Breathing feels effortless

A (lightly edited) musing from by the sea.

There are some moments, some scenes, smells, sounds, feelings that you wish you could capture in their entirety to relive, to experience again once the moment and sensation has passed. They don't come around too often, and when they do they tend to be unique, the type that never could be recreated. Not because the circumstances won't allow it, but because of the way in which you experience it, who you are at that precise point in time when it arrives.

As I write this, the old fashioned way with paper and pen, I'm in one of those moments. Nothing can improve it; I wouldn't want to try and improve it. Nothing could detract from it.

I'm going to attempt to capture it through words, having already attempted through picture. Forgive me if it becomes pretentious, wandering, nonsensical. Let's just see where my pen takes me.

I'm sat. Beneath me and around me is a sprawl of black volcanic rock. I've found a spot with no juts, with the perfect footrest at the perfect distance and at the perfect height in front of me.

The sun, which has been beating down on us all day, is starting to weaken on Round Seventeen, and is starting its descent back to the horizon. My back is to our villa, which lays just behind me. The door to our backyard is open, and I know it to be framing my youngest brother as he relaxes listening to music by the pool. My other brother is somewhere behind me, also on the rock, reading. His girlfriend is dozing, on a sofa inside the villa. 

In front of me, the sea is breaking on the lava flow, its persistence building up as the tide starts to come in and the slight breeze that's roughing my hair picks up.

There are four sailboats in front of the horizon ahead, white sails chasing each other, a little like a school of fish we followed earlier in the day whilst snorkelling. A few seagulls are showing off overhead, surfing the wind currents that I can't see.

It smells of the sea; slightly fishy, slightly rancid, slightly salty, all lying just beneath your breathe, catching you unawares every now and then as the wind changes direction.

Camera beside me. Music in one ear. The sound of the waves breaking, the wind, and kids playing further down the shore in the other. 

All sense of stress, worry, self-doubt, self-consciousness has slipped off. My mind feels completely disconnected from my body. But at the same time, it feels like — for the first time in a long time — mind and body are in sync. 

Breathing feels effortless. You pause every now and then to take in the world around you, remind yourself to savour it.

I turn around, and see I'm now alone. And it feels right that there's no-one else here, no-one sharing this moment, this experience. And not for the first time over the last few years, I relish the freedom of thought, of feeling, of experience, you can have when alone.

I'd been sat here for what must have been half an hour, writing something else entirely, absorbed, before I became aware of the peace I was feeling.

Living in the city, immersed in day-to-day life, with work, money worries, always around people, you can so quickly forget who you are when all that is stripped away, who you are at your core. Even in those moments when you manage to snatch some 'me' time, you're still aware of the buzz going on just outside your door, the other end of your phone, and you carry that buzz around with you. 

And so sat here, now, just you, you realise. So what if you're not quite as fit as you should be? So what if your weight isn't quite what you feel it could be? If you aren't quite up-to-speed with the latest on the economic crisis, haven't seen as many plays or been to as many exhibitions as you could, that your hair seems to have taken on the appearance of a wet poodle?

This sense of peace with yourself, with the world around you; if you could capture it, take it with you wherever you go, to be able to close your eyes and relive that sense of freedom of self that you felt, how much calmer would your feelings towards life be? And how much more switched on would you be to that around you, to that which matters and that which does not?

So we are who we are, we love who we love, we enjoy what we enjoy. How hard is it to recognise this in ourselves, to respect it in others? We each have our strengths, our weaknesses, fears, joys. Unless we can find the headspace to explore them in ourselves, unless we can be open to sharing them, to being trustful of those we spend our days with, will we ever be able to recapture this peace when back in the tempest of our 'normal' lives?

Why is it so hard to say, 'This is me. And this is you. I'm not perfect, but then perfection exists only as an abstract ideal anyway. Let's strip away our agendas, our walled selves, our distrust, and just be.'

Not the best photo, but a photo nonetheless

Have you tried turning it off and on again

For the first time in my life, the phrase "sun, sea and sand" has been swiftly followed by another phrase: "technology detox". Never have I felt such a need to disconnect. The irony of writing this on a blog to which I will share the link through a number of social networking sites is not lost on me. The disgustingly 'first-world problem' nature of this topic is also not lost on me. If you can help it, please don't judge. If you can't help it, then judge away; I'm already two steps ahead of you.

Over the last few months I've been increasingly aware of what's become a death grip on my iPhone. My love of books, pens and paper haven't protected me from slipping into what I vowed I'd never become: someone who feels the need to neurotically play with their phone, unconsciously swiping through apps and screens as if somewhere in between the neatly ordered folders lies the Holy Grail, covered in dust, lying next to a scribbled answer to world peace on the back of a receipt, a worryingly tantalising-looking year-old pizza slice, and the film the fourth Indiana Jones should have been. In meetings I've succumbed to a behaviour that again I always vowed never to adopt: checking my BackBerry for work emails whilst someone's talking to me. It's not just me either. I've noticed on the Tube that 70% of the people seem to be playing with a smart phone of some description. Seriously, have a look around you next time you're on public transport and count how many people are looking at the screen of a phone. In meetings the table is occupied by the blinking red lights of BlackBerries that just can't be left behind. A number of us appear to be orbiting around our phones rather than anchored within ourselves.

