moments of doubt and pain
How often do we stumble across those moments when we really don't know what's going to happen next? When rationality and basic fears come face to face like rival gangs in a dark alley.
Yesterday, November 9th, I felt that there was a cold finger nudging me. When I thought about it, I realised it was the anniversary of my mother's death. She died unexpectedly in 1991, 2 days before her 78th birthday. She had suddenly realised she was in the same situation as her mother many years before - lying in hospital at the same age and with the same problem - a broken hip. And the same thing happened - pneumonia came and took them both away.
Her passing really shook me; it was the start of a long period of darkness and uncertainty for me. The results - a much smaller family and a long path of personal change.
And here I am, sitting at home in front of a screen, trying to distract myself from the feeling of illness that came over me 2 or 3 hours ago. I don't know what it was; I just know I felt really ill.
And I remembered a story my Maths Lecturer told me at university - and I just googled the answer, because I hadn't remembered the name of the person at the heart of the story. He was Evariste Galois. He was young, brilliant, and doomed. He was lying awake the night before a duel - and he knew deep down that he stood little chance in the duel. So he spent the night feverishly writing down all the mathematical theories that had been buzzing around his head, so that they would not be lost to the world if he died the next morning.
Now if you or I spent the whole night awake, writing, before a big event - would we be at our best? He wasn't, and he didn't survive the duel.
So maybe that's why I sometimes feel this feverish urge to write and to publish before it's too late. That's why I'm writing now.
Less than an hour ago, I chose to be alone this evening. I was feeling strangely ill, and yet I know my strength wasn't there for me to travel to chorus rehearsal tonight. A pity, because I'd actually put in the extra time this afternoon, rehearsing! Damn.
And as I write, the sickness I felt at 5.15 and for the next 2 hours seems to have receded. (I hope) Is this calmness I feel? Or the calm before another storm? Yesterday was chilly, clear, bright and definitely felt like winter is close; and yet today has been a little warmer. That strange variability in our temperate weather.
Yesterday I saw those fabulous fall colours I was longing for. I went for a walk along yet another stretch of the canal I've visited so much these last few weeks. And as I walked along, I felt the chill in the air - and realised I couldn't spend a winter afloat. I've often wondered about having a narrowboat; in truth I've not been on one for years. I tried to push closed a gate that a careless boater had left open - and felt the danger of straining my back! (For those who don't realise, the gate I'm talking of is a giant lock gate, with a big wooden beam to help get the momentum to open and close it.) I saw this big marina full of boats; and felt the desire to be inside a house with central heating! And then the leaves at last - incredible reds and oranges and greens - all within a few feet of each other. And I printed out the best of the shots on A4 size - wow!
So, let's remember those Galois moments; those moments when we feel the hand of fate on our shoulder and we shudder with doubt.
Simon
Yesterday, November 9th, I felt that there was a cold finger nudging me. When I thought about it, I realised it was the anniversary of my mother's death. She died unexpectedly in 1991, 2 days before her 78th birthday. She had suddenly realised she was in the same situation as her mother many years before - lying in hospital at the same age and with the same problem - a broken hip. And the same thing happened - pneumonia came and took them both away.
Her passing really shook me; it was the start of a long period of darkness and uncertainty for me. The results - a much smaller family and a long path of personal change.
And here I am, sitting at home in front of a screen, trying to distract myself from the feeling of illness that came over me 2 or 3 hours ago. I don't know what it was; I just know I felt really ill.
And I remembered a story my Maths Lecturer told me at university - and I just googled the answer, because I hadn't remembered the name of the person at the heart of the story. He was Evariste Galois. He was young, brilliant, and doomed. He was lying awake the night before a duel - and he knew deep down that he stood little chance in the duel. So he spent the night feverishly writing down all the mathematical theories that had been buzzing around his head, so that they would not be lost to the world if he died the next morning.
Now if you or I spent the whole night awake, writing, before a big event - would we be at our best? He wasn't, and he didn't survive the duel.
So maybe that's why I sometimes feel this feverish urge to write and to publish before it's too late. That's why I'm writing now.
Less than an hour ago, I chose to be alone this evening. I was feeling strangely ill, and yet I know my strength wasn't there for me to travel to chorus rehearsal tonight. A pity, because I'd actually put in the extra time this afternoon, rehearsing! Damn.
And as I write, the sickness I felt at 5.15 and for the next 2 hours seems to have receded. (I hope) Is this calmness I feel? Or the calm before another storm? Yesterday was chilly, clear, bright and definitely felt like winter is close; and yet today has been a little warmer. That strange variability in our temperate weather.
Yesterday I saw those fabulous fall colours I was longing for. I went for a walk along yet another stretch of the canal I've visited so much these last few weeks. And as I walked along, I felt the chill in the air - and realised I couldn't spend a winter afloat. I've often wondered about having a narrowboat; in truth I've not been on one for years. I tried to push closed a gate that a careless boater had left open - and felt the danger of straining my back! (For those who don't realise, the gate I'm talking of is a giant lock gate, with a big wooden beam to help get the momentum to open and close it.) I saw this big marina full of boats; and felt the desire to be inside a house with central heating! And then the leaves at last - incredible reds and oranges and greens - all within a few feet of each other. And I printed out the best of the shots on A4 size - wow!
So, let's remember those Galois moments; those moments when we feel the hand of fate on our shoulder and we shudder with doubt.
Simon
posted by Simon | 8:10 pm
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