So,
it’s a New Year. A New Year by a considerable margin, in fact. To be specific
it’s February and, shamefully, this is my first blog of 2013. I must apologise
for my slackness. After working relatively hard to secure a steady-ish
readership I have abandoned the month of January and the regular installments you’ve all obviously come to expect.
However, in my defence I have been working vigorously on a book.
So at least that’s something. Well, at least it’s something for me. It probably
means very little to you, and as such I’ll need to apologise again. Sorry. I
may also need to apologise a third (and final) time because I have decided to
make this month’s article a short, sweet and babbling (much like my editor,
really) one. I want to talk about heart.
That’s right, heart. I’d probably best get this said before
continuing: anyone of a cynical disposition should probably click the ‘Back’ or
‘Exit’ button of their browser about now. I say this because I can promise you
things are about to get sentimental, possibly soppy, and definitely hopeful
around here. And when I say “around here” what I mean is in this article.
As fate would have it I’m kind of glad my first article is
actually chronologically positioned in the month of February rather than
January, for an important reason. Had I talked about heart in January, people
would have assumed one or more of the following. One: I was still drunk. Two: I
was detoxing, and as such chemically unbalanced. Three: I was depressed. Four:
I was too happy, probably still riding the crest of the festive season wave.
Five: I was still drunk. I’ve included drunk twice, as this would probably be
the most reasonable conclusion for anyone who knows me well. For this, I won’t
apologise a fourth time, but only because no-one really likes a repenter, apart
from maybe the church. And god. But I digress. So as it’s February, you can
assume that I am only as chemically altered and emotionally unstable as normal,
and as such that this talk of heart is not a result of a hangover from the
Christmas period, metaphorical or physical. And breathe.
Heart means different things to different people, and walking
home this evening as the rain lashed down upon my soaked cheeks (facial cheeks,
may I add), I got to thinking about it. I’m not really that interested in what
people do with courage, faith or impulse, providing they use it in a positive
way. What I am interested in is what pushes people, what gives them heart. Some
people call it inspiration. However not me; inspiration is too generic.
Inspiration can refer to a beautifully sunny morning that get’s you out of bed.
I don’t think inspiration is the right word to do justice for the creation of
heart. But I have been wrong before, so who knows.
At work I have a postcard that I was given when I was about
twenty. It is Blu-tacked to my office ‘coop’ and has become a beacon of hope
located inside my battery chicken-esque work existence. On it, there is man
walking over the Great Wall of China and below his image is a quotation from
Anais Nin, “Life shrinks and expands in proportion to one’s courage”. This once
gave me the heart to resign from a job I had been deeply unhappy doing for
years. It’s strange how a piece of paper no larger than an envelope could
motivate me, or at least contribute toward motivating me, to do something I
knew should be done. At the time, I had no other job to go to. It was a risk
but one day I walked into the office, saw the postcard and thought, “fuck it”.
For me there are other things. Books particularly inspire me these days,
although I have to say this has not always been the case. Before my obsession with
literature, there was music. How many of my youthful, brave, and foolhardy
decisions came off the back of a truly hearty album? Too many to count I would
imagine. I will never forget the words to a multitude of songs because of
deeply personal associations I have with them, and the feelings they provoke. I
remember once making a CD for a girl in an attempt to share my, well, heart I
guess. In hindsight, it probably didn’t have the effect I was hoping for. But
the idea of sharing the songs that I found spirit-stimulating with someone with
the aim of progressing either my own situation with them or passing that feeling
on to someone else was solid.
Another example of heart, you say? Well okay then, as you ask so
nicely I can’t help but oblige. I once drove a rental car seven hours to see a
girl I had only known a month car off the back of a film I’d seen. Why? Because
it gave me heart, that’s why. At the time I thought I’d never see said girl
again and something made me realise that this particular situation was unacceptable
at that particular time. I was sat there watching, thinking, analysing this
film and suddenly it became clear that I needed to get a car and drive to her.
It was as if a character from the cast had stepped out of the television
screen, poked me in the ribs and said, “Dave, get going”. So, with limited
resources and in the midst of a Masters degree, I rented a one-litre-engine car
and drove from Plymouth to Aberystwyth for a weekend. I couldn’t afford it, I
was tired before I’d even arrived, and, having not driven for about twelve
months, I almost crashed the bloody thing four or five times before the trip
was finished. But was it worth it? Hell yes, I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Okay, so these are personal examples and probably not the best ones
from my life, more the ones I can afford to reveal, but they illustrate my
point. At least, I think they do. Have heart. Heart is good.
That’s my point.
Now with that I want to say goodbye. I did warn you that it
would be short (or at least the meat of my argument). However, if you have made
it to this line without desperately hitting the ‘Back’ button, I am going to
ask you a quick favour. Share your inspiration. Not necessarily with me, or
even with your fellow readers (no matter how diminished that group is), but
with someone. The chances are that heart can be shared around without diluting
the effect it has on you.
