Easy right?

Besides the sheer magnitude of the event, notoriously known as SA toughest race, the other thing that makes it special is that it was broadcast exclusively over Twitter this year.

Deprived of the TV coverage associated with some of the bigger and MUCH shorter stage races, watching the RASA through the lens of community was awesome. I love twitter for that.

My favourite rider is Alexander Harris. He won in 2010 and set a new course record in 2011. This year he finished second, 5 hours behind the Dusi Duke, endurance expert Martin Dreyer, in 10 days.

10 days to cover 2300km! Wow!

This morning Harris took to twitter as he chronicled the highs and lows of his mammoth ride. I simply cannot believe he endured it all. His story is great. It reads like a veritable short form of The Lord of the Rings. Really, it does.

Here are his tweets in order:

@alexanderharris: Day 1. Rode to Ntsikeni (207kms). Near Boshelweni, broke a saddle bolt. Seeds sewn for trouble later and a sore rump! Got in at 10pm.

@alexanderharris: Also shredded my ear on Wag n bietjie bos in the Umkomaas. But altogether a good first day!

@alexanderharris: Day 2. Broke a 2nd bolt leaving Nsikeni (thought it was bad luck). Stopped at Glen Edward to fix. Martin sneaks past. Push on to Tinana.

@alexanderharris: Day 3. Loose 30mins in giant martian donga outside Tinana. Unbeknownst to me, my saddle clamp continues to grind its ratchets..trouble later

@alexanderharris: Cross Lehanas and surprisingly, get first Uruk Hai assault. Take power nap in storm water drain. Perfect fit…as long as it doesnt rain!

@alexanderharris: Roll into Rhodes about 2 hrs behind Martin. Push on to Chesney wold as the rain arrives and the roads turn into Mississippi mud fudge!

@alexanderharris: So far 3 days down and still on track for the original plan. a sub 11 day. But this all changes today as the mud takes over.

@alexanderharris: Day 4. Limp over Kappokraal, slaapkrantz and Bonthoek portages with crazy mud! Brosterlea no longer an option. Stop at Vaalbank soaked!

@alexanderharris: Day 5. Break a third bolt 30 mins out of Vaalbank. Then a 4th crossing the vlei. Walk 10kms across vlei contemplating the problem…

@alexanderharris: Finally understand the nature of problem. The rachets on my seat clap have worn out, thus unable to lock off bolt, thus torque shears bolt

@alexanderharris: limp on with cable ties and rope attaching saddle. these wear so eventually use bloudraad. Make it to Brosterlea in 8hrs!!!

@alexanderharris: Push on to Romansfontein and a waiting seat post. Break a 5th and final bolt but eventually get in. loose about 8hrs to Martin. bleak day!

@alexanderharris: Day 6. Invigorated that i have finally solved the problem. Go like mad with good weather and trail and make it to Grootdam, 255kms later

@alexanderharris: Day 7. Pull back 3 hrs on Martin. Conditions still superb. Another big day to Bucklands. 200+. Realise i have a chance of doing a sub 11

@alexanderharris: Day 8. Drop into Mordor in the day. feeling bold and try a sneak. 2 electric fence shocks later and 30 bee stings to the head and face..pow!

@alexanderharris: Roll into Cambria with face swollen and head pounding. sulk for about 45mins as i recover. now about 3hrs behind. Push on but lethargic…

@alexanderharris: Come down a hill in Baviaans in the fading light and split a heard of Buffalo in two! feeling lucky…push on slowly to Dam se Drif.

@alexanderharris: Day 9. Another big day Jonny. Push all the way to Prince Albert, 258kms. Experince a charge down by two Brown Hyena entranced by my light!

@alexanderharris: Day 10. After 2 hrs sleep at PA, move up Swartberg pass and into Gamkaskloof. Out the back and into Rouxpos for lunch. 4 hrs behind

@alexanderharris: Roll into Anysberg around 9pm. Sleep deprivation is now drastic. Multiple power naps follow as i push on to Montagu. Hallucinating …

@alexanderharris: Keep hearing the faintist music on the wind and in the air. Looking back all the time at my *partner*. The Uruk Hai come now, with no mercy!

@alexanderharris: Fall asleep on my bike coming down the steep Ouberg pass. The Lord protects me and the bike goes right into the cliff and not left off it!

