Dear readers,
First, I have an apology to offer up. I have been away for almost two whole weeks. My lack of posting is not indicative of a lack of effort, rather I had my birthday, a short break in Hay on Wye and work duties beyond what I could imagine.
Time away from writing is an odd thing. It gives you space to really think, sometimes you can be so sucked into meeting a deadline that the act of thinking becomes robotic. You type and type without truly contemplating the words which are written down. The space between the page and yourself gets somewhat lost as you are trying to think of the next subject for a substack, an essay or whatever else it may be.
Yet, you still miss it. I love writing and thinking. It is what I have done for a living for the past few years and i would be loathed to give it up should that time ever come. Not unlike a drug it drains you; of your energy, your goodwill and sometimes your reputation but you nevertheless always find yourself coming back to it.
The depth of addiction can be measured by when you think about it. During dinner or when you wake up is common enough but if you start thinking about it when in the shower or when having sex you know you're in trouble… writing and thinking can be all consuming leading us down some dark alleyways which best be avoided which most commonly includes utter self-absorption.
I am currently writing this on a bus as I limp towards work. My shame for not contributing earlier was simply too great. The bounce in the bus as it skates over the pot holes may create the odd spelling error, and my bloodshot eyes may not catch them. This, my dear reader, is the very definition of a newsletter needing to be written.
My visit to Hay on Wye, which is slowly but surely becoming an annual pilgrimage, is always a paradox for me. The scenic yet slightly artificial village in Wales declared itself to the biggest book town in the world. Boasting 26 shops in a radius not much longer than 2 miles across calling it packed would be insufficient. Therefore, despite being rest bite from work and stress, it is also a constant reminder of it…
Not that I mind. As I said before I think of myself as a bit of an addict when it comes to this stuff. If that is a bad thing I will let you decide as I am clearly in no position to do so… not that i believe intervention is required, there is no need for my friends to strap me down and play box set after box set for me.
We live in a culture which far from worrying about making jack a full boy actively encourages it. Working hard is revered beyond instrumentalism but as a good itself. We work hard to get fit, eat right, get that promotion, write that article, and saving that deposit for a beautiful house but it all comes from working hard. Even our holidays are merely the fruits of how hard we work… the harder we work the more deserving we are of grander adventures.
Joy and relaxation is now a privilege a few can enjoy. We now live in times of shared struggle as our new and ailing Prime Minister keeps reiterating as if we weren't already aware. It has been this way since I was younger as university access has opened up competition the job market had hitherto seen. Now, even the most temporary and terrible jobs have several rounds of recruitment featuring all manner of tasks likely in part to see just how willing you are to do anything it takes. Think of bear Grylls without the scenic backdrop.
Pretending we can rise above it is pointless. Instead, we are locked in, not quite like wage slaves as modern Marxists like to say but just enough to ensure escape is pretty futile. That is unless we are willing to give up on self advancement which far too many of us are too loyal to dispense with. No, we want the shiny things, the car and the big house…
So that makes time away a problem. Time away takes us from our goal which is inevitably to eventually acquire recognition of success and a life well lived. Except of course, the question inevitably arrives are our lives well lived? Or are we merely trapped by our own yearnings for something more?