Work-life balance

Work-life balance is a funny word. Does it imply that when you’re working you’re not living? The concept works particularly well for office workers who clock on at 9 and off at 5 (or thereabouts), spending 5 out of 7 of their day sitting at computers or on phones, doing jobs other people ask them to do. The distinction between work and life is reinforced by the fact that in that time, they’re supposed to be ‘professional’. It’s hard to precisely define what that means, but it amounts to not questioning what you’re doing (even if you’re still doing it well), accepting the hierarchy, and refraining from making the normal lewd or random comments that you would with your friends. You also have to wear special outfits. For high flying women, this is often highly tailored dresses or skirts that are somehow the female equivalent of men’s suits.

I went to see Robert Dessaix at the Wheeler Centre the other night, and he was talking about how every morning he goes into his ‘tower’. I think he got the idea from Montaigne, who is one of his idols. In that time, he writes and thinks. Then he goes out and walks around, meets with friends, looks at things. In the evening he slumps and watches TV. I loved Dessaix so much, what an absolute treasure of a man (another story) that I asked a kind of self help question.

What do you do if for some reason or another, you either can’t or won’t have that time?He was like, oh, well I’m not good at giving other people advice. I kind of knew he would say that. But then he went on to say that he’d been through a lot of very awful things, but one thing he’d always been very lucky with was his time. I guess, he said, people who don’t have the time just have to find an hour here or an hour there. Ultimately, he said, it helps to think about what kind of day you want to have, and try and get as close to that as you can.  I’m not sure if he was talking 5 year plan, or just trying to enjoy the moment.

Do you ever yearn for the kind of flexibility that Dessaix describes? Obviously we need to work a certain amount, to pay our rents and food. And some people also need a certain amount of unthinking, reliable structure. But is 5 days a week necessary if you have a well paid job? I guess if you want to one day get in a position where people aren’t telling you what to do, you have to put in the time to demonstrate your commitment. Is it just a question of seizing the rare moments of freedom, or having  a few months or a year off here and there? Do we have to wait until we retire until we have enough time to write, read, reflect, and sit on park benches.

Possibly this is a very middle-class dilemma. Is it?

He did look fantastic though

Today I spotted a old Italian guy riding a mountain bike crossing onto the footpath in Sydney Road in Brunswick. Round belly, checked shirt tucked into suit pants, ultra-clean joggers. I asked to take his photo but he didn’t feel comfortable.  Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to objectify him just because he exemplified my romantic vision of the ordinary cyclist. He did look fantastic though; his face was glowing with health.

He launched into a heavily accented story about a car running a red light at an intersection.  As his light went green, he noticed it nudging forward and pushed his bike pointedly to get them to stop. The driver just ignored him and barged through. Now he’s a bit scared to ride on this road, he explained. I wasn’t sure why he was telling this story, but now realise he was making his excuses for riding on the footpath.

I asked him how long he’d been riding a bike.

Since I was 10, he said. Now I’m 71! He seemed pretty proud of this.

Do you drive a car ?

He then told me a story about how his friend, a taxi driver, got three tickets, even though he was a really good good driver [this struck me as strange]. One day his friend picked up a rich Egyptian family from the airport. It was the 50s, and they were fleeing from conflict. A bus ran into their car and everyone perished: a child, a father, and a wife (he listed in that order). And his friend, too (he made a cutting motion with his hand) . So you can be as good a driver as you want, he explained. It was the bus! The next thing he said I didn’t understand at all due to his accent, except the last few words: license* to kill.

I watched him as he rode off along the footpath, dinging his bell at some pedestrians to ask them to move aside.

*I’m sorry, I can never remember the difference between licence and license. I need a rule of thumb. Anyone?

As numerous disturbing psychological experiments have shown

My commute to work from West Melbourne was on fast, busy roads with no bike lanes. You needed to pay attention, so if I was tired I’d walk. Most drivers are careful, but about once a day someone did something that scared the shit out of me. I tried to ride as unobtrusively as possible, staying close to the kerb. But I’ve since realised that’s probably less safe: you’re harder to see, often positioned in the car door zone and fast cars can squeeze past you terrifyingly close. Plus you’re always getting stuck behind parked cars, with a stream of fast traffic blocking you from moving onwards.

For some reason my riding style only because more assertive when I started questioning the idea that cars own the roads. Surprising that a change in thinking translated so directly into a physical style. I now ride in the middle of the lane when lights go green at intersections or on narrow roads, so cars can’t get past me, or to stay out of the car door zone. It’s called ‘taking the lane’ or ‘assuming primary position’ and word is it’s probably safer. But the idea can be intimidating for a new or less confident cyclist, and the need for such tactics is probably a sign of bad bike infrastructure.

It also seriously annoys car drivers. They sometimes gesture or beep at you, but more often show their irritation by simply pointedly flooring the accelerator to pass you as soon as they can, even though you often end up at the same red light anyway. Sometimes when they’re stuck behind me, I can feel that annoyance on my back. So I run this righteous school teacherly dialogue in my head to boost myself up: ‘Well, SORRY BUT in the past I gave you your chance to pass safely, and you proved you couldn’t be trusted, so now you’ve lost that chance.’ Ugh – see what I’ve become?

The other day my friend was saying how sometimes cars do crazy things to him and he gets pissed off but then he looks in the car and sees the person and thinks, ‘Ah, they’re just a nice, normal person after all.’ This story got stuck my brain. Everyone’s nice, and I’m sure that many cyclist-driver conflicts are exacerbated by the inability to verbally communicate. But, as numerous disturbing psychological experiments have shown, the fact is that when you put people in situations where their interest is to be not nice, especially when their  personal identity is obscured (in this case by a bit of metal) and where they have a bit of power, they’ll often do the wrong thing. Their actual personality is kind of irrelevant.

The same thing can happen to cyclists in relation to pedestrians. You  see this on the Carlton Gardens shared path, which is on my new route to work. Instead of being the weaker party, the cyclist has the power. With cars, it’s necessary to decisively assert your space. On shared paths, you have to put this aside and ride slowly and patiently. A minority of cyclists criticise pedestrians because they (or their dogs) are ‘unpredictable’ (ironically the same criticism often made of cyclists). But pedestrians should be allowed to be meandering and vague; that’s what makes walking so great. That’s why I always hated driving: you’re so automated, it’s kind of dehumanising.

At the same time, the Carlton Gardens shared path is narrow, uneven and getting busier each day, and weaving in and out of the pedestrians and other cyclists can get frustrating when you just want to get to work efficiently. Ringing your bell annoys some pedestrians, who think it means ‘get out of my way’, rather than just letting them know you’re coming.  And I guess that’s what it does mean. Cyclists are supposed to give way to peds, but how many people will actually get off their bike and walk it if they can’t get past?

In general, cyclists don’t much like getting off their bikes . Not only do you lose momentum, but sometimes it’s hard to get on again. Situps are easier, but in my case I have a crossbar and often a dodgy skirt. That’s why you’ll so often see cyclists riding through pedestrian intersections. It’s not right, probably, but I wouldn’t say I’ve never done it either. Do we make drivers get in and out of their cars to cross the road?