On The Way

I have realised that I never wrote any blog posts from my hike on Camino de Santiago de Compostela last year. I certainly posted pictures and comments on Facebook, but I didn’t write a journal and neither did I write any reflections afterwards. Having now done another, and more significant segment, I inevitably look back at last year’s trip for reference and comparison.

Let me go all the way back to the sources. I heard friends over the years mention Camino de Santiago that in my mind was something devout Catholics did, like devout Muslims go to Mecca, or actually other devout Catholics go to Czestochowa. In other words, something other people did. This was probably even before I became a wanderer. And then one day I heard the story of my cousin Misha. He has three children and a homemaker wife, both rather unusual in Russia, and he had always worked hard to support the family, but one day he just left and went to Spain and walked the whole Camino in six weeks, all on his own. Now, Misha is the last person in the world to embark on a religious pilgrimage. Whatever he actually found on the Camino, his original plan was just to escape from his everyday burdens. Yet he obviously found something because since then he has done it several times, each time on his own. My son who told me this remarkable story added that the impulse for Misha was the feature film TheWay. This was before streaming, but I found the film on DVD because I was curious about a film that inspired my baby cousin to abandon his family, his work and his friends and spend six weeks walking on his own toward a goal that, in my view, had no significance for him.

After I watched the film (several times by now) and after I did a lot of reading, I understood that people had dozens of reasons to do this walk, and far from all viewed it as a pilgrimage. And interestingly, whenever I mentioned Camino to someone, as often as not either they had done it or wanted to do it so I realised it wasn’t as outlandish as I once had thought. Still, I had it as a far-fetched dream rather than a concrete plan. I knew I didn’t want to carry a heavy backpack and sleep in dorms, so I was happy to discover that there was a luggage transfer service for comfort-loving pilgrims. I also knew I didn’t want to do it on my own. The Big Question: Why I wanted to do it? - was vague, maybe along the lines of: Because I can, because I am now a passionate wanderer, and this is probably the most famous walk in the world… well, the Western world. Yet it was still something hazy, something in the distant future.

Three years ago, when I repatriated to Sweden and joined a walking club, I saw that the club was organising a hike on Camino del Norte, precisely in this leisurely mode with luggage transfer and decent hotels, and I signed up at once. It was supposed to happen in May 2020, and of course it didn’t happen. We didn’t know much about covid then. I remember in the beginning of March I still thought it would be over by May. But it didn’t, and the travel agent moved the trip first to autumn, then to spring 2021 and finally to October.

When it didn’t happen in May 2020, I consoled myself by making the trip virtually. Every day I walked in my nearby nature reserve the distance we were supposed to cover. I cooked Basque and Cantabrian food. I watched films, not just The Way again, but YouTube videos and travel agents’ advertisements, so by the time we actually boarded the plane to Bilbao via Frankfurt I knew what was in store. No, of course I didn’t, because neither photos nor videos can fully convey the sense of being there, and walking 20 km with high elevation was not the same as walking in a Swedish nature reserve. I very deliberately set my expectations low. I didn’t know what I was looking for or what answers I hoped to receive for what questions. It was just a hike through glorious landscape.

But that’s not quite true. The month before the trip, there occurred two deaths in the family, and one was my stepson Jakob. Now, Santiago is St James, and in Swedish it is Jakob, and I felt I was walking Jakob’s Way, for my Jakob. In the churches that were open – far from all – I would light a candle: it was quite funny, because the candles were electrical, you put a coin in a slot, and a candle lit up. Jakob was definitely not a believer, and I don’t believe in afterlife either, but it did make sense to think of him on this walk.

We only walked from San Sebastian to Santander, but I knew then that I wanted to come back and maybe try to find some Answers because I felt the mission, if there was a mission, was not completed. Many friends who had read my Facebook posts and seen my pictures said how wonderful it was and how envious they were and one day they would… but only one friend responded to my comment: Why one day? Why not now? I want to go back, would you like to join? And this is how the next trip started. After we agreed on dates and managed to put together all complicated puzzle bits, I posted on Facebook: We are going, anyone wants to join? Two more friends responded.

