I have had plenty of time to think over the winter holidays. Mostly I have been thinking about the rain.
For the benefit of those who have been living under a rock (or perhaps in George Green) for the last few weeks, the weather has been absolutely torrid. Forget the Mayan apocalypse – this was a flood of biblical proportions.
Like many others, I spent the majority of the Christmas holidays hoping for a break in the weather. Endless possibilities flashed through my mind of what I could do, if only it were sunny. I could go for a walk on the beach, take a stroll through the woods, go and heckle some carol singers in town. Hell, I could even take up that wonderfully conservative tradition of fox hunting. If only it weren’t raining.
Yet, as I sat waiting for the torrents to subside, idling away my hours in consternation and procrastination, I couldn’t help but wonder if I wasn’t wasting my time by waiting for the skies to clear. After all, there were plenty of things I’d been putting off that could be done behind closed doors: reading that book I’d been postponing for ages, finally learning how to cook a sponge cake, sitting down and having a proper catch-up with the family. By endlessly fretting about the weather, I was putting off some of the things I had long planned to do.
There is no point sitting there waiting for the world to change before acting. Whatever we’re here for – and there is hardly enough time to get into existentialism here – what is for sure is that death comes to all of us eventually. We are finite beings, which means that each moment spent waiting for something to happen is a moment lost. My New Year’s resolution? To spend more time getting things I’ve wanted to do, done.
It has cleared up outside. I might go off on that walk I was thinking about going on.