Packing for the Journey

Endings and Beginnings

Every day is a finite game enclosed in an ever larger and eventually infinite game in which our lives are a small, important, unique part.

Alan Moore’s questions are centred on notions of beauty and the values of political economy, whereas modern economics is more concerned with value. I think it’s an important distinction; measuring the impact of our time here in money is a particularly soulless exercise, whereas creating even an iota of beauty is something very different.

I have given myself until the end of the month to pack for the next stage of my journey to being an artisanal writer. The exercise asks important questions of me.

What do I need to leave behind to make room for what has potential? How do I make sure I avoid habits and the familiar that just take up space?

Age has nothing to do with it - the questions I am asking myself this morning, and the challenges I face are little different in my seventies than they were in my twenties, other than perhaps that I have accumulated more baggage along the way, which makes packing more of a discipline.

Like every other day, today will be a mixture of creating what matters, consuming what has been created by others, and a fair amount of time doing nothing in particular. I need to take with me what I need to give me the best chance of creating more of what matters than I consume and leave enough space to give me the raw material for tomorrow.

I do not need my resumé or any of the other labels and certificates that we use as digital peacock feathers to attract employers. My work will be with those I want to work with, where shared values and stories indicate the trail we want to leave behind from the work we do together.

I do not need short-term goals or any other performance frameworks that make us wilfully blind to what is happening around us as a result of our pursuit of them.

I do not need to spend time worrying about my social media presence, although I will stay on LinkedIn because some of what is there is valuable, and I have met good people as a result.

I do need to pay attention to my community, a few handfuls of people who I value enormously for who they are, what I learn with them, and the joy of their company.

I need to make the time and space not to hurry as I read, write and think. I will focus my writing here on Substack, with open short posts and longer, more speculative and exploratory work and conversation sessions for subscribers.

The space I want to create sits in the heretical, insurgent, uncertain, joyous limbo between the false confidence, safety, and security of “best practice” conventional thinking that dominates the workplace and the novelty, speculation, insight and understanding that guides us to what we each need to do the work that calls us.

I find it an energising prospect. Life is full of endings and beginnings, wherever we find ourselves along its path. I’ll post as I pack for the remainder of the month.

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A footnote and a nod to Sunil Malhotra, who patiently keeps asking me about my cup.

Photo by Thom Holmes on Unsplash

Once upon a time, there was a wise Zen master. People travelled from far away to seek his help. In return, he would teach them and show them the way to enlightenment.

On this particular day, a scholar came to visit the master for advice. “I have come to ask you to teach me about Zen,” the scholar said.

Soon, it became obvious that the scholar was full of his own opinions and knowledge. He interrupted the master repeatedly with his own stories and failed to listen to what the master had to say. The master calmly suggested that they should have tea.

So the master poured his guest a cup. The cup was filled, yet he kept pouring until the cup overflowed onto the table, onto the floor, and finally onto the scholar’s robes. The scholar cried, “Stop! The cup is full already. Can’t you see?”

“Exactly,” the Zen master replied with a smile. “You are like this cup — so full of ideas that nothing more will fit in. Come back to me with an empty cup.”