Now, last year we were a group of sixteen that quickly split into smaller groups some of which walked quickly and reached the day’s destination early, to sit and enjoy beers for the rest of the afternoon. I found soulmates who wanted to walk slowly, stop at points of beauty as well as coffee shops; who didn’t want to chat all the time. I presented this walking mode to my new companions. They were delighted.

The plans were made in February-March, and as usual it felt very far away in the future. As time got closer we created a chat on WhatsApp and started exchanging useful tips on books and blogs, and of course I recommended my companions to watch The Way which wasn’t available for streaming in our region, but I found a weird platform where it was texted in a totally unfamiliar language.

I didn’t ask my companions The Question. We all had a reason, or maybe several reasons, and one thing we had in common was that we had all lost our husbands within the last three years. Eventually we called ourselves Camino Widows.

All of a sudden, the departure day was tomorrow, and it was getting real, and then it was today, and Annika and I met at the airport, and we were allowed to carry our walking poles on board, and the first leg, to Madrid, went smoothly, but our other two companions were connecting from Copenhagen, and their flight was delayed, and they barely made it. Christina’s bag got lost, and it took some time to sort it out at the airport, but our driver was very nice, and finally, by 11 pm, we were in our hotel in Vilalba, tired and hungry. There was an open bar across the street, and we had tortilla at a ridiculous price of 4 euros. Everything felt weird. There we were, far away from everything, and we were going on a strange, unfamiliar adventure, and we were supposed to spend a week together at close quarters. Inexplicably, it felt good.

To be continued. 

Key to a harmonious retirement

 

Three years ago on this day I repatriated, and in a couple of months, I will have been retired for three years which feels an ample time to summarise and share some insights. I believe I can claim with confidence that I have made the most of these three years even given all the external horrors we have been through. So here are some reflections – for those who want to hear it.

1). Embrace it. Getting old is not a given, it’s a privilege not everyone can enjoy. Be grateful for every day you are alive and, hopefully, in good health. Think of friends who sadly did not live long enough to experience the pleasure of retirement.

2) If viable economically, retire as early as you can. There is so much to do after retirement that you need as much time as you can get while you are able to fulfil your dreams.

3) Make retirement definite. Cut off all ties to your professional career. I know it may be hard, but think: you have probably worked in more or less the same area for at least forty years. Can you make any further contribution to your field? If you are an academic, do you really want to produce another book, another article, another conference paper? At this point in your career you probably have scores of former students who can carry on and do it as efficiently as you, if not much better. After all, at least theoretically, every next generation of scholars should be better than the previous one. If you are a teacher you have younger colleagues who will hopefully continue to foster new generations of young people. If you are a writer, artist, performer – make room for new talents. If you are in business, surely some younger companion can make it thrive. If you are in public service… and so on. Be honest with yourself: Will the world go on without you? Let me tell you for sure: it will. And as they say: leave when you are on top.

4) What, then, can you ask, should you do with all your spare time? Think of all things you wanted to try and never had time. Maybe you wanted to be a gardener, but your family insisted that you go to university. Maybe you wanted to be an archaeologist, but you had to support your family and got into business instead. Maybe you have always secretly wanted to build model railways. Maybe you wanted to play an instrument or learn a language. Pursue your dreams. Preferably, start, or at least start looking around, before retirement so that on Day 1 you are already enrolled in a class or have a volunteer job waiting. And remember: this time, you don’t have to compete, you can quit if you get bored and want to try something else, and you will never get orders from anyone. Whatever you do, you do it entirely for your own pleasure. If in the process you contribute to saving the world, that’s a bonus. A way to reason with yourself is: by being happy you increase the overall amount of happiness in the universe, which is a huge deed.