@alexanderharris: Fall asleep on my bike coming down the steep Ouberg pass. The Lord protects me and the bike goes right into the cliff and not left off it!

@alexanderharris: Wake in a mangled pile in the rocky gutter. Bruised, angry but alive and thankful to Jesus! Grace as always! Stumble and dither into montagu

@alexanderharris: Day 11. Sub 11 is still on but need to push. martin about 3.5hrs up the road. Shapes in the darkness shift and plants become people

@alexanderharris: Crossing Ashton a dog bites me on the calf but too tired to care. something comes out but not a shout. Making good time though…

@alexanderharris: Miss the obvious sneak into Magregor and give up the 30 mins i had just made up, and possibly the last chance of catching Martin. Angry!

@alexanderharris: Arrive at Kasra some time around 12. See the gap to Martin is still around 3.5. Now its down to Stettyns. light for Martin, dark for me…

@alexanderharris: Trouthaven at 8.30pm. No chance to catch Martin now, so pushing everything to the sub 11. Have 3 extra hours in the bag i figure…

@alexanderharris: At the dam wall by 9.45pm, and soon thereafter in the infamous Stettyns kloof. the only FC test i havnt taken Steyttyns in the dark!

@alexanderharris: Hugely underestimate the complexity of a dark Stettyns. Takes another hour to the first river crossing. tear, rip, shred and stumble along..

@alexanderharris: Shins smacked to pieces but body has been comitted along time ago. Stettyns is like a puzzle, the mines of moria in the dark!

@alexanderharris: Constantly loosing the ‘track’ and praying to the Lord for signs. A rock pile here, torn tape there, even a scant path, one clue to another

@alexanderharris: Finally i make the climb out point and celebrate. my self-talk has taken on a whole new dimension. its us, all the time now, me and whoever

@alexanderharris: But ive killed all my spare time. Its 3am and the wind is pounding. A new cold front has smacked the cape and think mist covers DuToits koof

@alexanderharris: my sub 11 cut off is 6am. Ive 3 hrs left. I struggle in the dark to find the Elandspad trail. At last, im pushing along it as its too rocky

@alexanderharris: 1.5hrs later im on the N1 near the tunnel. I start the 7km climb up toward the pass. Wind is gusting. when its in the face, it stops me dead

@alexanderharris: Out of the saddle and my legs are screaming. Tendons long ripped out of the back of my patella, quads have gotten to know a meat tenderiser!

@alexanderharris: I have to give myself at least 30mins for the drop to the finish. Its complex forrest trails and links. So i grind, cursing at the wind

@alexanderharris: Finally im at the summit and its 5.30. Thick mist make it impossible to see more than 2ms. I mess aorund for 5 mins searching for the sneak

@alexanderharris: I celebrate as i find it and say a quick prayer that the Lord guides me. I know i have one shot at this, one only. One mistake and its over

@alexanderharris: I drop down the first forest road. Highly attuned at the drift and feel of the forest, listening to the Holy spirit. Right at the 1st fork..

@alexanderharris: 20mins…left at the 2nd, then its a right, and a right again. Out of the mist now. 15 mins. Straight, straight, then another right…

@alexanderharris: 10 mins. Surprised, as always, that this section is so long. Endless turns and twists, but the Lords guidence is true. I know im right…

@alexanderharris: Im now in the back of Diemersfontein and in the big blade. Good thing i put a 44 on and not the 42! who would have thought i would need it..

@alexanderharris: 5mins and i must be pacing at 50kms/hr along the paved road around the dam. I can see the lights. Legs are screaming in an alien language

@alexanderharris: vague glance at my watch and i know its going to be close…minutes in it. Two more bends. Slight uphhill, out of the saddle again…

@alexanderharris: im not going to give it up now, not now. i know its just a number. but hell, ive worked hard for that number! I turn the final bend…

@alexanderharris: Body and mind are in a strange new place. A magical place where long journeys instantly end and begin. Memories rush and flood the mind…

@alexanderharris: I cross the line and stop. I look at my watch. 10 days 23 hrs and 57 mins!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I remember when my car was broken into some years back. The thieves stole my car radio. I had a very strong sense that my ‘space’ had been invaded and that it had in some way been defiled. Sitting in my car just did’t feel the same for a long time thereafter.

Although I was still in possession of my car and the interior was not greatly altered, there was a definitive sense that the space had been altered. There was also the sense that something more than the radio had been taken from me. That sense subsided after a while, but the memory lingers.

