While racing from one thing to another throughout a typical day, I rarely give any thought to what I might not do – I’m invariably consumed with what I have not done – or what others might be able to accuse me of not doing.
It never occurs to me to not do something – to tell anybody no. I’m not sure if that’s a character failing specific to me, or if everybody suffers from the same problem to an extent.
Whenever I visit the city, I’m always curious about people endlessly rushing to get somewhere – to do something. I wonder what they are rushing towards – what their very important mission involves.
When we travel to visit my parents, we can feel the world slow down – the further we get from London. Perhaps all big cities imbue their inhabitants with the same mania?
In the same way that former professional sports-people seem to have problems with weight when they finish competing (it turns out sitting in an office chair doesn’t burn as many calories as circuit training), I have a similar problem with books. I used to read a lot. For several years I commuted into and out of London each day – four hours on the train – two hours each way. I started by reading the latest books out, and then side-tracked into reading a succession of banned or notorious books – the likes of Lolita, Crash, and Catcher in the Rye. I also read a lot of classics – Anna Karenina, On the Road, and Ulysses among them.
When I stopped commuting, it never occurred to me to stop buying books. I still buy books now – but I don’t make time to read them. I’m too busy trying to do this, that, or the other thing during a typical day.
Just last night I sat in bed doom-scrolling the news on an iPad until 1am. I was back up at 7am, dragging the bins down the driveway, and patting our neighbour’s labrador on the head.
In the couple of hours before work I emptied the dishwasher, half-re-filled it, tidied the lounge up, picked up shoes and coats from the hallway floor, checked email, took more rubbish out, and countless other things.
It’s got to the point where I don’t even realise I’m doing it – I can’t just “be” – there’s always something that needs doing. Something to pick up, something to wash, something to put away, something to throw in the bin, something, something, something…
I know I need to slow down.
Even when I collapse in front of the home-computer on an evening, there’s a hundred and one videos that might be made for the YouTube channel (last night I showed newbies how to borrow a 747, in case they ever come across one with the keys left in it)… They don’t have keys, if you were wondering.
I need to slow down, sit down, and just be. I kind of did a little bit last weekend – but then I had a bad cold, which is perhaps my body’s way of saying “you know those hundred things you were going to do this weekend?” (cue sinister giggle).
Perhaps I should write a self help book on slowing down – and just fill every page with “no, really – slow down”.