I laughed at myself yesterday morning. You ridiculous man, I thought.
It was a dreich, bleak, January morning, the wind was bringing scuds of stinging rain flat across the west lancashire plain horizontally, so one half of your body got soaked. I was, naturally, out for a run, and then I saw some pheasants. Two cocks, jerking around a barren field. First of the year, I thought, and made a mental note to put them on the list.
Which is when I laughed at myself, the list. One of many. The run was on a list, too. Earlier on during the run I'd been thinking about the book I was reading. Also, on a list. Targets for the year. 200 bird species, 1500 miles and 50 books. Why does everything have to be a challenge? Why not just enjoy things for what they are: the beauty of two richly plumaged birds in an otherwise barren field, the pure physical pleasure of a long run, the fresh perspectives of an author new to me.
When I'd finished shaking my head at my inability to just enjoy the moment for what it was rather than immediately commodifying it, I got to thinking about this urge, and how I was going to dovetail it into another one, the urge to keep this blog going. The two are partially related. An old girlfriend would roll her eyes at this, and tell me to stop overthinking it (I can almost hear her doing it), but this is by way of making my excuses, and also by way of thinking through who I am and what I do.
This blog's been a number of things over the years, injoke, platform, advertising, pulpit. Most of all it's a monumuent to self-absorption and solipsism, of course, what kind of monstrous arrogance does it it take to assume people are going to want to read it? But, taking that as read, it's also a vehicle for working things through, out loud, if you will.
I first started counting runs a couple of years ago, roughly the same time that I started keeping a regular diary (in addition to this blog which, as long time readers will be aware, is decidedly irregular). The runs were a response to my deteriorating health. The diary a response to my less than brilliant memory, and also an attempt to impose some discipline on anotherwise chaotic writing process. Both could be said to be me attempting to recapture something of myself after the full mind/body press of starting a family at the same time as a business.
(there's something to be said here about how this is essentially a selfish act, but I'll deal with that when I review the book I'm currently reading, there are some harmonic similarities)
Fast forward to the present day and I am now something of an inveterate note-keeper. The diarising has become a fact of life (and a matter of deep regret, I wish I'd always done it, I have very little memory of ages 18-35 - don't do drugs, kids), as has logging runs, there's a sense of satisfaction to it, of being able to look back on the road you've been down. But this doesn't fully explain my habit of setting myself arbitrary targets.
It started with the running, I wondered if I could do 1000 miles in a year, and did. So then it seemed the most natural thing to try to do 1100, then 1250. From there it's just a short step to 1500 (well, quite a few short steps) and, I reason, even if I fall short, I'll still end up having done a lot more than if I hadn't tried. As to the books, well, I think I explained that one at the time. I want to read more, I just need to give myself a framework to do it. It may seem like a joyless box-ticking exercise, but if it has the effect of making me read more (and blog more) then it's all to the good (to this end I've also set myself the added caveat of no-re-reads). The next tinme those end of year literary quizzes roll round, I'll be ready.
And then the birds. What's all that about? Whilst a keen observer of birds, I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a bird-watcher. I've never been one for piling into a van to go and see one of innumerable brown warblers which has been blown off course. This seems the least likely of the challenges. But there are a few reasons to do it. Firstly, it will compel us to go to places we wouldn't normally go. 200 is a lot of species, and so a variety of spots will need visiting. Secondly, chasing after birds is, of necessity, an outdoor pursuit. We're all fairly outdoorsy anyway, this gives an extra reason to wander off the beaten path. Thirdly, the boys. Point out a Sedge Warbler and they'll shrug, bored. Point it out when you've challenged them to help you compile a list and they'll ask if we have it yet. You get far fewer complaints about being bored on walks when they're competing to see who can spot the most species.
So I suppose the reason I've given myself these arbitrary challenges is fairly simple. it's not the end goal, it's the process. I don't expect to achieve any of these, but I'll learn a lot by trying.