The knowledge of some tragedy also alters your perception of a physical space. For example, a murder happens in your neighbourhood. The way you see that house when you drive past it seems forever altered. It was once an arbitrary building, an abode, but is now suddenly less than what it was. It too is defiled. It has become something profane in a deep way. What it once was has now been altered despite the fact that the structure itself remains largely the same. The meaning we attach to that structure has thus been modified.

Sam and I once went to see a house that was for sale. It had been standing empty for a long time. It was a lovely house but I could not figure out why it had not sold. I asked the estate agent. She reluctantly admitted that the original owner had been shot by assailants in his doorway. We were standing in the very same doorway at the time of this conversation.

We didn’t buy the house.

A similar thing happens with tragedy. Someone dies in a car accident and we place a crucifix alongside the road. That spot is forever marked. We commemorate that physical space and the tragedy seems to persist over time. Even though the tragedy occupied a very finite amount of time, be it a few minutes or hours, there is something about the tragedy that then ‘lives on’ in time. Skid marks on a road are peculiar in this way. It took only a few seconds for them to appear, but looking at them brings on a ‘slow motion’ of events as you reconstruct what may have happened at the incident. The skid marks are a ‘living’ reminder of either what happened or of what could have happened.

This phenomenon is most certainly psychological in its nature, but whether it is limited to just the mind, perception and memory I am not sure. Our memory of such events surely alters our perception of a physical space and the meaning we attack to them, but there is a deeper sense in which actual space and time have been affected by a crime or tragedy.

The counter to this argument is that the absence of knowledge of a tragedy doesn’t result in the same persistence of the tragedy at that space. You would not know that something terrible happened at a spot if it were not for some commemoration or knowledge.

But, given that knowledge, that physical space seems to alter in time.

And so, feeling like my space had been invaded was more than a feeling. It was a reality, that happened at a point in time, but the sense seemed to persist as if the fabric of space and time reverberated with that action, like a pond ripples for a period of time way beyond which the stone impacted it.

If this effect on the fabric of space and time does indeed occur, what makes crime and tragedy so special? Would not any action influence our cosmos in the same way? If so,every action creates a ripple in space and time.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I was so excited to become a dad. At times I couldn’t explain the anticipation except to say that it felt like I was about to fulfill a purpose. Sam and I had heard how difficult it was being a parent, but in the exuberance of our excitement we felt immune to such realities.

Daniel was then born.

I remember that first night in the hospital. There was a crash of reality as we put him down in his cot. This is real. This is permanent. This is a feeling I didn’t anticipate.One piece of advice we had been given was that parenting a newborn became easier, for some reason, as they hit the 12 week old mark. And so we were eagerly awaiting that time. Sure enough, Daniel seemed to get used to being alive and was easier to handle at 12 weeks. We breathed a sigh of relief. My sigh was short-lived though. While Daniel had definitely settled down I didn’t find it any easier to be a parent, husband, friend or business owner.

I was tired, so damn tired. All the time.

I put it down to our disrupted sleep. All I wanted to do was sleep or be as far away from society as possible. My ability to cope with work pressures was severely diminished. I became a little bit of a recluse.  Social gatherings were even more draining despite my intense love of my friends and family. Responding to emails was just … too … much … effort! All the while this was counter-balanced with an intense pride and satisfaction at being a dad. I felt unexplainable love for my boy, but shit man, life was tough!

It was then that I began to wonder about depression.

Depression had been an acquaintance of mine before, a few years back, when my life had gone through a mini-turmoil. Having studied Psychology I felt a little more open to admitting that I was depressed than the usual manly man would. It was that, or the plain impossibility of getting out of bed in the mornings that convinced me to visit my doc and get some pills.

This time was different though. So I did what any self-respecting young person would do when faced with an uncertainty – I googled. Lo and behold I got search results for Paternal Post-Natal Depression. Huh? I knew that new moms got PND, but fathers? How?

The light of realization began to dawn on me. My symptoms were different to my first bout of depression, but it was certainly depression. I visited my doc and she confirmed the PPND diagnosis and prescribed an anti-depressant.

Knowing that they often take a few weeks to kick in, I could not wait for the weight of life to be lifted. I remember the moment clearly. Sam and I were driving home after church one Sunday when we received an invitation to meet some friends for breakfast. That’s a great idea, I thought. I also thought how strange it was that I was looking forward to it. I then knew – the depression was lifting.

