Team Player

The harder you hold onto something, the more likely you are to lose it. I am a Scatterling of Africa. A Soutie. A Vagabond. One who has no fixed home. There were 147 boys in my Matric class. A group of them had been with me for 12 years. Not by choice. Some were very glad to see the back of others they had been trapped with. I was at University for 4 years, and at the three companies I worked at for 4.5 years, 5 years, and a year respectively. I was always a “Team Player”. Throwing myself in wholeheartedly and enthusiastically. But cynicism has grown to replace my romantic side. I am wary of Trusts, Legal People, and groups who we use the language of Ordinary People for. Speaking of Countries, Companies, and Teams as if they are a flesh and blood someone we owe our allegiance to. Teams change. Those groups I was at, no longer exist. The real group we owe our allegiance to is bigger. And smaller. To the real people we meet. The real people who move. To the expansion. To the connection. Time is a one-way door. I can’t move home. It does not exist. Yet I am home. If I loosen my grip.

Class 1 - 1986

Stretched Soutie

As a Soutie, I can't move home. Home isn't a place. It feels more like a state of mind. Of heart. One of my feet sits on a muddy island that was once a magical and scary place beyond the Empire. Then briefly the head of an Empire. The other sits in a country on the southern tip of a vast continent that is waiting to roar. Both are having raw identity crises. I don't want to be defined by a place. Anger rises at the thought of being defined by borders and separateness. Born in Apartheid, the boiling point of my blood is division, suppression, and disempowerment. I will never be defined by a team. For me, home isn't the edges. It is the engine. Home doesn't contain me. Home releases me. I can't move home. Home can only move me. Home doesn't contain us. It empowers us.

Why There?

Why do we live where we live? Daniel Gilbert talks about the three biggest determinants of our happiness being where we live, what we do, and who we marry. We used to live where we were born, do what the parent of the same gender did, and marry someone from the neighbourhood. Ken Robinson says 7 of his 8 great grandparents were from the same area. That isn't how it has played out for me. We live in the age of the escape hatch. Some time ago I had to accept permanent uncertainty. I can't choose to live near friends. They move. Family moves. Jobs move. If I like my colleagues, they to move on. I am a self declared Liberal. I love change. I love discomfort. I fully get Conservative love of protecting things as they are. People don't move easily. It is normally because of a big life decision. Left or right. The reality is when people throw their worlds up in the air, they leave a bit of themselves behind. It isn't always by choice. Life makes a lot of decisions for us, and all we can do is choose how to respond. We cope.

A stretched Global Local Boy

Burford

Burford High Street

I live in the medieval town of Burford, in the Cotswold hills of Oxfordshire. After living in London from 2008 till the end of 2016, this is my introduction to building a life in England proper. London is more of an international city. So much so, I didn't really feel like I had left South Africa. It felt home to me, and to people from all over the world. A blended home. Towns are more single malt than blend. Burford is 29 km from Oxford. A Burh (fortified town) on a ford (crossing the Windrush river) with a population of 1,422. Towns are less transient. The intention being to build a home. There is a feeling when returning to Burford of escape. Rest. Comfort.  I am very much a Global Citizen and I love the discomfort of learning, but we also need somewhere to retreat to. A Burh where we feel safe. I treasure a few of those places in South Africa, this will become one here.

Opening the door in December 2016

Building People

Back to where we began

Some of the Class of '97

This weekend was my 20 year school reunion. A number of Old Boys from 10, 20, 25, 30, 40, and 50 years ago came back to the school for an assembly, a tour of the grounds and a dinner.

High School years can be an incredibly exciting time of life. I think we over specialise once we become 'adults'. One of the great things about school years was the ability to give anything you liked a go. To explore. To play. Where the objective was learning.

I am a full on capitalist. That doesn't mean I think the rules of money making apply to everything. One of the biggest mistakes we make is thinking price determines value. Price is simply a clearing mechanism. It takes how much of something there is, and pushes it towards those who will pay the most.  That is an incredibly powerful way to make some things grow. Things you can count.

