Category: Life’s challenges

Fear

The day was sunny and warm, the grass fresh, birds circled overhead, and far up a long slope cows grazed in the field. The perfect time and perfect place to walk my two dogs, Mac and Ciara.[1] Mac was far behind, doggedly pursuing every smell in the hedgerows, but Ciara was keeping close to me.

A herd of cows was huddled towards a clump of trees. I glanced in their direction, and saw the largest cow toss his head violently, then start running down the hill. Other cows fell in behind him. In seconds the whole herd was racing towards me.

I thought nothing of it. I’d walked through fields beside and among benign cows since I was a child. I never did anything to upset those cows, and they stared but never bothered me. Not that day. Something had agitated the leader of the herd, and now he was leading a charge straight for me as fast as cows could run. I still didn’t feel concerned. They’d soon stop. They didn’t. I retreated to the edge of the field, which put me against a barbed wire fence with no time to climb over. Surely my dogs would save me. Well, not Mac, still busy sniffing hundreds of yards away. So, Ciara then. No, not Ciara either. I glanced down and she was cowering behind my legs, terrified by the herd thundering towards us.

Those cows had to stop. They must stop. Stomping, snorting, they galloped down the slope, closing in on one man and his dog. They were not going to stop. With no way to escape or power to resist them, I was about to be crushed under their hooves. Then – when the charging cows were literally no more than 10 feet (3 metres) away – like a traffic cop, I shot my right arm forward, palm facing the cows, and very loudly roared STOP! Instantly, the charge ended. Hooves dug into the grass, heads tilted backwards and each cow juddered to a halt.

Sudden stillness. I looked at them, and 12 breathless but still adrenaline fuelled cows looked at me. The lead cow, still angry but now motionless, stood in the centre, the others on each side of him. I didn’t move. The cows didn’t move. I was scared to take a step in case I revived their man-trampling ambitions. But every staring match, including cow versus man, has to end. Slowly, heart thumping, I edged a little to my right. Then a full step. The bovine semi-circle was near complete, leaving little space for me to squeeze between the end cow and the fence. But, with Ciara held tightly by her lead, I made my way quietly past all of them. I didn’t run, just kept going. With me gone, gradually the herd dispersed, and Mac returned. I’m sure he was thinking ‘Did anything interesting happen while I was away…?’ Yes, my friend, we nearly died.

When those cows charged down the hill and I realised they were coming for me, I was terrified. In any situation when you believe you could be seriously hurt, possibly killed, it’s impossible not to be very, very frightened.

In this blog post I’ll share a few points about fear. But fear takes many forms, and people react to frightening situations in very different ways. What makes you afraid may not trouble someone else. And how you might cope with your fear may not at all be how someone else copes.

In a single post (and with limited wisdom) I cannot write comprehensively about fear. But I can share a few obvious truths. I hope they will be helpful.

And, for my amusement and hopefully yours, I’ve put photos of cows I’ve met on the same hill but at other times. Some look fierce; thankfully the majority were not.

One extra note: I know that these ‘cows’ are all bullocks. But Occasionally Wise is read in countries all around the world, including some which likely don’t use the word ‘bullock’ so, inaccurately I realise, I’ve used the word cows. My apologies to bullocks everywhere!

1. Fear is not always bad – in fact, sometimes very necessary

      There is no question that my fear of stampeding cows was entirely reasonable. Cows rarely attack people, but if they do they could inflict serious harm. So, not only was it understandable that I was afraid, it was necessary. I couldn’t just stand still waiting to be knocked to the ground and likely trampled. I had to do something. Thankfully that ‘something’ worked.

      Fear is often a useful primal emotion, similar to the warning pain gives us. Pain makes us recoil from a flame, or pull back when we’re being hurt by thorns. People who do not feel pain – suffering from the rare genetic disorder called ‘congenital insensitivity to pain’ (CIP), or ‘congenital analgesia’ – are at risk.[2] Children with analgesia can bite off parts of their tongue; hikers may break an ankle bone and then inflict further damage because they keep walking. An inability to feel pain is more of a curse than a blessing. Failure to feel fear is similar. We taught our children to be afraid when near a cliff edge, not to be brave about walking home alone late at night, and to realise the danger if they did not fasten their car safety belts.

