Slower Living

          As previously related, the days preceding Good Friday were a bit fraught here at Wonderman Towers: our campervan broke down; one of our bicycles suffered a shredded tyre; and our electric kettle lost its mojo. The repairs and replacements were delayed, inevitably, by the holidays. However, this turned out to be less inconvenient than one might have thought because I decided to make a stand and refuse to admit that my happiness depended on technology. We’re privileged to have the use of all the machinery and gadgets that make life easier and more convenient but taking them for granted is a trap best not fallen into. And, although technology makes life easier, it also quickens the pace of things, with the consequential effect of causing us stress and anxiety, the widespread reporting of which suggests that our capacity to deal with these symptoms of mental ill-health lags behind the speed at which they are caused by tech-driven changes to our lives.

          Not that I experienced a profound back-to-nature moment by being temporarily deprived of a few gadgets, but being obliged to compromise in small ways did promote in me a kind of zen calmness and a peek into the realm of fatalism that I imagine to be practised by white-clad members of reclusive sects or the somewhat more practical world of people such as the Amish, who actually live and work as if technological invention had been frozen circa 1850. (Q. Why not 1220? A. Because there is no logic in their choice.)

          I exaggerate, of course. We weren’t actually without an electric kettle, as I remembered to borrow the now temporarily redundant one from the campervan before it got towed away. But, being designed for use on low-voltage systems, it takes a long time to boil so a degree of advance planning is required to make a cup of tea – which demonstrates how being obliged to slow down enhances mindfulness and builds anticipation so that the tea is more appreciated when it is, finally, poured.

          The campervan was returned, as promised, in time for a scheduled trip, but alternative plans had been mooted just in case. Now, I’m sitting in the van in a sunlit, wooded campsite, gazing on daisy-speckled grass, luminous blossoms and freshly greening twigs. A woodpecker is busy hammering a hole in a tree-trunk and a pair of parakeets are showing off their lime green plumage to the lustreless natives. I’m almost overcome with smugness looking out in comfort on the spring awakening – and on the couple emerging from a small, cramped tent, such as might have been our accommodation under Plan B.

          As for the bike, it’s good to have it back in use, as sharing one has, on occasion, led to some tensions. But, to keep things in proportion, I’m glad we don’t have battery-powered cycles, since my friend has just told me how his relatively new ebike spontaneously combusted and would have burnt his garage down had he not been there to prevent it. He has since acquired fire extinguishers and fire blankets, under which his and his wife’s bikes now reside when not in use.

          Not all advances in technology live up to expectations and some have unintended conequences. When I chose a replacement electric kettle, I went for a ‘silent’ model, having noted over the years that some kettles are so noisy that they overwhelm the radio and make kitchen conversations unviable. The new kettle is certainly quiet – so much so that the only way I can tell it has boiled is to watch its light go out. So, now I have a new, lo-tech route to zen calm: watching the kettle boil.