It's complicated

I feel ‘good’. My only major affliction is having to take some pills from time to time; no worse than a few aguardiente shots. I walk around, and blog about looking cool. A bit on the exuberant side for my brother’s and Azim's respective tastes, but still cool.

My dreams, however, reveal terror: the other night, after a long chat with an expert on innovative treatment options, I dreamt I was lost and alone in the maze of a hospital with the fancy triple-barrelled name, the slick architecture, the frosty staff of a Wall Street bank. I peered into room upon room packed with rows upon rows of patients hooked up to beeping, flashing machines. All waiting to die. I shot up with acute, piercing anxiety and suddenly it hit me that while my pedalling power is approaching its best ever, my tumour could blow any time. Glioblastoma multiforme—it’s complicated.

A few weeks ago I went to see The Audience, a play about the Queen’s regular meeting with the Prime Minister. We couldn’t use our original tickets because of a tumour related clash. Alas, our beloved nephew Benny was diagnosed with leukaemia and in a dark comic twist straight out of a Greek tragedy, my wife and I laughed and cried during every Audience from Churchill to Cameron on the day Cameron was declared winner… with Benny’s parents’ tickets. Leukaemia—it’s complicated.

The richest 10% own about half of UK wealth. The poorest 50%? 10%. And don't get me started on education in poorer countries, the topic of my dissertation (which I've actually made some progress on recently!). What can the Conservatives do? Inequality—it’s complicated.

My legs bonked last week. My brother and I blitzed it down to Brighton in a couple of hours. My overoptimism was punished by a sublime sufferfest as I stubbornly wrestled the pedals round and round for the last few hours. Pacing—it’s complicated.

Yes, it’s all a bit complicated. But maybe not as much as we sometimes think. Maybe the (fictional) Queen is right when she says:

In the audience you’re [ie the Queen] allowing complicated people, over-complicated people [ie Prime Ministers], to measure themselves against something unchanging, permanent, simple. Your ordinariness as a human being will be your greatest asset.

... I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I realised I had my wife lying next to me.
... Benny is a tough and joyful kid and has the most amazing team around him.
... A Partner at Ingrid’s firm gave his forecast tax savings of a Labour loss to charity. 
... JD paced me to the finish. Bonus: we raised money for the Royal Marsden Cancer Charity in a race we signed up to without realising it was in aid of a hospital where both Benny and I have been treated. 

Life can be complicated. But there is something unchanging, permanent, simple going on. Maybe it's collectivism, generosity, maybe it's love. The universe is still a messy place, but I’m pretty sure these last few days we helped it inch closer to some kind of harmony. 

Thanks be to our ‘ordinariness’ as human beings.