write.as/jonbeckett

I've had the strangest feeling recently – that I'm in-between. Not just work projects, or chores, or whatever else. Something bigger. Something you can't quite describe, or relate to.

I'm not sure if it's that I'm changing, that a change is happening around me, or I'm just becoming aware of something different.

It's very odd.

In the past I've written about ends and beginnings – about the reciprocal nature of things. This feels more like a metamorphosis. I wonder if there's something in-between ends and beginnings – not so final, and not so dramatic. A transformation of sorts.

Perhaps it's to do with insight. Becoming aware. Observing. Taking notice.

Sometimes people talk about moments of clarity. Perhaps this is one of them – that I've noticed the shifting of the universe's sands. It's more a feeling than anything you might see, hear, or touch.

Like I said – it's very odd.

As I grow older a realisation of sorts has happened – that the world will continue on with or without me, and that my participation in it is largely inconsequential. I think perhaps as you get older you begin to appreciate that it's not all about you.

When I was young, like many I was filled with a wonderful level of conceit, self importance, and lack of empathy. Most people are. This is no bad thing – while finding your way in the world, if you worry too much about everybody else finding their way, you might lose track of where you are headed.

There's a difference between heading and course though.

The direction we're going right now might not take us to the destination we had planned. And that's ok.

Maybe there's a danger in thinking too much, too. If we worry too much about each step, we end up going sideways – we never find out “what if”. I don't mean the big things either – it's the countless small things during the day.

Do you reach out to that friend you haven't heard from for ages? Do you worry that they have too much going on?

It's the worrying about things you haven't done because you're worried what others might think, forgetting that nobody is really that interested in whatever you are doing – they have their own mayhem to navigate.

I don't really know where I'm going with this.

Maybe all I'm saying is “I'm fine”, “you're fine”, and “don't worry – it will turn out alright in the end”. I can't help smiling to myself now, and adding “if it is not alright, it is not the end”.

A very short post this Friday afternoon that will mean very little to very few. My blog posts originate from an account at Substack, and are cross-posted automagically into Tumblr and Wordpress by the cloud magicians at Zapier. Thus far the account name at Substack has been “jonathanwrotethis”, and it has always annoyed me a bit, because it's not the same as my Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook account names.

No more!

I changed the substack domain name to match the others, before some other person wanders along with the same name. I know it isn't really that important, but it satisfies the OCD scratch that was getting increasingly itchy.

Anyway!

It's Friday afternoon, and work is winding down for the week. I'm looking forward to a weekend visiting friends, eating pizza, and drinking cider. I'm easily pleased.

Oh – I almost forgot – I had a dream about being haunted last night. And the night before that had a dream about a great white chasing me in a small boat with an outboard motor. I wonder what it all means?

Just before shutting up for the day, I want to thank all those that read my words. I know I don't always write the most exciting words, but they're my words, they're (usually) the truth, and hopefully they don't do any harm.

I'm not sure what I might do if I wasn't allowed to have this little corner of the internet to broadcast nonsense from. Probably start talking to plants or something.

It's been a bit of a week.

Over the last few days one of my cousins started posting online about a hospital visit to check something potentially serious. It's all been a bit cloak-and-dagger, and a bit awkward. It's difficult sometimes to just go with what people feel comfortable sharing.

Then last night we got word that an aunt is seriously ill too.

I spoke to my other half last night, and our thoughts immediately turned to “how might we be able to help” – but really there's not much you can do other than be there for people if they need you.

It makes you realise that life really isn't a dress rehearsal. We get one chance at this. That doesn't necessarily mean you have to do anything big to qualify having “spent your life well”, but it does perhaps mean you stop putting things off until tomorrow.

It's strange – as I got older, my family got bigger and bigger – with new generations having children. Over the last few years it's starting to get smaller. Nobody lives forever, and as you grow older, you become ever more aware that some depart before their time.

Shakespeare had some words on this, didn't he:

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts,

As John Keating might have asked in Dead Poets Society, “what part will you play?”

If news reports are to be believed, the temperature here is going to reach 38 centigrade by tomorrow afternoon. I can't see a lot of work getting done somehow. Of course somebody has a work meeting scheduled for the hottest part of the day – I can't wait to see how many people don't turn on their webcam.

I wonder if I can get away with only wearing clothes that are in-view for conference calls? I suppose it might be interesting if I have to answer the door though – perhaps I should have the Superman bath robe the kids bought me for Christmas one year at the ready.

Imagine if I forgot, and appeared in a very serious call, wrapped in a deep blue towelling robe with red piping, and the superman logo on the chest.

Perhaps I should get the music ready to play when I appear ?

We live on the corner of a green – surrounded on all sides by sprawling suburbia. Among the various families living in those houses we have made wonderful friends over the years, and now and again an invitation goes out to anybody that might be able to make it – to find a quiet spot under a tree together, and share a little of each other's world for an hour or two.

Tonight was just such a night.

A little after dinner we began to appear from our various houses – carrying blankets, camping chairs, bottles of wine, and glasses. A warm evening with friends. The conversation flowed through all manner of subjects – everything from movies, to books, faith, food, life experiences and more.

Every time the question of faith comes up in any sort of group conversation eyes tend to turn to me. Everybody knows I've slowly become more comfortable opposing the status quo – speaking my mind of asked. It's becoming a calling card of sorts – the more belief somebody has, the more entertaining the debate becomes. Don't get me wrong – it's never disrespectful or angry – and we always change the subject eventually – agreeing to disagree.