Depression is a strange thing, let a lone a depression that is linked to being a dad. I’m convinced that the main reason men, and fathers more especially, don’t recognize or admit they are depressed is because the onset of depression is often slow and progressive. You don’t feel abnormally sad, but what does happen is akin to that analogy of a frog in the boiling water. Throw a frog into hot water and it will jump out. Put it into cold water though and turn up the temperature and it will boil to death.

The same is true with depression. What makes it more complicated with Paternal PND is the guilt associated with a dad at the same time. Society tells you that you should be over the moon at being a dad, when in fact life feels like it is caving in. My encouragement to you would be to push through those emotions and go and get yourself check-out if you think you may be suffering from PNPD. Your symptoms may be different, but if what you’re experiencing is out of character and persistent, visit your doc. Really. Do it. Your spouse or loved one will be relieved.

On that note, I need to say something about co-parenting when you’re suffering from depression. Sam was amazing. Although I didn’t have the words to describe what I was going through at the time (she was also suffering from the severe adjustment to her body and sleep depravation), she supported me in the journey to recovery. My experience is a reminder to keep talking to your partner about where you are at. Don’t assume that you’re both experiencing the same thing.

Sam and I are now expecting our next little depression-inducing, sleep-disrupting bundle of joy. Yep, we’ve done it again, although much more aware now of how parenting affects you. You see, the joys outweigh the downs of being a dad who is prone to depression. Not for one second would I change my status as a doting, loving and proud father. My boy brings out the best (and worst at times) in me. I’m just glad that I didn’t let a neurological glitch get in the way of fulfilling my purpose.

Don’t let it get in the way of yours.

Those first few weeks after successfully signing onto the famed network are saturated with anxiety inducing spates of patience as you wait for long lost friends, awkward school mates, current colleagues and family members to accept your friend requests.

There’s a certain fulfillment in having your friend count expand. The slutting has begun.

Some time then passes. Be it a week or a few months, but it’s not likely to be more than a year or so, before the novelty wears off with an audible thud. The lure of having as many friends begins to wear off. The slutting has begun to get old.

Dealing with slight pangs of guilt as you unfriend people who weren’t actually friends to begin with is the next social networking hurdle. Fortunately, the pangs subside when you notice how clean and simple your timeline is now that you’ve adopted this selective friendliness. The slutting is over.

This is the issue tackled in the new eBook, Do Ideas, from the most excellent guys at 21 Tanks. I felt honoured when they asked me to contribute to it and share my own ‘secret’ to execution.

You really should download this book. There is outstanding advice from some of the most progressive entrepreneurs and business leaders in South Africa.

Download the free eBook here.

In reading one of the last interviews with C.S. Lewis I began to realise how important the ‘urge’ to write is, not only in social media circles, but for the sake of writing at all. Lewis was asked to give advice to young writers on how to prepare themselves:

But to speak of the craft itself, I would not know how to advise a man how to write. It is a matter
of talent and interest. I believe he must be strongly moved if he is to become a writer. Writing is like a ‘lust,’ or like ‘scratching when you itch.’ Writing comes as a result of a very strong impulse, and when it does come, I for one must get it out.”

Strongly moved.

Writing is like a ‘lust’.

It is like ‘scratching when you itch’.

It begins with a strong impulse, and ‘one must get it out’.

I’m certainly not a prolific writer or blogger, but the way Lewis describes the urge to write and the need to ‘get it out’ captures the way in which writing is cathartic for me. There are times when I am gripped by a concept, a thought, a current affair, whatever it may be at the time … and I just simply have to get my fingers moving on a keyboard.

But …

For me, and I think Lewis would agree (wow, that’s a hefty assertion, that Lewis would agree with me – ha), writing is an urge to produce content but it is also paired with an inherent desire that the content will be engaged with by an audience. The engagement can vary for sure. From simply just reading a piece to commenting on and distributing it. Either way, we writers want our audience to engage. Again, without this desire, writing would actually be journalling.

Sadly, Lewis’ life did not extend into an era (he died in 1963) in which both the urge to write and the desire for audience participation came together through technological advancement. It is a real privilege to write and publish nowadays.

