The Gift of Nothing
I know how to not-wash dishes,
I know how to not-catch fishes,
I know how to not-play ball,
I know how to not-do all
Kinds of things. I have had
No-tea parties. They're not bad.
I have flown big, red no-kites,
I have taken juicy no-bites
Out of apples that weren't there.
— Not-Things, by Frances †
And then back to despair as we assess the huge damage to our collective mental health, and count the bodies of those who died through fear, loneliness, untreated minor ailments that became major, and other side effects of the lockdowns. And then hope again as we look towards the Big Pharma gods and their life-giving elixirs. Back and forth we go, hope, despair, hope, despair. That's 2020 in a nutshell.
I was caught up in this oscillation too, for most of the year, but two weeks ago I was offered an alternative view. I've included a picture of that view, above. I was in Bristol when it underwent a lockdown reassignment, effectively allowing its cafes, pubs and restaurants to offer table service again. What was notable about this particular change was that I was unaware it had occurred until I saw people sitting in a cafe in the early morning, smiling, talking and breaking bread together. The elation I experienced took me by surprise. It was as if, for that moment, I had glimpsed heaven. That's when I realised that 2020, and indeed the continuing saga, is only oscillating in the background. In the foreground is nothing at all. In the foreground is the absence of things.
I didn't sit in the cafe, instead continued with my planned walk, coffee in hand, up the hill to the observertory (also closed of course, but observable nonetheless). It was enough to know that I could've sat in that cafe, and that other people were doing so. Such a small thing, to sit in a cafe. An even smaller thing to be able to sit in a cafe and to choose not to. It's almost nothing at all. It reminded me of what is no longer there. The things I took for granted are now mostly absent; they are blurred shapes, hollow spaces, gaps in a life. No-things.
I know how to not-sit in cafes, to not-visit theatres to watch no-plays, to not-attend galleries and museums, where no-art is housed. I know how to not-invite people to visit, to not-cross thresholds, to organise no-parties. I have learned to not-hug friends, to travel no non-places, to talk with two-dimensional no-bodied faces, and look upon three-dimensional masked no-faces. Life today is a great wealth of no-things.
In contrast to my year of oscillation, this acknowledgement of absence offers a stillness, and perhaps surprisingly, a sense of peace. I prefer this nothing to the regret of things past and the hope of things to come. This is now, and it's really quite alright. It is within such absence that I appreciate the richness of my life, my sixty-two years of all-kinds-of-things, and feel a sense of release that more and more is being removed, leaving me with less and less.
Less. That was my word for 2020, as declared this time last year. Turned out to be a perfect word for the year, lived up to with little effort on my part. Okay, no effort at all. My word for 2021 will be Moment, as in appreciate each one. It was going to be Today but I decided that today is generally too long, and also too fixed. Moment is malleable. We can have long moments or short ones. A moment can be minutes, hours, even days, or split-seconds, almost imperceptible flashes. Moments can stand alone, or be merged with other moments, can be important or insignificant. Come to think of it, a moment is probably one of the most undefinable things, not exactly a no-thing, but quite close. A good word for Covid19 round two, I'd say.
† Frances, a small badger-child, is a children's character created by Russell & Lillian Hoban in the 1960s. The lines here are from a poem in the Egg Thoughts & Other Frances Songs collection, 1965.
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December News
This month I completed the second part of the three-part HGI diploma, meaning that I am now qualified to practice human givens psychotherapy as a supervised trainee. This short-term, solution-focused therapy specialises in lifting anxiety, depression, phobias, traumas and addictions—the latter being something close to my heart. In 2021 I'll be seeking practice clients to hone my skills with, and create a case study for part three of the diploma. This is in-person work only, so a little challenging in these lockdown times, but not impossible. If you're interested in learning more about this please get in touch. I'm rather limited to Sheffield and London.
In other news, I started running again, now in the dark, frosty mornings, but the days are slowly getting longer, so sunrises loom in my future. I received socks for Christmas, and I'm listening to Gulliver's Travels in my continued quest to catch up on all the books I've been meaning to read since my early 20s. By the time this newsletter reaches you I'll be celebrating my 62nd birthday, that is, my family will be celebrating it. I'll just kick back and receive the love, nothing to do but be present. My first moment of 2021.
"Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness." — Karen Joy Fowler, Sarah Canary
So there you have it. Enjoy your January madness, and see you when it's all over.
Tobias
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New Year Reading
If you'd like to read more this month, here are the last two New Year newsletters, describing my words for the year: Big, 2019 and Less, 2020.
31st December 2020, 11.59 pm