I think perhaps agreeing to disagree solves lots of problems. I see it often – people setting out their stall and preparing to die on the hill they construct – continuing any and all arguments that oppose the view they wish to force on others. I suppose the Celestine Prophecy might have categorised their strategy as a drama of some kind.

Before we knew it the sky had become dark, and I found myself walking across town to meet my middle daughter from work. She was shattered. On the way home we talked about the characters of the evening, and her thoughts about training to manage the bar. There are plans afoot.

While writing this the clock is ticking towards midnight. Saturday is becoming Sunday beneath my feet. I wonder what Sunday will bring?

In the book “The House at Pooh Corner”, Christopher Robin asks Winnie the Pooh what he likes best in the whole world. Pooh answers:

What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying “What about a little something?” and Me saying, “Well, I shouldn't mind a little something, should you Piglet,” and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing.

Even though I've been submerged in work, sitting through calls, and picking away at a new project, it's been a hummy sort of day today. I think somehow we choose to make each day a hummy sort of day or not – and while it's very easy to pull a cloak of dark grey clouds over a day, if we set off on the right foot it's really up to us.

Anyway.

I have to wander into town now, and buy something for dinner. It's just me and Miss 21 tonight – the rest of the household have jumped on a train and are headed towards a far flung football stadium to watch England play in the European Championships. While they cheer, shout, and jump up and down, our evening may involve pizza, cider, and a horror movie.

I should get a move on. I wonder if the birds will be singing ?

Today has been a good day. A long day, a tiring day, a draining day, but also a good day.

After the alarm clock went off at 6am this morning I scraped myself out of bed, jumped in the shower, brushed my teeth, pulled yesterday's clothes on, and wandered downstairs to make a coffee.

Six months after breaking her leg in a freak accident at rugby, this morning I took my youngest daughter across the county for a consultant to look at x-rays and decide if she can start her path towards recovery in earnest. After walking this way and that through a huge hospital in search of the correct department, and after more walking this way and that in search of the x-ray department, we eventually found ourselves sitting in front of the consultant we have been waiting months to see.

My daughter's leg is “good to go”. It's healed perfectly. She can now set about building back the muscle she has lost, start running regularly, and throw herself into rugby tackles once more.

I wrote a short note on Facebook – “Thunderbirds are go!”

Guess who will obviously be charged with accompanying her on said running escapades? I don't actually mind, because I need a good reason to go running anyway.

We arrived home from the hospital early in the afternoon, and I walked straight into a wall of meetings, development work, and more meetings. Not fun.

Something else happened today though. Something that turned a stressful, tiring day into a quite wonderful day. I received word from an old friend – a friend I have not spoken to for some time, but who has never been far from my thoughts. I found myself sitting on the bus early this morning grinning like an idiot – shaking my head at the tricks the universe plays as soon as you take your eyes off it.

I think somebody broke the temperature control knob on the sun this week. We're into day three of temperatures that I can only describe as “hotter than balls”. It's a strange description, isn't it – and yet one that people commonly use.

Rather than the origin of “hotter than balls” being at all sexual, I suspect it's a corollary of “cold enough to freeze a brass monkey's balls off” – a reference to cannons and cannon balls that dates back to the Napoleonic wars.

I'm writing this during five minutes break from work. Spotify is playing Wilson Phillips at the moment – part of some kind of happy summer playlist. I was at college when Wilson Phillips first arrived – I bought several of their albums.

I used to have quite the music collection. Somewhere around here there are some photos of my apartment, and the towering CD racks that dominated the living room. We sold all of our CDs a few years ago – the last vestige we have of “owning” music is a motley collection of vinyl albums – mostly owned by my other half before we met. At Christmas or on birthdays I buy her another album – which causes endless derision from the kids.

Christopher Cross is singing now. He reminds me of an old friend – and nights spent walking through Frankfurt after work, listening to music together across the vast reaches of the internet – sharing playlists – curating thoughts and dreams.

Isn't it amazing how music connects with memories. I remember walking through the Christmas market in Frankfurt like it was yesterday. I wonder if I'll ever travel with work again – I haven't so much as got on a train let alone a plane for work since the pandemic happened. My world throughout the week is the junk room at home.

Today has been a quiet day. A quiet day was needed. A day to rest and collect thoughts.

After over-sleeping this morning I wandered downstairs for a shower and a shave. While wandering around the kitchen with a toothbrush hanging from my mouth, I looked out at the garden and thought “I've been putting off cutting the lawn for days”. Five minutes later I was out in the rapidly increasing heat, pushing the lawnmower around.

It's been ridiculously hot recently. I'm not sure if it's hotter than recent summers, or if I've just been indoors more often this year. Since working from home I have become something of a recluse. For the better part of twenty years I cycled through town every morning, and every night – I can't remember the last time I got on a bicycle. Strangely, the muscles on my legs haven't entirely vanished.

My body is still working to repair itself after a week with COVID. I'm looking forward to getting out running again, but fear I may have to walk before I can run – literally. Some long walks over the coming weeks will be needed to remind my lungs how they once worked.

I'm wondering what the influx of new readers make of my words. I have always admired those that can communicate in more than one language – it seems like a magic trick to me. While working in Germany I went out for dinner with a group that were tri-lingual, and they described it like switching radio stations in your head. They didn't consciously translate.

The odd thing? I can write code in multiple computer languages. Go figure.