GORDON SANITAIRE by Gordon Urquhart (XII)

In Search Of Balance

In my adult life I have not infrequently found that I was working too hard and was in need of some time away, time off, to recharge the batteries. Often this has been after the event – becoming apparent too late that one had been stretching one’s resources too far – and, to an extent, the damage was already done. It is better, naturally, to refresh the mind, body, and soul closer to the period of exertion, to allow some sort of slow and healthy healing rather than to allow the self to find its own equilibrium in an atmosphere of heightened tension. Such equilibrium is a chimera, or so I have been told, and a deeper stillness is necessary to bring all of the flows of energy back into the harmonious relationship they should be in.[1]

It’s important to listen to your body. I feel like I can listen now, and I know when rest is needed, and I don’t leave it too long before restoring the balance. And wifey also tells me when to take some time off, and I know better than to argue when I have been told my batteries need recharging. (I know better than to argue about just about anything, in fact.)

One of the many advantages of being a thrusting silver fox in the business world is that leave is not hard to come by. As a younger man, with more hands-on duties, it was harder to get away, but now I can come and go almost at my own leisure, which is a rather good development, I have to say. So I took some time off. And we went to Bankstown.

Bankstown Gordy? You sure about that? Yes, dear reader: Bankstown.

One of the men in the wife’s adult migrant education class, where she volunteers, has a cat. The man and his wife are from Afghanistan originally, and they had to go back for an important court case involving a relative who still lives there. And while the couple were gone there would be no-one to feed Rocky – so Nancy offered, and that’s how we found ourselves shopping at Centro Bankstown on Saturday morning last week.

It was an experience I found very enjoyable. Broadly speaking. The absence of sea breeze in the nostrils took a bit of getting used to, and I don’t think I have been so far from Royal Sydney golf club for so many days since I was posted to the Persian Gulf in the 1970s. I like to be near Royal Sydney. It makes me feel better. But the coffee was excellent – Turkish, Lebanese, Egyptian – and the bread was fresh – Lebanese, Afghan – and we ate nuts and sweets you just can’t get on the other side of the harbour. Rocky was a delightful little bloke, who would paw at a ribbon if you played with him after he ate his dinner.

Balance, I suppose, ought to dictate that next time we go somewhere there will be room service, and I must admit I am looking forward to that.

[1] I don’t quite understand all of that either. Wifey seems to. Her meditation instructor, Randy (he’s an American), says these things and Nancy and her friends, who also go to the classes which are held in a room above the art school, have talked of little else this year.

Published in: on April 16, 2012 at 8:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

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