The nymphs are departed, it seems. The previously regular readers of this blog. Gone. And so it must be to the 'loitering heirs of city directors' that I should explain the reasons for my failure to continue writing. It is not that family life in the interim has become dramatically more or less interesting or noteworthy than it ever was. There has been precious little drama, and what drama there has been has been less than precious. Until a few weeks ago, though, the lack of newsworthiness did not prevent me from devoting an hour or so to the remembrance of things just past (lost, before they could be forgotten).
One of the reasons for not posting was a sense that there were other things—beyond the regular 6:30am-10:30pm schedule of domestic and teaching chores—to attend to first. I had invested time in two other projects: too much time in a job application that didn't pan out, and a judicious and ultimately rewarding amount preparing two talks for a conference in Hanoi last week. Since both of these distractions are now over and done with, I can probably spare an hour with good conscience. (Also, just at this moment on Friday 17th May, I'm dealing manfully with some dead time, sitting in a beach cafe in Suma. Friday is normally a research day, but this morning I had to take Julian at 9am to a hospital to have removed the stitches, holding together a cut on his forehead, that were put in last Friday at this time. As so often happens in Japanese hospitals, the medical procedures are carried out punctually and efficiently, but the checkout takes an interminably long time: we checked in at 9:05, were seen and treated at 9:11, and finished the payment and insurance forms at 10:35. After that, I brought Julian to his school in Suma—well, to the station: I came to the beach, he went up the hill to class.
I like the beach areas of Suma and neighboring Shioya very much, at least in part because they are so run-down—not exactly uncommercialized, more post-commercialized; were it not for the 'what-to-do-in-the-event-of-a-tsunami' signs, I'd like to get a house here, it's so relaxed and only 20 minutes from the centre of town. Later this afternoon, I need to pick up the car and take Justin to his physical therapy session in Shiawasenomura for 4pm. Between these two medical visits is dead time: see what I can do with it. I have also used the time to finish Daniel Kahneman's excellent Thinking, Fast and Slow, which explains so much about the human condition that it's hard to know where to start. So I shan't, except to point out that one of the most succinct and instructive quotes comes in the last few pages:
'Nothing in life is as important as you think it is when you are thinking about it'Which may be the best recipe for sanity I have heard in a while. For the other reason for not writing more, recently (or more recently), is existential rather than merely practical. When I think about anything much these days, beyond what to teach, what to make for supper, and who is in charge of picking up whom, I seem to be overwhelmed by thinking about everything—from the devaluation of the yen and its consequences for our mortgage payments, to the situation in Syria, to why Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan both rhyme loud/proud and invoke fairground and circus imagery in their two most famous songs Both sides now, and Like a Rolling Stone—and why the titles to these songs could be interchanged with no loss of significance, at least in one direction (!)—to whether my students know or care about singer-songwriters, to whether I have fully exhausted my quota of patience with the business of rearing children, to how to square the circle of my commitment to family here and in Ireland without losing myself entirely, to where I might have left my wallet...and sic transit. Where previously I have managed my real and virtual life through adept compartmentalization—Devenish for this, Anfortas for that, and so on—increasingly, everything is crowding together, competing for my attention and emotional energy. It's all a bit wearing...this lack of dissociation.
Kahneman's quote reminds me, as do the Eagles, of the need to get a grip. Click to play. And with this in mind, my time is up. Hopefully, in the next post, I can get back to some safe, banal and comfortably numb, reporting.
It's the darkest hour, you're 22
The voice of youth, the hour of dread
It's the darkest hour, and your voice is new
Love is lost, and lost is love
Your country's new, your friends are new
Your house, and even your eyes are new
Your maid is new, and your accent, too
But your fear is as old as the world
— David Bowie, Love is Lost
— Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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