Below the surface
There's a question we all feel rising inside. It's subtle at first, then restless, aching. You can bury it with whisky and work, or let it bury you. Or you can face it, knowing the cost might be your marriage, your friendships and your career.
I chose the latter. A callusing journey through the churn of modern absurdities. You may have come across them, like ambition without meaning, connection without depth, progress without contentment. The search for a more grounded and authentic life beyond the simple formulas, methods and sticking plasters.
The strategist in leather pants
I sought the answers in athletic discipline, in meditation, on mountain peaks, and within ancient wisdom. Intelligent authors and grand philosophies whirled around my mind. Over the years my journals brimmed with scribbled analysis and commentary. They chronicled what seemed to be an endless pursuit. The worn pages became a map of scratched-out threads and traced over many times, looking for clues. The struggle left its mark, and my resolve was questioned by even those closest.
Like when I decided to head off around the European Alps on my motorbike one summer. My close friend Jeff said to me, "You're not Che Guevara. You're a bloody strategist in leather pants."
The laughter stung. Was I really no better than a misaligned dreamer? But the hum of the road and the open doors that awaited me strengthened the yearning and leathered my resolve. But even leather stretches under strain.
From the outside looking in
A year later I was in Buti, a small medieval village in Italy, sitting in a piazza having a coffee. I was talking to a sculptor and restorer of ancient churches in the region. A man whose callused hands disguised the delicacy and beauty of his work. Once again I could see it, a contented life with purpose and rhythm. But again, the ache returned to me with that sense of being just outside, always looking in.
Letting go
At a certain point, after all the miles, my bones became tired from travelling and I started to feel that maybe they were right. Was I just a 'searching' man and not a 'doing' man? Perhaps that was it then. You either are, or you are not. That's all. It was pointless to carry on searching for a more grounded and meaningful life. So I should just recede and accept, withdraw. Feeling the weight of all the sacrifices for naught, I stopped looking. The long journey home was strangely relieving.
A return to solid ground
I hadn't written anything in over a month. Nor thought about any noble quest, nor any future adventure. But today, hiking up a mountain, awareness crept in without me noticing, without searching. Something that children do instinctively and without any sense of their own identity, or rightness. I started to feel solid ground beneath my feet again. It wasn't because of intellectual ideas or some new-fangled acronym that I followed, but simply because I was able to get out of my own way without forcing it.
I'd stopped thinking about what others thought, what my identity was and what my purpose was supposed to be. Instead I felt grounded by really simple things that were always with me but were suppressed. All of a sudden the opportunities flooded my brain and the decades of skills and acquired talents were no longer irrelevant. Now they could be put to real use.
I realised that for months, what I had been doing all along was rediscovering solid ground and only when I stopped gripping tightly did it return. And for the first time in a long while, I wanted to build again.