5) join a community. You are probably used to have people around you: colleagues, students, people you meet at lunch, your elders and your peers and your subordinates. Suddenly you are on your own. Even if you have a partner and a family, you will lack a wider circle of like-minded, of people who share your interests beyond your profession. Almost every pastime will have a club, or several, physical or virtual. Search “Star Wars”, “Balcony gardening”, “Disc golf”, “Theorbe music”, “Basque cooking”, and you will find people passionate about the same things as you are. And in an unlikely case that you don’t find any, create your own club. It’s enough to be two to start, and you will be amazed how fast it grows.

6) maintain your connections. Stay in touch with your colleagues, on the understanding that you no longer talk shop – find other common interests: camel riding, UFO spotting, mushroom picking, collecting beer-bottle caps. Get in touch with those friends with whom you have been saying the past five years: “We must meet soon”. Nag them, invite them to something exciting. Perhaps one out of ten will respond, and that’s an achievement. Reconnect with your childhood friends, classmates, distant cousins. You will discover that fifty-year-old memories you share will bring you together even closer than you were once. But don’t be afraid to get new acquaintances. Within your new pastimes you will get to know new people so make sure you meet even outside clubs and events. Don’t be shy with people much younger than you. Think: when you were twenty somebody aged thirty was ancient. When you are 65+, age means significantly less. You can make new friends within a range of twenty years younger and, yes, twenty years older. While your recent students may be the same age as your grandchildren, once you no longer are in a teacher-student imbalance it does not matter.

7) all the above will only make sense if you are in good shape. You will doubtless have various ailments but as long as you are generally fit, physically and mentally, your life has a potential to be highly enjoyable. Of course there are things you cannot secure yourself against, but making your health a priority is essential. It doesn’t mean you have to spend three hours a day of your precious time in a gym (unless you like it). There are plenty of other activities: walking, running, biking, dance; and there are classes and clubs for seniors so that you don’t have to feel embarrassed next to perfectly fit youngsters. (Frankly, some retirees are much better fit than many youngsters). Try something you have never tried before. Maybe climbing or paragliding is your favourite, you just don’t know it yet. Don’t let absence of companions stop you, do it on your own. I am aware that some sports can be expensive, and you should not deny yourself anything as long as you can afford it, but there are plenty of things that are free and that can still make you fit and happy.

8) declutter. Whether you downsize or not, there is an enormous sense of freedom in getting rid of worldly possessions, and there are many gurus to guide you, but you can just use your common sense. Did you need dozens of smart outfits during your employment? Will you need them again? Keep two favourites, sell or give away the rest and free space in your wardrobe for nice leisure clothes. Do you really need five sets of dinner plates, seven teapots, ten table cloths and three dozen wine glasses? Will you ever use that cheese fondue pot that someone gave you for Christmas twenty years ago and that you only tried once? Some things will have a sentimental value, but at this stage in your life there is no point in keeping anything that “might come handy one day”. Those days will never happen. Keep only things you know you will use everyday or at least regularly. Ask your children, if you have children, whether they want anything – usually they don’t even when they are just about to start a household of their own. For many of us, the most difficult thing to get rid of will be books. Yet you are beyond the argument: “I might need it for work” or even “I will read it when I have time”. If you bought a book twenty years ago and still haven’t read it you probably won’t. And if you give it away and then suddenly feel an urge to read it, there are libraries. Think: how many books a year can you reasonably read? How many years have you theoretically left? Bookshelves lining every square inch of your walls were once a token of prestige and learning, even if you knew, and your guests knew, that you have only actually read a fraction of them. This attitude goes back all the way to 16^th century or even earlier, when books were rare and expensive. Not any more. So keep only books that you know you will re-read and books that are dear to you, for whatever reason (signed by the author, gifted by a dear friend, books your granny read to you when you were five). Once upon a time first editions could fetch you a fortune, but today it has to be something really exceptional so I wouldn’t bother.

