Hello

It's 15th February 2021. We're locked down in the Highlands of Scotland – a fantastic part of the world to be confined to. We are a family of five including dog, and therefore we have been out walking a lot this year, glad for the opportunity to stretch our legs and minds without getting too close to anyone else.

During such walks, my attention wanders off with the scudding clouds, and is brought back here and now by my body. That's a fine relationship, and one worthy of exploration. Perhaps one of the most explored and least known relationships, the mind-body connection interests me, and so much of my writing here will be in the form of an enquiry.

For years, this enquiry has been generalised – just trying stuff out – but since studying with Alexander Technique teacher Bruce Fertman I have been asking with a purpose: finding the I-and-Thou body of Martin Buber.

Sometimes I will describe and narrate my experiments. Where I do so, I am implicitly inviting you to join in. If you have time, room, and inclination to join in, please do so, and let me know what you find. If you like, you can give me feedback.

Updated

It's 2026. I'm half a decade older. That means one child is mid-way through university, and the other due to leave school. But that's a fiction. The elder is taking two years off university, for reasons I don't fully comprehend. The younger is repeatedly facing a very real life-or-death struggle with their mental health. My partner and I live from moment to moment, waiting for the next round of bad news. It is exhausting and very, very frightening.

And so, Buber.

At primary school there is playtime and there is lesson time. In adult life, we spend a disproportionate amount of our time being serious without noticing how that slowly stiffens us physically and mentally into bowed and cowed versions of our younger selves. Particularly in my adult life now, making space for play is making a stand against all the forces that seem to rage around and against me. I will not bow, at least not as much as you want me to.

Thus, these ponderings and wanderings become less an exploration, and more an active push-back against everything else. They become something I must do, daily, if I am to maintain any autonomy and self-regard.

And, perhaps, in so doing, I can offer an example to others who are struggling – pointing to a way through the maelstrom of their experience. Perhaps I can do that for myself.

Also

The dogster died a couple of years ago. He still leaves a hole in my heart. We have a delightful puppy. But he's not my old friend. Time has yet to heal, I suppose.