Until the urge strikes again …

The difference is this: the (nearly) completed Gauteng Freeway Improvement Project has change my life. Since late 2011 I have enjoyed the benefits associated with our expanded Freeways. This is one of the main reasons why I purchased my SANRAL e-tag today, ahead of the 30th April commencement of tolling. It’s not a popular decision I’ve made. In the midst of the public upheaval around the tolling, it’s a decision that I’m not expecting many people to understand either.

Some of my twitter followers abused me this morning when I notified them that I was going to buy it. Sam raised her eyebrows and asked if I was feeling ok. But I did it. I stood in a queue for over an hour at a temporary centre in Northmead Mall to buy the e-tag and have it registered.

My number 1 reason is this: the expanded freeways give me back so much more time, reduce my stress levels and thus indirectly improve my productivity that I get more value out of using them than the capped toll amount of R550/month will cost me. The benefit versus cost ration just works for me.

Besides the massive value I get from the road network and a desire to pay for the reduction in stress as my main reason, there are a few other reasons behind why:

• Over the last 14 years of driving on SA freeways I’ve become accustomed to paying a toll for freeways, and amidst the uproar, most of you are still comfortable to stop at a toll gate and hand over your garage card, or small change. It’s become part of parcel of business and personal travel, especially when we go on holiday. So the issue is not about paying tolls, but rather it is about how much we pay.
• It seems to me that the objections to e-tolling are generally unreasonable in that people confuse protesting for ‘paying something’ versus ‘paying too much’. I am certainly against how SANRAL has gone about thumb-sucking a figure of what to charge us per kilometre, but again, I’m happy to pay something. How much is actually the issue, and I will be watching eagerly as the next round of protests begin to see how they may further reduce what we pay.
• In my opinion, and after seeing how the system works today in registering my e-tag, SANRAL have done a stellar job in setting up a world class technical system, but have fucked up monumentally when dealing with the public. Not only is it a PR disaster, but they way in which they are now implementing punitive tolls for those wanting to take a civil disobedience stance smacks of massive after thought. Someone genuinely thought they could expand these roads, build the toll gantries and begin tolling road users to pay for the changes without expecting much of a fuss from the public. Pfft. Common logic suggests that you consult first, but hey maybe someone with a “Ask for forgiveness, not permission” poster in their office realised that the e-tolling would not get off the ground if they adopted this approach.
• So, I do my best to live as a law abiding citizen. It is a choice I’ve committed to by signing an Unashamedly Ethical pledge. And so it will hurt financially and emotionally to pay for the roads, but my conscience will be calmer knowing that I’m adhering to the law. A civil disobedience position is tempting, but it’s just not in my make up.
• I’m sympathetic to the voices that oppose e-tolling based on the impact it will have to themselves and the economy. Fortunately, I’m in a position to be able to absorb the extra monthly cost that the tolls will incur. Many others cannot. I understand that. Reason still says to me that we need to pay for this awesome benefit (although, I think a fuel levy would have been more appropriate)

My experience of registering this morning was telling.

Firstly, it is a lengthy process. It took me an hour – 15mins for myself, but the rest was waiting for people who were registering their fleets of vehicles. So beware, the longer you leave it, the more your frustration levels will rise as you wait in ridiculous queues.

I was expecting to be the only one registering my account. There were however over a dozen people, ranging in age and race. No one was ululating while registering, but there was a simple resignation people exhibited towards e-tolling. One man remarked, “I’d rather get used to this than become an enemy of the state.”

How true that statement was only sunk home when the agent processing my registration asked if I had passed through an R21 toll gantry at 9.27am yesterday morning. She showed me a photo. It was my car. Remember the movie Enemy of the State?

The e-tolling staff were uber friendly, helpful and really well trained. While asking some questions, one white man asked about the punitive fee for not registering and quipped, “Ah, but Vavi won’t let that happen. He says no way! I like that Vavi!” Isn’t it interesting how the country’
s biggest trade unionist is now everyone’s friend? I wonder about COSATU’s real motives behind their massive drive to scrap e-tolling. They must be earning massive public sentiment at the moment. Very clever Vavi, very clever.

Ultimately you’ll need to make your own decision whether you’ll register or not. Your choice. These are just my reasons. Yours will be different, and that’s cool with me.