9) adjust your inner clock. My most unexpected and most welcome discovery has been that time flows at a different pace when you don’t have work to go to every day (even if you work from home and just go to your desk). Everything you do you do slower, and everything takes longer – and it’s not simply fine, it’s the whole point! It doesn’t matter if you haven’t finished something you planned in the morning because you have all the time in the world. Maybe you got distracted and did something else, just as exciting, instead. Or maybe you were enjoying whatever you were doing so much that you didn’t want it to end. Or maybe you just needed to wind down and look around and have a quiet cup of tea – a luxury you couldn’t allow yourself before. You can even emphasise this slow pace: walk deliberately slowly paying attention to the environment, move slowly around your dwelling. Don’t multitask. We think that by multitasking we save time, but in fact we waste time because we are never fully engaged with whatever we are doing. Pay attention, live here and now. Have you noticed this funny sculpture by your local bus station that you have passed hundreds of times? Have you observed how the rose bush under your window has grown since last year? Have you considered the pattern on your plates and the exact shade of green on your curtains? Suddenly your life is so much richer in experience than before. Rather than saying, “Where has this week gone?” you say, “This has been such a full and exciting week!”

10) Keep rules and routines you enjoy and ditch those you don’t. If you have always hated that alarm clock ringing at six, throw it away and sleep as long as you wish in the morning. Have breakfast in your dressing gown – or in full makeup if you prefer. Make the bed, cook meals, wash up – if it mattered to you before. But if it didn’t, maybe you will discover that it does now because you will spend more time at home and want it to be neat. Absence of schedule may feel frustrating so make a schedule for yourself, based on your pastimes: yoga on Monday morning, baking club on Tuesday afternoon, and so on. Shop for groceries on the same day of the week. Water your plants at the same hour. It will bring structure into your life, without creating pressure. Because you are completely free to break your own rules.

11) Once again – and I know it is pathetically trivial – wake up every morning grateful that you are alive and in anticipation of wonderful things that the day has in store. If by the end of the day nothing spectacular has happened, you should still be grateful and hopeful about the day to come.

That Was Then

The other day I was invited to a concert at Berwald Concert Hall. I don’t know why I had ignored it in favour of Stockholm Concert Hall in the past three years; I guess it just so happened. Yet being there brought back an avalanche of memories.

Once upon a time, five lives ago, I used to work as an interpreter at Swedish Army Tattoo. It was a huge biennial event, with urban parades, performances at big arenas and concerts that were usually held in Berwald Hall. Many international bands attended, and the foremost guests of honour were the US and the Soviet/Russian bands. From the USA, it was most often US Army Band “Pershing’s Own”, and from Russia one of the two top bands, Army or Navy. All were musicians of highest class. As an interpreter for the Russian band, I had all kinds of tasks, from small talk at table (when they take away your plate before you had a chance to eat) to guiding the Russian bus driver through Stockholm to rendering instructions for marching performances. One year, and I am not sure exactly which year, possibly 1990 when the fall of Soviet communism was imminent, I was sitting on the stage in Berwald Hall, with US Army Band “Pershing’s Own” on my right and the Exemplary Band of Soviet Navy on the left: for the first time in history they were to perform together. For me, it was a sublime moment, and I could not help saying so as we finished the rehearsal. Friends, I said, I grew up in the Soviet Union, and I could never imagine I would live to see a Russian and an American band performing together, in a deeply significant symbolic act of friendship and solidarity. I broke into tears, and the musicians gave me an applaud. The concert was a tremendous success. At that time, we were sure that things were going in the right direction, and that the only way the two armies should ever meet was in a concert hall.

The story had an amusing ending. Colonel Shelburn, the boss of Pershing’s Own, asked for my business card, and a few weeks later there was a letter in my pigeonhole at work, in a fancy envelope emblazoned with “US Department of Defence Pentagon”. I wonder what my colleagues thought.

