Who Are you ?

Yes. It's like the Who track. And it's a very good question which we all ask ourselves at one time or another. It is also a very difficult question to answer, as the answer will change over time. There is no central core of being which is immutable and will be forever the same, which we can produce like some identity document. Who we are depends on where and when we are, who we are with and may be different at different times, even times of the day. It was reading Harry Eyres' column in the FT which made me think back to who or what I was.

Who was I many years ago when I was a young dog, to coin a phrase ? I thought there would be no need to learn to drive a car for various reasons, among them was the development of public transport and the scarcity of hydrocarbons. How mistaken was this assumption ! I did not feel the need for owning too much property: in fact I could pretty much pack all my belongings into one bag and take off at almost a moment's notice; the heaviest and most prized item being a Brother portable typewriter on which I taught myself to type and tapped out all my university dissertations along with miscellaneous scraps of poetry. I aspired only to being and seeing with a cold though observant eye and perhaps writing about what was seen. I used to think I might be a photographer but could never scrape together enough cash to get some decent kit. Cash was king at the time: you had no ability raise money through credit for anything. You had what you had. I never thought you could own a house or land or acquire these things. I did drift along, not achieving very much, not really knowing what I was here for.

I met a very old friend some time ago whom I had not seen for many years. She was surprised I was not in fact a photographer. She was convinced I would be one. This made me think about why I had not, and about how and why I had been doing what I had been doing for so many years. I had become ensnared by the illusion that you could work hard at some job and find personal and financial rewards enough to then have time to do all those things...Of course you do not find reward in working at some job, even though you may have a few baubles like a very nice car and a nice house and no particular worries about the end of the month coming long after the money has run out. You also find that your brain has become atrophied and sterile and incapable of thought or creation. You find that you cannot consume for ever more. You find that you borrow money against all your instincts to buy a house even though all you want is a bit of land with a small dwelling and a large garden, you get cars and mobile phones and computers and all those things which are good but tinged with evil, and which are but distractions from...From what ? Could it be philosophy, poetry, the contentment of being ? You feel, you think, that you are trapped. And then comes liberation.

You find one day that the corporate world no longer needs you, even after all you have done for them over the years. You give up the car because you have to. You spend time in the garden, planning which vegetables you will put in etc. You draw diagrams of your plot and its various areas given over to herbs, wild flowers, fruit, potatoes etc You suddenly think that it is two years since you boarded a plane on some boring business trip. It all does wonders for your carbon footprint. But somehow it doesn't feel right because you are not enjoying it; because you somehow think that those who have remained in the rat race are having more fun. You somehow feel guilty for having been made redundant and not being able to get a job because let's face it, you are that age. You are over the hill. The problem is you, not the economy, not the banks, not the spineless career politicians. But is it ? You have probably simply changed, that is all; and all things considered you may be much better for it. A better human being.