At school, there is also growth... but it isn't constrained by the rule of monetising. As I wandered the campus seeing the investment that had been made in these Boys' lives, I was both impressed, and more than a little jealous. Art, Drama, Music, Sport and various other activities were buzzing around the school, and the boys were full of fire and enthusiasm. How I would love to spend my time in that type of environment now!

The activities that made them glow were not necessarily the things that one day would 'make them a living'. They certainly make them come alive. I kept imagining a campus like the one the school has, but for all of us. Even when we are old.

A place built around community. A space devoted to people, relationships, learning, passion, communication and creativity. Libraries, Art Rooms, Theatres, Class Rooms, Fields, Gyms, Pools and places to gather and chat. A place devoted to the heart of life. A place that builds people.

Housing Inflation

By lending money to people to buy houses, you don't make houses more affordable. You create money, not roofs. The financial world helps things happen. It acts as a lubricant or a catalyst, but the real drivers are supply and demand. Money and debt are ways of counting. They aren't the things you count. If you want affordable houses, you build more houses. The Catch 22 we find ourselves in is that people see housing inflation as investment growth. When people buy a house (unlike a computer, car or television) they want price to go up over time. One interest group (those with homes) wants the price to go up. The other (without homes) wants the prices to go down... till they buy, then they switch groups. It isn't a solvable problem. It is politically impossible to please both groups. If the game doesn't work, change the game.

If you are crazy, you don't have to fly

If you don't want to fly, you aren't crazy

Self-Catering (Aydn)

I began writing this post during a study break in a computer lab. Tired, caffeine deprived, broke, wearing the same jacket I had worn for the past three days. I began writing because I had promised Trevor I would send him a blog post. However every time he checked in to see how far I was, I realised that the promise had slipped my mind and I had therefore yet to even select a page or google doc upon which to draft the post. This led me to think about a similar anomaly happening in my social life where promised coffee dates, boys nights out, dinners on Kloof Street and games nights at my place have all just not been happening. I considered how these promises had also been made. Yet they had slipped the minds of those who promised them, and often times also of those to whom they had been promised.

But why? 

What was happening? 

What is preventing these promises from being fulfilled? 

What is distracting me or drawing me away from all that I promised and that has been promised to me? 

At this point I should mention that I moved out of residence and into my own bachelor apartment at the beginning of this year. This change although exciting and with many advantages, also brought with it a few changes that are arguably disadvantages. Firstly, when I lived in res, friends were a door, a corridor, or a block away. The effort to see them, make plans with them and visit them was less. Secondly, when I lived in residence, my residence was on campus. It was situated close to the library, to lecture venues, to Jammie stops (student transport) and it also came with a catering service that cooked my food, served my food and cleaned the dishes and utensils I used in the process of eating this food. 

The University of Cape Town's Jammie Shuttle Service

Side note: Oh and congratulations if you found it disconcerting that I mentioned my social life and my academic life second. Returning to the discussion at hand: 

Now that I live alone, in an apartment somewhere in suburban Cape Town. Finding available friends requires a phone call and a walk up the road or to the train station. In short, more effort than it previously did. Getting to campus requires a walk, traversing a couple of pedestrian crossings (think about that long wait for the green man at the robot to flash and make noise). Then as is the case at my university, I have to hike up the mountain to get to class, likewise late nights at labs and a trip to the library is now literally an excursion (packed lunch and all). Catering has now become self-catering and, to be honest, between purchasing and cooking food I occasionally struggle to make time to (or forget to make time to) actually sit down and eat. My one friend barely recognised me when he saw me on campus earlier today. The last time he saw me was late yesterday evening…. 

However, I digress. The question is why I and my friends have been reneging on our promises. The answer is simply that between, graduating, writing a thesis, managing a new job, learning how to juggle catering with planning your route to and from campus we often forget or struggle to find a way to reach one another at a time that has some mutual convenience. We are grappling with learning to adult before the bigger responsibilities of adulting creep in and confuse us even further. 