Photo credit: usarmyband.com

A lonely woman’s New Year Eve

 Forty two years ago I went to the Library of Foreign Literature in Moscow to read Swedish newspapers. In those dark and evil days, foreign newspapers, unless published by approved Communist parties, were only accessible in special reading rooms that required a permit. Permits were issued if for whatever reason you needed this dangerous reading matter for work. I had a permit, renewable every year, because I had to read Swedish film reviews for work. In the largest Swedish morning daily, film reviews appeared on the page facing columns, so when I opened the paper on that January day I saw a column titled “A lonely man’s New Year Eve”. I had just had a brief and stormy affair with a married Swedish journalist, and I was really sad to read his column describing his lonely celebration. Why on Earth was he alone on New Year Eve? Where was his family? Didn’t he have friends? I was used to wild New Year parties or at least quiet New Year parties in the company of close friends, and I felt so profoundly sorry for the lonely man that I had no mental energy to read any film reviews that day. 

Eventually the brief and stormy affair developed into a long and stormy marriage, and during those years I would occasionally go back to Moscow for New Year and leave my husband to spend it on his own, but more often we had wild parties and quiet family evenings, and every year we would listen to New Year Eve bells from Sweden’s thirteen cathedrals on the radio, followed by La Jouissance.

The last two years, I spent the New Year Eve on my own. I considered feeling sorry for myself. I considered ignoring it altogether and going to bed as usual (a bit difficult with loud firework displays outside). Then I decided that dignity demanded I celebrate no matter what. This year in particular I had learned that several of my close friends were also spending New Year Eve on their own. There was nothing extraordinary about it. (I guess during years with wild parties and quiet family evenings I never gave a thought to people mentioned by the radio host: “If you are lonely this night…”).

I prepared an elegant four-course dinner for myself. I bought a piccolo bottle of sparkling (I don’t drink alcohol otherwise, but I can make an exception for New Year Eve). I set the table nicely. I lit candles. I dressed up. I gave the cats some extra delicious food I had saved for the occasion. During my meal, I listened to Baroque Tafelmusik on Spotify. Between the meal and midnight, I watched a movie and did a jigsaw puzzle. I sent good vibes and WhatsApp messages to my lonely friends. At midnight, I opened the bottle and listened to cathedral bells, ignoring the loud fireworks outside. I cried floods, remembering all those previous New Years and realising how much I valued them, although sometimes I got irritated: “Can’t we listen to something else for a change?” It turns out, I cannot. And the radio host’s words resonated deeply: “If you are lonely this night...”

Annual report 2021

At this time of year I habitually write an annual report. I have just discovered, to my amazement, that I didn’t last year, and when I contemplate the reason it’s probably exactly why I am hesitant about doing it now. While most people I know, and millions that I don’t know, are experiencing the worst time imaginable, my year has been exciting and enjoyable.

True, there were two losses in the family, one profoundly tragic, the other perhaps less so, while it hit me more than I had expected. When I walked off three years ago I thought the hurt was so huge that I would never care whether my partner of almost forty years was dead or alive. Yet when he passed away this past autumn, it was as if the three years apart had been erased, and grief was acute. In a weird way it felt good since it was a closure much needed, as it turns out. To my surprise, I miss him terribly and only remember the good things from our years together. So, paradoxically, even a loss can add depth and meaning to your life.

Apart from that, and apart from some worrying health issues in the family, my life has not been affected by the global disasters. I eventually got covid last month, but thanks to three vaccine jabs, I had it mildly and was fully recovered after a week. Sweden has never had a full lockdown, and even during the tightest restrictions I was able to meet my grandchildren outdoors. This autumn we went to concerts, theatre and movies, met for coffee and meals – almost as normal. (There will never be the former normal again of course). I am blessed with grandchildren who want to spend some time with their old granny. I don’t think they do it out of duty. Maybe they find me interesting in some way. And not to forget – a granddaughter got married last September!

This year saw some great accomplishments, some planned, others unexpected. I took a three-day training to become a certified walking guide, and since then I have been leading walks both in my own neighbourhood and further away. I enjoy it a lot – hopefully my co-walkers do too. I made some new friends that way.

