These days

by Rick Johansen

Well, I’ve been out walking,” as Jackson Browne so beautifully put it and well I was out walking I did some thinking. I can’t always go out walking because sometimes my state of mind is such that I can’t even leave the house, but when the mood is right I can walk and then think and then everything becomes that much clearer. It’s true that exercise is good for the mind. What a shame the mind sometimes and spoils it all by not wanting to exercise.

I choose the same route every time, with just the odd variation. I like it because the odds of bumping into anyone I know are miniscule. That’s not because I hate everyone but because if my brain starts working I can think more and then I can write more when I get back home. And on both my albeit short walks today, I kept thinking, what is it that makes me happy?

I don’t mean happy as in not depressed because the opposite of depression is not happy. But what things in my life make me feel good about life? Is it the things I do for myself or is it the things I do with others in mind? Walking down a narrow lane, narrowly avoiding some dog shit – what is it with some owners? – I came to the early conclusion that it was both.

Obviously, I love to write. And I like to listen to music, often as I write. Reading books and magazines. I could go on. It’s all routine stuff. And routine is essential.

More than that, I like helping people, doing nice things for people. I love volunteering at the local food bank, I love to meet up with people, particularly those who are going through a tough time. And when I am meeting up with people, more often that not I like to listen. It’s the next logical step from what we always say about Christmas: it’s better to give than to receive. To be fair, I only stopped thinking that way when I stopped being a kid but let’s be honest, Christmas is much more for kids than us old folk. So is life in general.

I’ve never had much money so I can’t tell you whether the mere accumulation of money can truly make you happy. Prime Minister Rishi Sunak always has a fixed grin on his smug little face so maybe that’s because he and his wife are worth around three quarters of a billion quid, having ‘earned’ an additional £120 million last year alone. With two luxury homes in London, one in Yorkshire and an apartment in Los Angeles, maybe living in a material world works?

But then, I’ve known people with shed loads of money who weren’t happy. I knew one lovely woman who owned a luxury apartment in one of the most affluent places in Bristol, a share in a smart holiday apartment in a piece of upmarket Spain and a hefty income from multiple sources. And was she happy? Until she got struck down with cancer in her late 40s, probably, but after the diagnosis and the subsequent decline? No way. It turned out the little things, like drawing breath, were far more important than any number of upmarket diners and VIP lounges.

For all my bleating about my mental health – and yes, it is a pain in the arse feeling mentally shit for a lot of the time – I know I am lucky, certainly luckier than some others. Sure, I did badly at school and not much better at work, but somehow I made it largely in one piece.

I should try golf next, if I can ever sort out my bad back and achy breaky knees, because with the exception of virtually every shot I hit, it’s much more than a good walk spoilt. And sometimes, when I’m hitting the ball around, all on my own, the world is a brighter place indeed, even if I can’t find my ball in the rough.

I hadn’t been able to write anything before my second walk of the day so maybe that’s proof that exercise works. I hope the grey matter is fully operational again tomorrow. And I’ll write again when I’ve been out walking.

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