      Of course there is a risk of exaggerating danger. Gary, with his wife and children, were visiting for a day, so, after lunch, Gary and I took the children to a play area  where there were swings made out of tyres, logs to walk along, slides, and small playhouses accessed by climbing up short ladders, and so on. My children rushed ahead and clambered over everything. Gary’s children held back. Dad had to be present. Once Gary was, they were allowed to climb slowly, but only when Gary was holding on to them. The same happened with the slide; Dad had to have a tight grip on their hands. The swings were almost fine but Gary had to be right beside them. The builders of that playground had installed soft matting underfoot to cushion any fall, and none of the ‘apparatus’ was high off the ground. But Gary had instilled so much fear of accidents in his children they simply couldn’t play there like other kids. Fear is a natural, healthy emotion, warning us of possible danger, but it will paralyse us if it controls us excessively.

      2. Some fears are needless

      I had to fetch a tool from the far end of our garden. I took two steps, and stopped because of the thought: “I’ve left my phone in the house. What if something happens to me and I can’t call for help?” I could trip and break a leg. Or suddenly have a heart attack. Thankfully, common sense returned quickly. My journey out would take 30 seconds, as would my journey back. What were the odds of a catastrophe during a one minute journey to collect a garden tool? Very, very slim. Besides, when we first moved into our house, many years previous, I didn’t have a mobile phone. It didn’t bother me then about walking down that garden phone-less. So, bereft of any phone, I fetched the tool and returned safely. There was no need to fear that something dreadful would happen when my phone was not with me. Sometimes we should tell ourselves that if we were meant to have mobile phones with us always, God would have had us born with an extra umbilical cord attached to a phone.

      There are also some things we should fear but only a little. Suppose I go out without an umbrella and it rains. Well, I get wet, but I won’t drown. Or, I might be five minutes late for meeting a friend. But they’ll wait. They’re not much of a friend if a five minute delay is a disaster. Or, if the meal we’re preparing for guests is not one hundred per cent perfect. Well, no meals are one hundred per cent; almost certainly my guests won’t know the meal isn’t one hundred per cent right; and the only thing actually important is that they enjoy their time with us. Many things we are fearful about are not worth our anxiety. Relax. Keep a sense of proportion about what truly matters.

      3. Many things we fear are very unlikely to occur

      Should I avoid walking in open spaces in case debris from a meteorite shower kills me? After all, one person was killed that way. Yes, one person was, but that was in 1888 (according to National Geographic). Apparently no-one else has ever died because of meteor debris, and, when we see meteor showers we’re seeing tiny pebbles or specks the size of grains of sand which burn up in the atmosphere.

      Okay, so we shouldn’t fear death by meteor. But I know many who are afraid of spiders. Why? In the UK, where I live, there are no native spiders that can cause death to humans. In some countries there are a few spider species which are dangerous, most notably the Sydney Funnel-web spider found in eastern parts of Australia. Its bite can cause serious illness or death, but, even then, few if any deaths have occurred since antivenom was available from 1980. In general, spiders have no reason to attack humans; if a spider bites you it’s because it’s defending itself.

      Well, what about mice? Some people climb on desks or stand on chairs if there’s any suspicion that a mouse is on the loose. Why do that? Mice are tiny and we are not, so who would win if you engaged in head to head warfare with a mouse? It’s understandable that we don’t like tiny creatures scurrying around, especially if they eat our food. But not liking need not be fearing.

      It’s unfortunately true that we are frightened even when the chances of a seriously bad event are very slight. Or when we are confronted by something which can do us little or no harm. Another time to keep a sense of perspective.

      4. Overcoming deep rooted fears takes time and effort

      Frances suffered from ‘arachnophobia’ – an intense, irrational fear of spiders, affecting about 3% to 5% of the population.[3] Many people dislike spiders but, for Frances, even thinking about spiders could trigger a panic attack. Her heart rate would soar and she’d feel sick and dizzy. Her fear was so intense she struggled to enter any building where there might be spiders. Visiting countries with larger and stranger spiders was impossible for Frances.

      So she found a therapist who listened carefully while Frances described her fear. Then he told her to buy a book with large photos of spiders and bring it to their next session. Frances visited a large bookshop, and explained to the assistant what she wanted. He pointed her towards a shelf which had such a book. “I can’t pick it up,” Frances said. The assistant realised she was serious, and fetched the book for her. “Please wrap it in several bags,” Frances asked, He did and held it out for her to take. “Sorry, I can’t hold it; please just drop it into my shopping bag.”