I have also continued my urban walks based on children’s books. I know these have been appreciated.

From my post-retirement wish list, I started learning Welsh. I had a choice between Welsh, Japanese and Hebrew, and I was perhaps a bit reluctant to choose a language with totally unfamiliar script, but Welsh proved challenging enough. I am learning for fun, as a brain exercise so I have no aspiration of ever getting fluent (“Bydda i erioed yn rhugl”). I do half an hour every day, sometimes more. I have learned just over a thousand words since I started last January. I don’t know (it has been such a long time since I learned a foreign language) how it compares to an average pace of learning, but I can construct simple phrases and even write brief journal entries. I speak Welsh to myself whenever there is an opportunity, like “Dw i’n mynd i gwneud coffi nawr”. I have joined a Facebook group of Welsh learners, for support and for fun.

An unexpected new activity has been ikebana, Japanese flower arrangement. I have always been fascinated, but never considered pursuing it; a friend invited me to a digital meeting of their Ikebana International chapter, I contacted my local chapter, they offered me a free trial class, and I was hooked. I had claimed repeatedly that I hate cut flowers because I feel upset when they wither, but ikebana is by definition an ephemeral art form where flowers are supposed to die so it turned out I could accept it. I have now received the first certificate and am halfway through the second one. A certificate is like a completed term in college, with a certain number of assignments to submit, and there are ten levels so I have yet far to go. I like clear goals, but the important thing is the joy of creation, as well as the sense of getting better. When I look at pictures of my first arrangements, they are pathetic, and I was so proud of them back then.

My miniature-making has also moved on to new heights. My business is going well with its premises. Since I am not dependent on it for a living, I feel satisfaction from the simple fact that people like my stuff and even make special orders. I now feel confident to make things I never dreamed of making a few years ago so when asked whether I can make this or that, I say: I have never made it before, but I can try. I don’t like mass-producing things (although I have occasionally made fifty tiny pumpkins on request), but rather inventing new things. I am a recycler and like using rubbish for my projects. I have the privilege of belonging to a hugely selective miniature club where I am learning a lot. I have participated in my first miniature show. I am building up a reputation. Luckily, so much networking can be done online, even though there is nothing like live events.

Book-binding hasn’t been as prominent this year, but I have tried some new techniques there as well.

I continue with balcony gardening (although not right now when it’s minus fifteen), enjoying the colours of my flowers and the taste of my veggies. I haven’t done as much as I could have, but I have made several improvements. 

In my communal garden, I enjoyed tulips and daffodils I had planted the year before; I harvested blackcurrants that I had planted the year before, and our maintenance team have, on my request, planted lilacs, magnolias and rhododendron we will enjoy next year.

I haven’t achieved my walking goal of 1,500 km, being short by 300. Maybe I set the goal too high, or maybe I was lazy. But how could I have been lazy when I walked almost 80 km on Camino de Santiago? A dream come true, after three postponements due to well-known reasons. 

Moreover, I went on two more walking holidays within Sweden, one of which my first mountain hike. Sweden is great for walking, and there is so much to explore!

With other exercise, my Pilates gym was closed for a while, but this autumn classes resumed, which was great. Since the gym is in town I frequently combined it with meeting a friend for lunch. I have also tried climbing and loved it. I will certainly do it again.

In spring, I took two online classes at Seniors’ University (aka University of Third Age), one in astronomy, the other on deserts. The latter proved more interesting. I realised I had been to half of world’s famous deserts, but I had no idea why they were where they were. Now I know. Always fun to learn something new.

My reading goal this year was 30 books, and my challenge was reading recent Swedish novels that I had neglected over the last ten years. I have read 35. Some were great reading experience, and many critically acclaimed and award-winning books were awful. At least I am now better informed about what is going on in Swedish literature.