One of the most common experiences while driving up to a traffic light is seeing a beggar standing there making a (sometimes) heartfelt plea for your small change. The majority of us have developed a fine skill in ignoring them. Stare straight ahead as if you’re contemplating life deeply, right? Or we give them a cursory wave of the hand indicating that we have no money for them, which they know is untrue, just like our conscience does.

The variety of the beggar’s plea is testament to the inventiveness (and desperation) of those in poverty. I came across this “YouTube” beggar today in Pretoria. His innovation made me smile and immediately reach for my wallet. 

He also reminded me of the “Kung Fu”.

I’ve noticed how, over the last few years, the beggar’s plea has morphed from just plain (how sad is it that I phrase it like this?) pity-inducing sad facedness, to the rare but powerful ‘fall onto my knees and beg’ tactic, into the circus performance (thickly caked painted faces accompanied by poor juggling) and now poster boards that appeal to our wit.

Either way, the strategy is to entertain for money. From a business perspective, their strategies are admirable. In an attention-driven economy, our beggars know that they need to do all they can to attract our attention while we mission from place to place in our comfortable cars.

So, here’s to our intrepid street ‘vendors’. It’s a meagre living for sure, but we’d be so much the poorer in spirit without you (and if we just for damn well sorted out our employment and poverty issue in South Africa).

We had an amazing morning with him opening his presents. A few months ago, at Christmas time, the value in a present was not the present itself, but the wrapping paper. Today however, the wrapping paper was secondary because he knew there was a present for him inside. He pulled off the wrapping with gusto and then adorned each gift with a series of wow’s, wowee’s and ooh’s.

He may not understand the significance of this day as a life milestone, but I do. It is also the second anniversary of my fatherhood.It’s not only a milestone for him, but also one for Sam and I as parents. The joy of celebrating Daniel’s birthday has been accompanied by a reflection on the last two years and how life has panned out as a parent and a father.

At 10.15 this evening it will have been EXACTLY two years since I assisted in the birth of Daniel. I remember vividly the experience of putting my hands around his abdomen, being guided by the doctor in pulling Daniel out and ‘catching’ my boy. It was the first significant, if not the greatest, transition of his life. He was regarded as being ‘alive’ in this moment and the clock started tallying up the seconds, minutes, hours and days of his life. The other transition that occurred in that moment was how he became a tangible part of my life, having been carried by Sam for 9 months. It was my transition into fatherhood.

I remember my first anniversary as a father but was still sufficiently shellshocked to reflect as deeply on the significance of the moment. What few people know is that I struggled with Paternal Postpartum Depression (PPD). It was a tumultuous year as I tried to adjust to the multiple demands of being a husband, a new father and an employer. I’ve realised over the last year how a lot of my struggle was actually a process of adapting to the new levels of responsibility and how dependent a bunch of people were on me. One of the benefits of the second year of parenthood is how routine gets more firmly entrenched, both for child and parent. Life becomes a bit more stable and there is more ‘breathing space’, so to speak.

One of the things that happens in the second year of parenthood, and as a result of having a bit more headspace to reflect on the journey, is that you begin to think more critically of your parenting style … and so do those close to you. The first year is just survival – you do what you can and you do it as best as you can. People are quite forgiving in your first year of parenting when it comes to mistakes, more so than you are on yourself in fact. This is not true in the second year. In the second year people begin to see the ‘fruit’ of your parenting in how your child is developing (or not) and begin to infer and make some conclusions about your parenting based on the insecurities your child displays. Sam and I are learning to forgive ourselves for our obvious shortfalls as parents, but I’m not sure it is so easy for those closest to us. As a son myself, I also know there will come a time when Daniel will also be faced with the choice to either resent Sam and I for the mistakes we make, or to forgive us and carry on living.

Moving into the second year of fatherhood has also given my inner child more time to come out. Daniel and I have a daily wrestling match. It started out as quite innocuous in the first year, but as he gets bigger, bolder and more boisterous I have become accustomed to having a few extra bruises, cuts and scrapes. His feet naturally find their way into my crotch (he obviously doesn’t want a brother/sister) and my jaw. These times are unadulterated and help put into perspective all other stress I have at the time.

