Finch’s trip into the furthest reaches of the outback to find a Princess Parrot has been making me think about what drives our passions. (He texted me, by the way, that they found the parrot appetizer, as it were, the male Scarlet Chested Parrot. Not the main goal, but enough to make the trek feel satisfying, apparently).
I stumbled across a completely new, wacky passion when I was out for a walk near Finch’s house a couple of weeks ago. I decided to walk up through a trail and along a fell to a nearby town. It turned out to be more mucky than I ever imagined, and I stepped into this magnificent soil:
I also got quite lost (coming out on the road after two hours about one mile from where I started), and very wet. I enjoyed myself thoroughly, though, and came across this:
These were the first people I came across in my first hour on the fell. In the drizzle, huddled on little bivvy bags, at the highest point in the area, ham radio antenna held aloft, transmitting away. I said hello to them three times and they ignored me. I took their picture, and they ignored me. I took advantage of the signal at height to text Finch, and they ignored me. It was like they were truly in another dimension, porous only from my side, transported. Happy as… well, hams. (Bad bad pun. Bad cate.)
Not remotely my thing, but I had to admire them. Following your heart’s wonderful and idiosyncratic rhythms seems particularly important to pay attention to right now, when time is feeling like the most precious, unknowable force there is. Hard to remember when I’m in the gale force of trying to make some meaning of people’s passions about their work in a long design meeting, like today — but important to hold at the surface when trying to decide whether to go to Ottawa for the weekend and see the nieces who can’t remember what I look like (the five year old really said that!), or create space to breathe around neglected work. Nieces it is, I think.