Midweek Musings #17 - Charlotte Philby

Words: Clare Dwyer Hogg
Image: Barney Beech

Things I Like. It sounds so facile, doesn’t it? But for a number of reasons, the subject has been head-butting me from different angles this week. It started with a little realisation that often I don’t prioritise the things that I enjoy. In context, this realisation was pretty mundane. It had to do with breakfast, and noticing that I rarely make an effort to get the ingredients I really like. Just a tiny detail I tried to flick out of my mind. Yet I couldn’t dismiss the question. It kept popping up, unbidden, in other areas too. Why don’t I try harder to do the things I like?

When life becomes a whirlwind with constant external demands (that’s not a very nice way to describe children, but they are included in this, along with work, duty, and everything else), often I move from one thing to the next without very much space in between. It’s part of the reason I’m trying to cultivate more of an awareness of my internal life, so that there is always a level of rootedness to my being, despite the outer elements.

I think sometimes the fear of self-indulgence stops me from doing things I like. Even writing about this subject makes me a bit hesitant, for the same reason. But “self-indulgent” is a dangerous concept when you’re trying to dig into the nature of your own being. It’s a bulwark to feeling comfortable in your skin. Much like the practice of self-indulgence would be, actually: there’s a difference between acknowledging what makes me tick, and pursuing my own selfish desires, regardless of anything else.

Small things by themselves, no big deal, but collectively a very big deal if you don’t have enough of those threads holding who you are together

The thing is, we’re talking about our selves, here. Who we are, and what that means for being alive. The more I live, the more I’m aware – of course – how short it all is. If I don’t live in a way that is aware of who I am, what’s the point? And who do I become? It’s about the little things again. The tiny details that remind me who it is that I am, and what it is I like. Those are grounding things. They are the smallest of delicate threads, coming together to make up my DNA. On one level, it’s no thing if I don’t get to go for a run. Or eat pineapple. Or go for walks on the Heath. Read novels. Listen to Bob Dylan. It sounds ridiculous. But those are things I actually really enjoy, and if I don’t make the space for them, I will start to forget they are what I enjoy.

I’ve realised that if I don’t cultivate those things, and make space for them, the threads loosen and fray and eventually break. Small things by themselves, no big deal, but collectively a very big deal if you don’t have enough of those threads holding who you are together. I see it like a very delicate spider-web type structure, almost making up the strings of an instrument.

It reminds me of the Greek Aeolian harp, which is played by the wind. Those threads are unique to me, they hold who I am, and when external elements blow through me, they determine the tune I play. In other words, depending on its strength or ferocity, the wind can change the intensity of the tune, or the tone of it – but it will always be my raw material that makes the music.

I’m back to seeing that it’s the small things that really matter. If I am without those essential things, I won’t be myself. If they’re in place, then they will determine how I view the big picture, how I see others, how I interact with the world. It doesn’t mean I won’t be blindsided by storms or buffeted by the wind, but it does mean my internal mechanisms will be woven together in such a way that I know who I am in the midst of it all.