I have enjoyed a lot of music this year. While concert halls were still closed I listened to free streamed and recorded concerts, but this autumn I went to a live concert almost every week. I have also been to opera, ballet and musical. Every morning and every evening I listen to Spotify. I like its feature Weekly Discovery. The algorithm alternates my favourites with its own suggestions which are indeed discoveries I probably wouldn’t have made myself. (By the way, “concerts” for me is exclusively classic music). Spotify tells me that my most listened-to artist this year was Alison Balsom, which was unexpected. My top piece, for second year running, is “Farewell to Stromness” since it is my bedtime music.

I have become quite fond of TV series – a genre I used to despise, which is of course a snobbish prejudice. My favourite this year was “The Good Place”. Occasionally I binge-watch, but mostly I watch one episode a day, looking forward to the pleasure the day after.

I still enjoy cooking for myself and trying new recipes. A Cambridge friend and I have had several cook-along days when we choose a cuisine and exchange our experience, in words and pictures, through WhatsApp. We have done Greek, Basque, Swedish, Sicilian, and more. When you cannot meet live, digital sessions are almost as good. 

I never thought I would bake so much, or bake at all, but here I am, baking buns, cakes and biscuits and even bread, just for myself.

Last but not least, my feline masters are getting more and more benevolent. One day they will sit on my lap.

Unlike most previous years, I have no publications nor any other academic accomplishments. There may have been some, but I have totally ignored them. I am still getting tons of invitations to give a conference paper, to contribute to a volume, to examine a thesis or review a book proposal, to which I reply: “You have received my auto-response, and I can confirm that…” The only thing that reminds me of my academic past is regular royalties.

I have been consistent in my anti-consumerism, and apart from craft supplies and a couple of essential kitchen utensils I honestly haven’t bought anything this year. I haven’t bought a single item of clothing, except a black skirt I needed for a funeral, and I got it from a second-hand shop. The only book I bought was a guidebook for the mountain area where I went hiking. My first-generation iPad from 2011 still serves me well.

This year marked forty years since I left Russia. My son and I celebrated appropriately, agreeing that it was the right thing to do. I have never regretted it.

As I have stated before, perception of time is different when you get old. I feel no stress, no pressing goals; every day is long and full of meaning. The pace is slow, and if at the end of the day I state that I haven't done anything useful, there is no need to be upset. I don't believe in happiness, but this is peace that you could not possibly imagine when you were young. 

At this point we typically make plans for the coming year. I can hardly imagine it being better still, but I do have things to look forward to. To begin with, I will be three-score and ten, and I intend to celebrate in style. I hope to walk another bit of the Camino. There may be another interesting travel experience. I have signed up for more craft shows. There are concert and theatre tickets waiting. Of course none of this may happen at all, but I have learned to take one day at a time and be grateful for every day I am alive and able to enjoy it. I am profoundly grateful for the joys of 2021.

Me and my brain

 

I haven’t been an active blogger this year, and writing does not come naturally any more. This is quite remarkable given that I earned my living throughout my whole career, over fifty years, by writing. Yet now, anything longer that a photo caption on facebook feels strenuous, or rather totally unappealing. I was recently asked to contribute a piece to a Festschrift for a retiring colleague, which is a pleasurable task as it can be light in tone and devoid of heavy referencing. Yet as I considered possible topics and browsed through my files for something to recycle, I realised that there was no way I could do it. It is as if my brain has simply shut down its areas of academic thinking.

Reflecting upon this weird phenomenon, with my patchy knowledge of neuroscience, I realise that it is not just “as if”. My brain has indeed shut down the storage of scholarly approaches. When I decided, some time before my actual retirement, that I didn’t want to continue any academic pursuits, my brain made a mental note of it – sorry, unintended pun, but probably suitable. The brain is a very economic machine. When it knows that some portions of accumulated knowledge will not be used ever again, it seals off those storage rooms. Anyone who has tried knows how hard it is to come back to academic studies after a long break. The brain needs to re-learn to receive, process and store information. I not only find it next to impossible to write, but also extremely hard to read anything work-related. Former-work related. I have no problems reading instructions for assembling a miniature four-poster bed or for arranging a Basic Slanting-Style Moribana in Reverse.