      It never came out of Frances’s bag before her next therapy session. Her counsellor put the book on the opposite side of the room and asked Frances to walk towards it. She could not get closer than several yards . At later sessions she gradually got nearer and nearer, and eventually managed to pick up the book. Two weeks later, she was able to look at the photos of spiders, and finally actually touch the spider photos. All of that took a long time and great determination. Mostly it worked. Frances was never comfortable around spiders, but she coped with them. Her intense fear was gone; she could lead a normal life and even travel abroad.

      We may never have such a dramatic fear of anything, but milder forms are common. My wife Alison and I had to deal with a mouse-in-the-house problem recently. Actually, more than one mouse. After hearing scratching, we reckoned at least two rodent residents were behind a panel of wood we could remove. As we prised it off, we held our breath. We were nervous. Why? Why is anyone frightened of tiny creatures? One or two little mice do not amount to an army. They could do nothing which could hurt us directly. As the panel came away we held our breath… And nothing. There were signs mice had been there, but they’d run off. We didn’t invite them back by blocking off their point of entry. Mouse problem solved. But it was strange how nervous, probably afraid, we’d felt. That may always be true. We are certainly not planning on welcoming more mice as house guests; just accepting that we’ll always be a little fearful of them coming back.

      5. What is not happening to us can still make us afraid

      One of the most competent and sensible women I’ve known told me she never watched or listened to news bulletins. Nor did she read newspapers. “They make me afraid, even depressed,” she said. “There’s so much that’s bad happening in the world,” Of course there is an abundance of accidents, murders, unrest, wars and rumours of wars. But none of those were happening anywhere near that young woman.

      It is worth remembering that news reports don’t reflect how the world is most of the time and in most places. When I was being trained as a journalist, I recall the maxim: “Dog bites man is not newsworthy; man bites dog is newsworthy.” In other words, what makes headlines is the unusual and the uncommon.

      I’m not suggesting we shrug off terrible events, wherever they occur, but it’s important not to have our lives controlled by fear of being caught up in them.

      We can be so bombarded by stories of stranger-danger – such as attacks on little children by bad people lurking in dark corners – we imagine our neighbourhood is filled with malicious assailants. Your local crime statistics may not support that, but in the UK, more than 90 per cent of sexual assaults, including rapes, are not committed by strangers but by people known to the victim. A higher percentage of other forms of violent attacks are committed by strangers, but 56 per cent are people known to the person assaulted. Since attacks by close associates, especially family members, are often under-reported, that may exaggerate the impression that the greatest danger is stranger-attacks.

      I have no wish to minimise the potential for harm in the world around us. But how we view the world and absorb information can amplify the risk. Shock headlines on news stories are unhelpful. Social media often does not help, and the same is true of local gossip about so-and-so being knocked to the ground by someone stealing their handbag. Be careful, but try not to be afraid of everything in the world around you.

      6. The more uncertain we are about what’s happening or what we might have to do, the more fearful we get.

      During an immense thunder and lightning storm I hugged one of our children as massive explosions of noise and flashes of light shot across the sky. To a child less than two  years old it was terrifying. Why wasn’t I afraid? Well, for one thing we were indoors. For another I’d experienced storms like that before and come to no harm. And, lastly, I knew what caused the storm and that it would soon pass. In other words, I understood what was happening in a way our young child could not. Fear is heightened by what we don’t understand.

      Similarly, it can be very frightening to be in a situation where you don’t know what to do, or where to go, or what’s expected of you. I’ve often felt anxious like that, especially in a country where I couldn’t speak or understand the language. I flew into Karachi on my first-ever visit to Pakistan or any Asian country. As I headed towards a different section of the airport for a connecting flight, my suitcase was pulled from my hand and a young man walked off briskly. For a moment I panicked. But my bag wasn’t being stolen. The man gestured me to follow. We got to the other section of the airport. He released my case and held out his hand. Of course, he now wanted payment for his baggage carrying service. I handed over some dollars, and he went off smiling. I had not been smiling when I saw a stranger going off with my luggage. I had been afraid because I hadn’t understood what was happening. (Ever since, I’ve kept a firm grip on the handle of my baggage.)

