The art of not reading. Or, selective attention as a means for intellectual survival

Reading is a serious business. It takes precious, irrecoverable, finite time to devote yourself to a book. In doing so, you make an active decision to press pause on your ordinary life so as to step into another world, another place, another time.

Why then, would you choose to continue reading something that is not only uninspiring but frustratingly disappointing?

My three words for 2018

I’m not one for resolutions. But I am one for words.

Words that set the tone, capture the scene, express the truth, and lay the foundations for a story that is captivating enough to hold your attention, sustain your focus and make you change the way you think or behave for the better.

Methods in madness. Or, when cleaning the fridge counts as a good day.

Day by day, minute by minute, hour by hour. Measures of worth and progress plotted on the artificial construct of human time known as the clock, where every moment that passes in which you don’t succumb to the compulsion to self-sabotage your wise intentions is a small, significant victory for sanity

What's the root of our suffering and is it possible to escape the carousel of despair?

Or, Why the existential vacuum is the precursor to survival.

There’s a Taoist proverb that says: “A tree hemmed in by giants requires tenacity to survive.” The point is that adversity can be a precursor to survival, and that survival depends on our response to whatever tension we might face.

What’s the most good we can do – and is there even any point in bothering?

Your efforts are just a drop in the ocean, insignificant in the context of a global population where the majority do relatively little to make a difference, and those that do barely make a dent in redressing the global imbalance.

What difference can one person really make in the grand scheme of things?

Pushed to the limits of our being

The political theorist Thomas Hobbes wrote that “we are all matter in motion”. Every element of our being, from the thoughts in our mind, to the cells in our bodies, is in a constant state of migration.

We move location, change the pace of our thoughts, adjust our ideas in response to those of others, shift the parameters and limitations in all that we do, expand and extend, bond and break, knocking against each other, causing a ripple of chain reactions we don’t always fully appreciate.

Is it always wise to make an impact?

Where’s the value in what you do? What is the purpose of your work? Why do you live the life you lead?

These are the questions that regularly occur, in varying word formations, in many of the conversations I have.

Each of those questions assumes an answer, and carries with it the implication that it must be a noble one.

Are we doomed to lose our minds? After Sebastian Faulks' Human Traces.

Is madness the price we pay for consciousness? And how much has our comprehension moved on since the 19th century, when psychiatry was in its infancy and “lunatics” were locked away in prison-like asylums?

Those are the questions posed by Sebastian Faulks’ novel Human Traces, which charts how two men seek to unravel “the metaphysical enigma” of the mind over a 50-year period between the 1870s and the 1920s.

What if it's all been said before?

We writers are known for being tormented by the anxiety of influence.

The fear that one’s work is not original, that it isn’t good enough, that it might be a transmuted version of source material subconsciously absorbed and observed via the greats that precede us.

What’s the value in what we have to say, what’s the point in adding to the infinite pile, hasn’t it all been said before?

On memory & forgetting, via Cave, Kundera & Nietszche

When we’re young, we worry and wonder about how life will turn out.

Will it get easier, does it get better, will it become clear who we’re supposed to be and will we be able to find the right way there?

We know nothing of consequence. The future is all anticipation and expectation.

The ruinous nature of holidays

It’s not often you find yourself leaving home with the perfect companion. This is especially true when travelling.

The pressure to have a good time can sap you of the joy that you end up wearing as a mask to hide the strain. So I was pleased to recently find myself on a trip to Cyprus with Geoff Dyer.

As a fellow “professional of distraction”, he did for me what I, at the time, couldn’t bring myself to do, out of lethargy and a sense of existential displacement. That is to articulate the sense of disaffection and fatigue with both the interior and exterior landscape.

Words to live by when you're struggling to find your own

For days when you feel torn or dissatisfied, when you wake up and all the toughness of determination seems to be weakened for no apparent reason, the words of others can save you.

They can fill the spaces between moments of clarity or confusion with meaning.

Where you stumble to understand let alone express yourself, and where you understand but can’t do the feeling or the knowledge justice, it can be useful to delegate the task of communication.

What difference do words make?

“Screw or fuck?” asks a member of Lesbian and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM), to which another responds, “screw, it’s more visceral”.

It’s one of many striking moments in the 2014 film Pride, which tells the story of how in 1984, a group of lesbian and gay activists from London befriended a struggling Welsh community during the UK miners' strikes.

When actions speak louder than words: Why I’m trailblazing for Oxfam

Newton’s third law of motion tells us that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  The Buddhist principle of karma similarly teaches us that everything we do, every decision we make, has a consequence.  Philosophical determinism suggests that we cannot escape the inherent causality of human existence, and that our actions will inevitably give rise to the effects that reflect our essential morality.  Faced with the imbalances that subsequently blight much of our over-exploited, under-resourced, conflict-riddled world, the question is – how should we live?  

I run therefore I am: How conscious movement can set your mind free

The novelist Haruki Murakami describes himself as "a runner and a writer".  The two are inextricably intertwined elements of his whole being. As a runner and a writer, I wholeheartedly agree. What is it about the physical exertion of running that is so vital for the parallel process of creative release? How do the two activities mirror each other such that the Holy Grail of "the flow" finally becomes attainable?

The restless whirlpool of life

What is it that we’re saying when we talk of highs and lows? Why do we linguistically frame our lives this way? How have we even come to collectively associate and articulate “forwards” and “up” as signs of progress, while assuming “backwards” and “down” to be regressive?

Women & writing: A celebration of true greatness

As International Women’s Day reminds us of the battles still being fought in the seemingly interminable quest for parity in all aspects of social, cultural, political and economic life, the likes of Smith, Didion, Lorna Sage, Siri Hustvedt, Susan Sontag (the list goes on) are testament to the strength and inestimable value of the female voice.

Plant power: The farm that grows salad & life chances

“I’ve seen every sun rise for the last six years. The way I see it, we’re spiritual beings on a human journey. Part of that spirit relies on reconnecting with our roots.” Steve Glover is a man on a mission, and he’s determined to help people who might otherwise find themselves on the fringes of society struggling to find their purpose.

The power of words in an age of anxiety

“The magic of escapist fiction is that it can actually offer you a genuine escape from a bad place and, in the process of escaping, it can furnish you with armour, with knowledge, with weapons, with tools you can take back into your life to help make it better. It’s a real escape — and when you come back, you come back better armed than when you left.” - Neil Gaiman.