Life gets hectic and it becomes more and more difficult to stay in touch with people. I enjoy reading articles on 20 Heartbreaking Things You Learn in Your 20s and similar threads. All of these always mention that a decreasing size of your friend group and a sense of feeling that you are losing touch with people who you thought would be there forever. Sad as it sounds it is quite a sobering truth and…. 

Apologies, I had to pause for those of you arguing with me and boasting about the 500 friends you have kept since high school. Well done, but you are the exception. ...it is quite a sobering truth and not necessarily a bad thing. Think about it. You will continue to meet people. You have probably met and bonded with many people. You will never lose those memories, those experiences, those lessons [those Instagram and Facebook photos]. However, realising that you may lose touch with many people who, right now, are very dear friends may be a necessary idea to accept. Once you accept it you can then think about how you will move past it, overcome it or fight it (we all have that one friend who wants to fight everything and everyone). 

How you deal with it is up to you. 

Personally I will approach it as an opportunity for growth. I will continue to meet as many new people as I can, and get to know as many people as I can, and open up to them in an attempt to connect, and possibly build friendships and long lasting relationships. However, should I find myself at a point where I grow distant from those I consider friends. For whatever reason if we chat less, spend less time together, lose interest in each other. I will accept it gracefully and move on. On a more proactive front, I will use these experiences to ask myself what I really want out of my life and the relationships in it. I will use these experiences to help myself grow and improve the relationships to come, plant the seed for those few relationships that may last forever. 

In coming to an end I am reminded of an Elvis Presley song (originally by Ray Price) that my father always played (still does) for my brother and I, 

 “Don't look so sad, I know it's over 

But life goes on and this old world will keep on turning 

Let's just be glad, we had some time to spend together 

There's no need to watch the bridges that we're burning”

Aydn Parrott's first guest post was 'Wait and Hope'

Inner Eight Year Old

My grandparents have moved home a few times. Whenever I see their new place, it immediately feels like a visit to Gran and Grampa. The furniture goes with them, and the paintings and little mementos that are deeply wired into my growing up. There is always a workshop where I will need to find my Grandfather covered in grease working on a new project. My Gran will be making tea in cups I know. The little things that make up their place in the world.

My Grampa in his happy place (with his boy alongside)

Having moved from South Africa in 2008 to explore the world, I find the South African shops a little like the home that moved. It is odd because you don't really get the equivalent 'South African Shops' there. Overseas, the bits are distilled. The 'other' stuff is taken away. All that is left is the differences. I can quite easily walk through the 'tantrum tunnel' to a check out when all the sweets aren't the ones I grew up with. When you take all the little things I haven't seen in a while, and put them in one place, my inner eight year old is over the moon.

When you live close to people, you don't always notice the similarities. The familiarities. You notice the differences. Scott Alexander wrote an incredibly powerful essay 'I can tolerate anything except the outgroup'. When people are very different, we tolerate them. It's easy. What is more difficult is when things are almost the same. When there is so much in common that the differences become the focus. When subgroups get formed and fight. Protestants v Catholics (both Christian). Christian v Jew (Jesus was a Jew). Christian v Islam (both Abrahamic, neighbours in Africa and Europe with ebbing and flowing borders for thousands of years). Greeks and Turks. Pakistan and India.

Little things are different here in the US. Street signs. Traffic lights (we call them robots in South Africa). The brands of sweets. While my Gran's cups may let me know it is her home, the home would have been very much like many others... there. The brands of tea - Five Roses, Rooibos. The appliances. The taps. The company that makes the toilets. There would be things that bind homes that go unnoticed. A few common books on shelves. What is on the TV. The newspaper. 

Visiting my Gran

Being away from home makes people feel patriotic. People don't move because they don't love where they come from. I see far more Springbok rugby jerseys on the streets of London than when I am in Cape Town, Joburg or Durban. More flags waving at away sport events. Differences start to fade when you are extracted, and similarities are distilled. My ears prick up when I hear an accent I recognise.

Mandela and Robots in Chicago

It would be great if our ears could prick up without being away. If we could distil the bits that excite our inner eight year olds. Eight year olds are great at making new friends. One just offered to change his party so that a friend of mine in his 30s (who he had just met) could make it.