I don't have an issue with the technology or how people choose to use it. My job is all about helping a firm of lawyers understand how they can use social media tools in a business context and looking at how this intersects with the firm's culture. I'm a huge advocate of the Internet and social sites as learning tools, as invaluable ways of connecting people, and I love how smart phones have changed how we interact with, navigate, discover, and share the world around us. We've seen the power of it, for both good and bad. I know that it's just technology, and it's all about the motivations of the people that are using it. And I know of the fears around our 'always-on' culture and the arguments that it's rewiring the way we think and engage with one another. But it's certainly been a catalyst for changes in behaviour all around the world, supporting (and harming) a whole range of areas, from education to development to democracy.

But at a Social Business conference in 2012 — despite being hugely inspired by some truly mind-bending talks and it cementing that this is a field I'd like to forge a career in — there was a concept that struck home the level of our addiction: "the always addressable customer". This is someone who has multiple devices, all connected to the Internet, that they check frequently in multiple locations. Sound familiar? What are you reading this on, an iPhone, an iPad, a BlackBerry, a Macbook, laptop, desktop PC, some other device? Did you find your way to this post after it had been shared on Twitter or Facebook? Are you out and about, stuck on a train or bus, in your bedroom, at work?

I am that person. I can think of 5 devices I own/use that can be connected to the Internet in some way and allow me to share and find content (for the record: a Macbook, a netbook, an iPhone, a work BlackBerry and a Kindle. God help me, what have I become). I've lost count of the number of times I'll open up Twitter during the day just to see what's going on and whether any useful articles have been shared by those I follow, or unlock my phone and browse around with no real purpose or task in mind.

The things I've found and experiences I've had off the back of always being connected are countless and (nearly) all positive: a lovely summer festival in Hampstead I would otherwise not have known about, finding out about the Science Museum showing the last Dark Knight instalment on 20 July, discovering articles and tools that are invaluable for my work, nurturing professional relationships and friendships that may have otherwise faded away, opening up my mind and thinking to areas of learning I'd have otherwise never discovered, etc etc etc.

So I'm not saying we need to all turn our devices off and stop sharing. What I am saying is that I've forgotten what it feels like to not be connected, to not be contactable. To have some headspace to completely free my mind of distractions and totally immerse myself in the task at hand, whatever that may be. To truly enjoy wandering a city, or reading, or writing, or watching a film, or having a conversation with a friend, without feeling the need to check my phone every five minutes for phonecalls, texts, or some other notification. The freest I've ever felt was on a bus in Malta on my own, my friend having returned to our apartment an hour before. No-one knew where I was and my phone was deliberately switched off. It felt amazing. It felt calm and peaceful. It felt like the volume on all the background noise and buzz had been turned right down. No, it felt like it had been eliminated completely. On the Tube I've started to try and practice 'the art of doing nothing' every now and then, rather than always playing with my phone or reading. A few months back I had the revelation that playing the piano is easier if I actually concentrate on what it is that I'm playing, without letting my mind wander elsewhere. It sounds obvious, but it's easy to forget. The notes flow a little smoother, the melody comes a little easier, my fingers are suddenly more nimble. You feel connected to the music you're playing and only the music. It's the same if you're writing, or reading. Rather than dividing your attention, if you completely focus your mind onto what you're doing at any one time, it's suddenly so much easier, so much clearer. It's like a scene framed through a camera's viewfinder snapping into focus, or the clarity of vision once you've put your contact lenses in. Or finally hitting a radio station in amongst the white noise.

So as of Wednesday, I will be on a much-needed holiday. I'll be doing the normal: sun, sea and sand. I'll have the 'devices' that I normally take on holiday with me: iPhone, camera, Kindle (the BlackBerry is most definitely being left at home). But for the first time, I'll also be making a conscious effort to not be digitally connected. My iPhone will hopefully be in airplane mode for the majority of the time, used just for music. The various things that I've started writing are going to be printed off and I'll be working on them in one of my numerous notebooks with one of my numerous pens. The Kindle's 3G will be switched off, and is only a backup in case I finish my current book (The Age of Wonder by Richard Holmes. I can't recommend it enough). I'm hoping for early morning/late night walks by the beach that's a stone's throw from our villa. And more than anything I'm hoping to calm the constant whirring that goes on behind your eyes when you know you're connected. To switch off to switch on. To free up some space to muse and let the mind wander down whichever path it chooses to take. To become immersed in books, writing, sun, and good company. This is why I've resisted the urge to litter this post with hyperlinks, to put a relevant video at the end, to try not to add to whatever other distractions are trying to tug you away from finishing (if you've made it this far, well done and hello. How's it going?). The video I would have shared would have been 'Yelp: with apologies to Allen Ginsberg's "Howl"' if you have time to look it up on YouTube. Now, where did I put my phone, it's been at least ten minutes since I last checked it...