Being a good housekeeper, the brain knows that there is new and radically different information coming in these days. Information more connected to the right hemisphere, to hand-eye coordination for crafts, to concrete orientation in space when I lead walks. This information needs new neuronal paths to be created, which in turn needs energy. The brain is energy-hungry; it uses 20% of all energy we receive from nutrition, more than any organ in our body. There is no point maintaining paths between sealed storage rooms. It’s a waste of energy. The brain hates waste. It is now busy making new connections, supporting new paths, making room for visual and haptic skills I didn’t need before.

When friends and colleagues tell me that I will one day want to write another scholarly book, I know for sure it won’t happen because I would then need to persuade the brain to reopen the sealed rooms and rebuild the dismantled pathways. It would take years. I don’t have these years, and it’s not worth while. Once again, to allow the brain to shut down significant bits of the left hemisphere was a deliberate and well thought-through decision that I don’t regret. Moreover, if I had known fifty years ago, when I was choosing my career, what I know now I probably wouldn’t have chosen to become an academic. I would have trained to become a garden architect or a cabinet-maker or a desert explorer. I have no time to pursue any of these careers other than on a small, even a miniature scale. But that’s enough for me, and my brain supports my new endeavours.

There is one area that the brain has kept open, and it belongs to both left and right hemisphere. I am still able to learn a new language.

Looking back

It is two years since I left Cambridge. At the time, it wasn't meant to be a definitive farewell. I planned to return to Cambridge in December for Guest Night at college and for my swearing-in as an Emeritus Fellow, and when that didn't happen for a number of reasons, I planned to go to Cambridge in March (2020) for the Charter Dinner, and we know why that didn't happen. Here I am, two years later, and no prospect of going to Cambridge in a foreseeable future. 

Do I miss Cambridge? Yes and no. I miss the community, my friends and colleagues, my students, seminars, college lunches and dinners... and I have to remind myself that none of this has happened in the past year and a half. So what I miss is in the past, not what I am missing now by not being in Cambridge. I know it sounds awful, but, to put it cynically, I haven't missed much. What I valued most in Cambridge has been severely reduced. To put it even more cynically, I am glad I left Cambridge when I did. 

In the first year, I still had some ties with Cambridge, supervising a few PhDs for a miserable remuneration. Online supervisions that were extraordinary in the beginning soon became routine for everyone so I didn't even feel I was particularly isolated. I stayed in touch with some colleagues, but eventually what is going on in my precious baby, my Research Centre, is no longer my concern. I don't know the new cohorts of graduate students, and they don't know me. They are likely to know of me and are probably assigned some of my work, but I am not a person anymore, just a name. And my former students have moved on, have jobs and families, and I see them occasionally on Facebook. Every now and then, Facebook sends me a "memory" of a doctoral defence or a graduation ceremony.

I have been allowed to keep my university email address, and I am still getting messages from various committees that have forgotten to take me off records, and I am getting lovely messages from my college supporting its members in these difficult times. I have participated in a couple of zoominars, but that, too, feels less and less relevant. 

The main reason Cambridge has become a ghost is my firm decision to withdraw from academic life altogether. If I had been still active as a researcher I would have participated in more events, made myself available for supervisions and assessments and at the very least kept track of what is going on in my field in general and in my former research environment in particular. As it is, I have moved on so far away that sometimes I am not even sure that Cambridge has really happened to me, because the person I have become in these two years wouldn't find academic life attractive. I do remember of course that the person I used to be valued her academic career and enjoyed academic life with all its horrors and rewards. But that person is no more. 

Therefore I don't miss Cambridge. 

A Russian emigree was once asked whether they were planning to visit Moscow. The answer was: "I have already been to Moscow". I have already been to Cambridge.  

Homerton college on a rare occasion of snow