Parenting also seems to have changed nowadays. Our parents remind is, in both subtle and direct ways, that becoming a parent is ultimately about sacrifice. Some of the tension with the parentals has revolved around our differing views on this. Sam and I still want to live a full life, dedicating time to ourselves, our work, exercise, travel and each other besides the massive dedication we want to give to our son. Parenting seems like it used to be about putting aside most of your personal desires, ambitions and needs for those of your child. I sometimes wonder if this was a parenting style choice a few decades ago, or one that was born out of the necessity linked to the way life was lived e.g. we’re more of a mobile generation now, and so international travel is easier and more affordable.

Another example of this is how spiritual devotion takes a back seat in the early years of fatherhood. I sure hope God is understanding in this regard, but I have not been able to apportion as much time as I used to in the direction of devotion, study and worship. The refreshing part of this is discovering what your faith in God and Jesus looks like in the absence of ritual.

Nevertheless, this is a constant tension for me as a father. I have a multi-layered identity and I want to honour those identities, while at the same time apportioning dedication where it matters most.

One of the most significant fatherhood lessons in the last year was hearing a teaching by Richard Rohr and Ron Rolheiser. In days gone by sons would see their fathers in the field at work, and even work with the father. During this time the son would receive the father’s teaching. Nowadays though, with the father leaving for work and spending so much time elsewhere the son often receives more of the fathers ‘end of the day’ temperament than teaching when he gets home. It’s a personal goal of mine: to ensure that Daniel gets more of my teaching than temperament at the end of the day, and one that I accomodate for by making certain work choices/sacrifices.

There are many more reflections that I could write about, but let me finish with this: the dominant story of my life at the moment is that of being a father. It is the story that I am really happy to have as a defining characteristic.

Daniel, you are my son. I love you so deeply. I am intensely proud of you. And it is in the experience of being your father that I understand and resonate with Paul’s assertion about God’s love, because it is true of my love for you:

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

We fear nothingness. That’s why we fear death, of course, which feels like nothingness. Death is the shocking realization that everything I thought was me, everything I held onto so desperately, was finally nothing.

Now, I find myself thinking about death quite often. No, not in a suicidal way, but in a way that wrestles with what death means, what comes after it, why it means so much and why we try to evade its inevitable clutch so much? Personally, Rohr has hit the nail on the head: I fear death because of it’s apparent nothingness. And this got me thinking about people I know who believe that death is in fact nothingness (and who are fine with that) and those who believe death is a doorway into something else (but who fear it). In short, I wonder if atheists are better prepared for death than us Christians are?

In a strange way I admire my atheist friends and how they confront and accept the apparent nothingness of death. I mean, when you speak to an atheist worth their salt, they are just unperturbed by the issue of death – on surface of it all at least. You ask them what happens after death and they’ll tell you it isn’t an important question. That what happens at the point of death is that you end, you then decompose and you go back to the ground. That is the cycle of life. Ashes to ashes, so to speak.

Now, have a conversation with a Christian about death and you’ll hear a different story. Most Christians (worth their salt) would like to speak with conviction about the after life and how the promises in the Bible of a heaven are true for them personally, but there’s inevitably a sense of “I’m not totally sure” coming through in their talk. This uncertainty isn’t what most people ascribe it to be – a tussle between knowing whether you’re going to heaven or hell. No. It is actually an uncertainty rooted in not knowing what comes after death. It’s a mental speedbump before you get to thinking about heaven/hell, but is disguised as the heaven versus hell issue. It is an issue of whether after death there is something, or nothing.

How ironic.

Isn’t it strange that a belief in ‘something’ after death creates more anxiety than a belief in the nothingness of death?

I remember my mom reflecting on the death of her parents and saying that my Gran seemed to pass on relatively easier (in the context of her cancer) compared to my Grandpa when his time came. My Grandpa just seemed to want to hang on to life. My mom also said that my Gran had a sense of knowing where she was going after death, whereas my Grandpa wasn’t as convinced.

So maybe a certainty is the differentiator regarding levels of anxiety associated with death?

I’ve been to the funerals of Christians that have been spiritual giants and the sense at those funerals was one of celebration of a significant life that was now elevated to something (heaven), not a mourning of a loss to nothingness.

I guess my point is this: what can we learn from an honest acknowledgement of the ‘nothingness’ of death? I wonder if this is where Rohr was heading with his reflection, which ends like this:

The nothingness we fear so much is, in fact, the treasure and freedom that we long for, which is revealed in the joy and glory of the Risen Christ. We long for the space where there is nothing to prove and nothing to protect; where I am who I am, in the mind and heart of God, and that is more than enough.