It’s New
Year's Day and time for us all to adopt a positive, forward-thinking mindset, get
started on those life-enhancing resolutions and be...well, resolute. But before
blundering blindly into the year ahead of us, let's not forget to review the triumphs
of the past year so that we can build on our progress. Did we achieve our
goals? Did we even set any goals? Not all of us are methodical in this respect
but, thinking back, there must be some achievement, however modest, that we can
lay claim to. Perhaps we failed at a few hurdles on the way, but at least we
had a go. Didn't we?
On the last
day of 2013 I went to see the film The
Epic of Everest which left me in no doubt as to the relative timorousness
of my own aspirations. It’s the 1924 documentary film of the third attempt on
Everest by pipe-smoking, British mountaineers dressed in Harris Tweed sports-jackets
and Alpine hats. The climax of their expedition was the unfortunate demise of
Mallory and Irvine, who may or may not have reached the summit, but showed
great ambition in the trying.
They were
not lone heroes - it was a team effort - and an important part of their legacy
is the film itself which, meticulously restored by the British Film Institute
and newly endowed with an evocative musical score, is wonderful. Considering
the primitive state of film technology in 1924 the cameraman's achievement is
remarkable on all fronts: technically it is terrific - as anyone who has
fiddled with a camera in freezing conditions on a mountainside would surely
agree; aesthetically it is remarkable for its sensitivity in capturing the
landscape; and historically it is a unique record of life in isolated Tibetan communities.
The heavy, hand-cranked
cameras could only follow the progress of the climbers from afar, so we will
never know exactly what happened to Mallory and Irvine. What we do know is that
theirs was a serious expedition, led by experienced mountaineers who were well
equipped and thoroughly prepared - all of which amounts to best practice in
terms of risk-management. The random elements of fate and human frailty,
however, took their toll.
After the
film show I had just enough time to drive to the supermarket to stock up on provisions
for the next round of bingeing. If I had the logistical planning skill of the
Everest expedition this would not have been necessary - there would have been
strategically placed caches of supplies to see us through. But we all have our
weaknesses, and one of mine is a feeble grasp on the practice of strategic
time-management. I am familiar with the theory: identify your goals, organise
them in order of priority, and then allocate time and resources accordingly.
But the theory makes no mention of the subtly undermining power other people
have to distort your schedule. Fortunately, I have lately come across an
antidote to this - an easy-to-remember metaphor - "Time is the coin of
your life. Be careful not to let other people spend it for you" - which I
intend to adopt so as to keep me on track (better late than never).
With this in
mind and my shopping stashed on board, I was intent on driving directly home
for the next item on my schedule - dinner. But I swung the van out of the
parking space in such a determined way that I failed to notice the bollard. It has
left an ugly, scarred dent in the door to remind me that bold, purposeful action
is all very well but fate and human frailty can strike anytime, anywhere - even
at closing time in Sainsbury's car park. And now I have to make an unscheduled
visit to the garage.
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