It was a dreich, bleak, January morning, the wind was bringing scuds of stinging rain flat across the west lancashire plain horizontally, so one half of your body got soaked. I was, naturally, out for a run, and then I saw some pheasants. Two cocks, jerking around a barren field. First of the year, I thought, and made a mental note to put them on the list.
Which is when I laughed at myself, the list. One of many. The run was on a list, too. Earlier on during the run I'd been thinking about the book I was reading. Also, on a list. Targets for the year. 200 bird species, 1500 miles and 50 books. Why does everything have to be a challenge? Why not just enjoy things for what they are: the beauty of two richly plumaged birds in an otherwise barren field, the pure physical pleasure of a long run, the fresh perspectives of an author new to me.
When I'd finished shaking my head at my inability to just enjoy the moment for what it was rather than immediately commodifying it, I got to thinking about this urge, and how I was going to dovetail it into another one, the urge to keep this blog going. The two are partially related. An old girlfriend would roll her eyes at this, and tell me to stop overthinking it (I can almost hear her doing it), but this is by way of making my excuses, and also by way of thinking through who I am and what I do.
This blog's been a number of things over the years, injoke, platform, advertising, pulpit. Most of all it's a monumuent to self-absorption and solipsism, of course, what kind of monstrous arrogance does it it take to assume people are going to want to read it? But, taking that as read, it's also a vehicle for working things through, out loud, if you will.
I first started counting runs a couple of years ago, roughly the same time that I started keeping a regular diary (in addition to this blog which, as long time readers will be aware, is decidedly irregular). The runs were a response to my deteriorating health. The diary a response to my less than brilliant memory, and also an attempt to impose some discipline on anotherwise chaotic writing process. Both could be said to be me attempting to recapture something of myself after the full mind/body press of starting a family at the same time as a business.
(there's something to be said here about how this is essentially a selfish act, but I'll deal with that when I review the book I'm currently reading, there are some harmonic similarities)
Fast forward to the present day and I am now something of an inveterate note-keeper. The diarising has become a fact of life (and a matter of deep regret, I wish I'd always done it, I have very little memory of ages 18-35 - don't do drugs, kids), as has logging runs, there's a sense of satisfaction to it, of being able to look back on the road you've been down. But this doesn't fully explain my habit of setting myself arbitrary targets.
It started with the running, I wondered if I could do 1000 miles in a year, and did. So then it seemed the most natural thing to try to do 1100, then 1250. From there it's just a short step to 1500 (well, quite a few short steps) and, I reason, even if I fall short, I'll still end up having done a lot more than if I hadn't tried. As to the books, well, I think I explained that one at the time. I want to read more, I just need to give myself a framework to do it. It may seem like a joyless box-ticking exercise, but if it has the effect of making me read more (and blog more) then it's all to the good (to this end I've also set myself the added caveat of no-re-reads). The next tinme those end of year literary quizzes roll round, I'll be ready.
And then the birds. What's all that about? Whilst a keen observer of birds, I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a bird-watcher. I've never been one for piling into a van to go and see one of innumerable brown warblers which has been blown off course. This seems the least likely of the challenges. But there are a few reasons to do it. Firstly, it will compel us to go to places we wouldn't normally go. 200 is a lot of species, and so a variety of spots will need visiting. Secondly, chasing after birds is, of necessity, an outdoor pursuit. We're all fairly outdoorsy anyway, this gives an extra reason to wander off the beaten path. Thirdly, the boys. Point out a Sedge Warbler and they'll shrug, bored. Point it out when you've challenged them to help you compile a list and they'll ask if we have it yet. You get far fewer complaints about being bored on walks when they're competing to see who can spot the most species.
So I suppose the reason I've given myself these arbitrary challenges is fairly simple. it's not the end goal, it's the process. I don't expect to achieve any of these, but I'll learn a lot by trying.
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