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ON LIVING

Nostalgia feels like regret

I’m listening to songs I haven’t heard in fifteen years.

Thoughts and feelings and sensations from that era tumble past my consciousness.

And when I stretch out my hand, and run my fingertips under these waterfall memories, I feel such a curious mixture of laugh-out-loud joy, and crashing loss. I miss all the people I’ve loved. And I loved all the people.

Peter Rollins says that you have to let them go, those loves. He says, in order to remember them the best, in order to hold them in your heart in a way that’s healthy, you have to let them go. Set them free. Give up the ownership, and the pain, and the grudges, and the hurt.

So then, when you meet them again, or when you have to talk about them in the future, you won’t be pouring out your bitterness, anger, victim-ness. Instead you can speak open heartedly:
“I’m really sorry for my part in our distance..”
“I’m so proud of you…”
“I miss you, but you’d be proud of me..”
“I care about you, and want you to be happy..”
“I forgive you..”

Pete Rollins says, if you don’t do the work of letting them go, then you won’t be able to have that healthy encounter in the future.

I think he’s right, too. I can’t cup my hands and hold on to all these memories, as they cascade over me. It would be a life’s work to hold it all, and I’d never get anywhere myself.

So, I stand here with palms open, letting the nostalgias and losses splash through my fingers, releasing them to keep falling through space, eventually to hit a surface far below me with a roar, like each memory was worth celebrating, like the world is applauding.

Giving our best to something that doesn't love us

It just hit midnight here, and I’m alone with the city. All the tall buildings, the great ventricles of the city, have pumped out their last suited human, and are in a cardiac rest until the morning. Their lights have been left on, to compete with the stars, I think.

But the stars still win. The Southern Cross constellation is right in front of me, close, like it’s strung up between the Rio Tinto and BHP Billiton buildings. Like we missed a decoration when we were clearing out Christmas.

Rach said the moon was close tonight too. She texted me three hours ago, and said it was exceptional, that it sat in profile, all proud of itself for shining beautiful.

I missed it completely.

I think this is the part of life that breaks us. Not the late nights. Not even the deadlines. It’s not the hard work.

What breaks us is the pouring of our best hours into a vision that is not our own. It’s giving our best to something that doesn’t love us.

I’ll happily work all night for those whom I love, and who love me. I’ll pull an all-nighter to unpack an exciting idea onto a page. I’ll hustle so hard for those things in life I consider meaningful.

But, to put in hours of my day into a generic job? That is like death. That’s like pumping tiny suited bodies into my cubicles and letting them use up my best resources, only to leave at the end of the day without a word of thanks.

I’m with you, city buildings. I get it.
Sometimes you just want to fill yourself with inspired meaningful work, hey?
To know that worthwhile progress has been made this day. Progress towards a better world.

I think we should do work that matters. We should put a bouncer at the door and be selective about who will work within our walls.

“Joyful optimism? Come on in. Your desk is over by the window.”
“Grit? Take the top floor.”
“Prideful comparison? Sorry dude, there no space here for you today.”
“Love? Right this way. Take the boardroom.”

If I were that building, then at the end of the day, when all my people have emptied out of me and I was at rest again, I would turn on every light I had. I’d be so energised, I’d give the stars a run for their shine. And the great exhausted buildings beside me would start asking whether, maybe, they could borrow my bouncer for a day or two.

Chasing ourselves

“Rachel Callander, award-winning photographer, gives up wedding photography to evangelise the Health System.”
“Nathan Maddigan, award-winning photographer, gives up wedding photography to persue authentic story craft.”

It doesn’t matter, really. What the papers say. What the fans say. What the critics say.

What matters, is that we chase ourselves.

What I mean is, every day of our lives, we are learning more about ourselves, what we love, what we believe in, what we despise. And the more we learn, the greater the responsibility to act.

We need to chase down our authentic core. Every time we unearth a clue, every time we discover a piece of the puzzle that is “us”, we must chase it. We can’t just ignore what we know to be true about ourselves.

I’ve done it, the ignoring-my-true-self thing. I experience a moment of revelation, of what I truly love in life, where I actually want to put effort in to achieve. And then I shut it down. I’m afraid of the work, or of failure, or of success. So I push it down, and ignore it.

And when I do that, I shrink a bit. I become smaller, weaker. And I’m reminded of Viktor Frankl’s words,

“When a man cannot find meaning, he numbs himself with pleasure.”

And I’m reminded to return to the chase, keep learning, trying, changing. To not give in to the fear or give up for the comfort. To honour everything that is weird/unique/different in me, honour the calling, and to keep chasing.

Work that matters

I wrote this three years ago, but it feels right to post it here, now. It’s a slow process, doing the work you think matters, but it absolutely matters.

Jan 2018

It’s midnight, and I can’t sleep. I wish there was a great inspired reason, but to be honest, I probably had a bit too much caffeine too late in the day. So, instead of sleeping, I’m out here on the balcony of our 6th floor apartment, watching conversations on the street, and drinking whisky, and writing. A truck just drove by, loaded up with Christmas decorations. Like a giant tinsel-spider, folded up and put to rest for another year.

The world is getting back to work.

And so are we. Rach and I. We took some time out, drove 400 kilometres to the southernmost tip of Western Australia, and made our plans.

We said, “Life is not long. We have to do meaningful work”.
We said, “No matter what, we need to do work that matters.”
We took stock of what we have, and what we need to get our message out. We pooled all of our stuff, everything of value.
We climbed a mountain, and talked about Love.
Rach said the clouds felt closer up here.

Tonight Rach sold her piano.

Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern

“If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein. Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern, And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.”

- Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, 1923.