Friendships must rise.

Last Sleep

Home is where the 'what' is? In Stumbling on Happiness, Dan Gilbert talks about the traditional three big drivers of how your life and happiness are defined. Where you live. What you do. Who you marry. In the past you will have lived where you were born, did what your parents did, and married someone from the neighbourhood. Ken Robinson figured out that 7 of his 8 great grandparents lived within a few miles of each other growing up. Things have changed.

Last night I had my last sleep in the place I have spent the second longest in my life. I was very lucky in finding my flat pretty quickly when I moved to London. Although I looked at several places in a first day of hunting, the very first place I looked at was the one I moved in to. It has been good to me.

I have had many friends stay here with me as they pass through London. In a new Global world I have found you can't really choose to live close to family and friends or not. People move. People scatter. Our jobs are less fixed and more big decisions are open to discussion. You have to make an effort to see the people who are important to you or life can swallow you whole.

Snow greeted me shortly after arrival. Regular sunsets stuck around.

(pic taken by buddie guest Jon Adams)

From tomorrow I will no longer have a fixed base to call home. Home is a fuzzy concept though. I always smile when, well... after... my grandparents move. This doesn't happen very often and is a great source of stress in the run up, but their home seems to move with them. They have always been happy a little while after the change. Maybe it is partly because of the furniture that their place seems to be the same. Maybe it is because they have been married over sixty years. Maybe it is because they have their kids close by. Despite the global scattering, my Dad and his sisters still live in the same city as them.

Home is created by the relationships that get formed. The reason their home seems to move with them is my Gran and Grampa are a home. Wherever they are when I get to see them is their home. If that is true then we don't need to panic about the confusing world we live in. Home can be defined by how you allocate your time. There are ways to allocate that to the people who are important. Home is where the kuier is.

Sneaky Stuff

Objects carry meaning for us. We like them when we buy them, but after we have had experiences with them they carry some sort of mystical attachment which we find hard to let go of. We wrap objects with authentic stories. We make objects holy. All this pleasure we get from extending our story into the physical world makes nesting very appealing. I have been nesting in the same place for 6 years and have been attempting to purge over the last couple of weeks. 6 years isn't that long, you'd think. I also think I don't tend to buy lots of things. Yet the bags after bags of trips to the charity store would suggest otherwise.

Some of the stuff has been easier to part with that others. Clothes is one example. I have far more than I need. Some get worn over and over till they really shouldn't be worn any more and others with less attachment sit in the cupboard virtually untouched. These new'ish and not regularly worn shirts were easy to add to the out pile. Less easy were some of my favourites.  One of those is a green and gold Madiba T-Shirt from global teez at the waterfront in Cape Town. There is something about living outside South Africa that makes South Africans wear clothes that identify them as Saffas more. Whatever the reason, I love popping my head into that store whenever I am back to see if anything grabs me. A friend asked me to get him the Madiba shirt but it was never in - so instead he got JouMa. It suited him because he tried to imitate the picture at his wedding after a hockey incident. Unsurprisingly, his wife insisted on false teeth. 

It is time to say goodbye to the T-Shirt. And to a whole bunch of mugs. I am a bit of a memory hoarder. That is fine, but when the memories start mutating into things it can get a little silly. I had a cupboard full of these mugs. This is particularly dangerous when you consider the limitless tidiness challenges I am trying to conquer. Sinks full of mugs, and mugs scattered around the house. Perhaps mugs should be like the highlander. There can be only one.

Friends of mine do a '40 bags in 40 days' purge each year. Each day they need to fill a bag that has to go. The husband gets an embarrassed look when the story gets told saying that he wishes they just didn't collect that much stuff in the first place. They do have an excuse with a houseful of 4 kids but stuff is very very sneaky. We keep a lot just 'in case'. Beyond the price tag, there are also the less obvious hidden costs. Not just the use others could have got from the hoard, but the energy sapping drag it is when you eventually decide to pack up or move!