improve their health, nobody's immortal. The ideal is you die in your sleep of old age, not of a chronic condition. You simply go to bed one night and never wake up.
Sure, you don't get your chance to say your deathbed goodbyes, but maybe it's better that way, not least because if you do pass in this fashion, it will generally mean you've lived a long life. And of course, any discussion about this stuff reminds us to make the most of every day. Because there are no guarantees, only percentage odds.
If you are interested in changing some aspect of your life and want to be guided by an experienced therapist who utilises the power of the quantum field and its infinite possibilities, message me through Substack or drop me an email - timewaverlondon3@gmail.com