Heroes Not Zombies

I’ve visited Copenhagen a number of times, but always in November or December. It’s cold at that time of year. One thing that really strikes me is how every cafe you see has some outdoor seating and on the seats they have blankets for the customers to use to keep them warm.

I don’t see that in France. At least, hardly ever. I’m not sure if it’s still the case, but it used to be that you were more likely to see outdoor heaters blasting over the heads of customers sitting at tables outside in the winter, but, not so much blankets. I don’t remember seeing it in Scotland either, but in Scotland there isn’t such a street cafe culture as there is on mainland Europe.

It seems to me that this is an excellent example of cultural adaptation to weather conditions. There’s that famous old saying that there is no such thing as bad weather, just inadequate clothing. Blankets fall into that category of the right clothing for the weather, even if you only wear them while sitting sipping your street coffee.

But there’s something else about the virtually universal outdoor seating with blankets in Copenhagen. People must really like to be outdoors. I don’t know what the smoking rules are in Denmark, but I’m guessing it’s not just smokers who like to take their coffee outside in all seasons. I admire that desire for fresh air.

And there’s a third thing – beauty – these blankets are often brightly coloured and patterned. They make the seats seem even more inviting, don’t they?

So, three things impress me about this phenomenon – adaptation to weather conditions, a preference for fresh air, and a desire to see beauty. It works!

I wonder how we will adapt to the changes in the climate. Will habits change to be a better fit with the weather? What will we prioritise?

It’s easy to think of water as formless….simply taking the shape of whatever is containing it. But when we look at the ocean we see that mass of water constantly forming structures – waves and channels. It’s just that none of them last for very long.

When I looked at this photo I took of the water in a fountain I was struck by just how varied and complex were the structures on the surface of the water. There are so many different shapes and patterns here, all in existence in the exact same moment.

This, for me, is one of the benefits of photography. Although I was aware of the water splashing and circling around in the fountain as I looked at it, I just didn’t clock the sheer quantity of different structures emerging and disappearing….maybe, not least, because it was all changing so quickly.

There is so much to be gained from slowing down, from pausing, and taking the time to really notice the present moment. Photography can help with that. Especially when it comes to browsing through your photo album at a later date.

I’m quite a fan of benches. I’ve got several photos of different benches I’ve come across over the years, usually when they are in a quiet place, under trees, or, facing a wonderful scene, like looking over a valley, off to mountains, or across a lake or the sea.

It’s not that I frequently feel the need to sit down. It’s that a bench is always an invitation to pause.

When I worked as a GP in Edinburgh we had two surgery premises, one in Portobello, and the other up near Cameron Toll. So pretty much every day I’d be driving between the two places, and my favourite way to go was through Holyrood Part. I’d pass a bench at the side of the road. There might be somebody sitting on it, or it might be empty, but, invariably I’d look at it with a sense of longing….thinking, if only I had time to just pull up here, and sit there for a few minutes. Of course, I never did. I was always rushing to get to the next patient, or to start the next clinic.

It’s important to pause. It’s really important to step out of the flood of demands and habits which keep us in a kind of autopilot through the average day. And the best way to do that is just stop. Just stop for a bit. You don’t have to learn to meditate, but you can do that in your pause if you want. But what actually helps is to simply interrupt the automatic pilot, stop, observe, reflect and contemplate.

It’s refreshing and it brings you back into the real world of the present moment, away from all the ruminations and hoped for, or feared, anticipations.

We humans are social creatures. We’ve evolved in such a way that we need the assistance and care of others to survive our first months on this planet….longer than most other infant creatures. And our brains have evolved in a way which enables us to be especially able to tune in to others, to empathise, and to create social relationships.

None of us could exist today without a vast web of relationships and connections with others. We share a common planet, a common atmosphere, a common water cycle of oceans, clouds, rains, rivers and lakes. We share environments, whether they be physical, geographical, social, or cultural. That doesn’t mean we are all the same. We are all, every one of us, absolutely unique. But none of us can exist in that uniqueness if we are disconnected.

Our political and economic structures of the last couple of hundred years or so have driven a kind of hyper-individualism, grounded on competition and struggle, but all that comes at the expense of denying our most fundamental reality – we are not alone – we share the one planet, we survive and we thrive because we have evolved the capacity to care for each other, to collaborate and to form “integrative relationships” – mutually beneficial bonds between well differentiated parts.

There is another story to tell. It’s the story of connections, of inter-dependency, and of a shared commons. It’s a story which emphasises compassion, care and love. Is that such a hard story to tell?