      There are other forms of uncertainty. Several times I’ve been delayed or lost while on my way to a speaking engagement, with no phone number to call and explain I was late but still coming. And I’ve sat in meetings wondering if there’s something I should have done in preparation, or would be required to speak about during the meeting but no-one had pre-warned me.

      But I’ve learned these key thoughts for those times:

      • This is not a disaster. I will survive this.
      • I can’t fix this now, but it will be sorted soon.
      • If no-one told me what I would need to do, that’s not my fault.
      • A time is coming when I’ll look back on this situation, and probably smile about it.

      Uncertainty is a common human feeling. It unsettles us. But, instead of being fearful, we can treat our uncertainty as a puzzle that will eventually be solved. And the world and our lives will be just fine.

      7. We are fearful when we’re unprepared

      In my school days I remember asking fellow students how they felt about the exam we were all about to take. “Pretty confident,” some said. “I’m sure I’ll do well.” I never felt like that. Not once. Usually I was mildly terrified. Sometimes that was simply an unnecessary lack of confidence. But, at other times, I simply hadn’t studied enough. I hadn’t re-read the course materials, or planned how I’d write about key issues. Being unprepared creates fear of under-performance.

      That’s true in several contexts. If we’ve invited guests for a meal and we’re running out of time with preparations, our heart rate increases. The same happens if we’ve a flight to catch and we still haven’t packed our suitcase. If we’re facing an interview and hardly know what the job is about. If we’re invited to an event, and at the last minute realise we don’t have the right clothes to wear.

      One of my more dramatic unpreparedness experiences occurred when my rather beat-up old car was due that day for its roadworthiness check (in the UK, that’s referred to as the MOT test). My appointment with a testing centre was at 10.00, and the car wasn’t ready. It was spectacularly not ready. I had been respraying the car’s bodywork and welding the sills. That work was all fine. But then I’d decided I should repaint the inside floor of the car, which meant taking out every seat to access the floor pan. It was all done by the day before the car’s test. Only then did I realise the paint would not dry for several hours. I had to leave the car with no seats in place overnight. Next morning – the day of the test – it took me longer than expected just to re-install the driver’s seat. There was no time for any more. So I took the car for its 10.00 test with no seats other than the one in which I sat. I handed the car over to the tester, and explained what had happened. He looked into the car, raised his eyebrows, and drily said, “Well, you’re certainly not hiding anything.” It turned out that having seats in the car wasn’t an essential element for the test, so my car passed. But it took a long time until I recovered. Being unprepared – as I was – is a self-created cause of fear.

      Peaceful, content cows. My favourite kind.

      In this blog post I’ve tried to identify certain kinds of everyday fear. (The kind of fear experienced in warfare is very different.) I’m aware that fear takes many other forms, and that fear as a subject is complex. But to write in more detail would take me even further away from my expertise. If nothing else, I hope you go through life meeting only friendly cows.

      [1] Mac died a few years after the event described here. I wrote about his passing at the time: https://occasionallywise.com/2025/12/13/mac-has-died/

      [2] More information on the condition can be found here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK481553/

      [3] Here is a useful description of arachnophobia: “People with arachnophobia tend to feel uneasy in any area they believe could harbour spiders or that has visible signs of their presence, such as webs. If arachnophobes see a spider, they may not enter the general vicinity until they have overcome the panic attack that is often associated with their phobia. Some people scream, cry, have emotional outbursts, experience trouble breathing, sweat and experience increased heart rates when they come in contact with an area near spiders or their webs. In some extreme cases, even a picture, a toy, or a realistic drawing of a spider can trigger intense fear.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arachnophobia

      The hardest thing about making a decision is making a decision

      A nearby church asked me to provide leadership and guidance to cover the time between one minister leaving and another being appointed. I agreed. The workload would be minimal – preach occasionally, conduct funerals and weddings, and chair the once a month leadership meetings.

      The date came for their leaders to meet. I was handed an agenda, and after preliminaries we got to ‘Matters arising from the minutes of the last meeting’, and there I read ‘First Aid Kit’. Three so simple words but, it turned out, not at all a simple matter.

      “So, what is the issue about a first aid kit?” I asked. “Well,” I was told, “we’ve been discussing whether to buy a first aid kit.” This seemed a ‘no-brainer’ to me, but it became clear there were a whole variety of opinions about a first aid kit among the leaders. After hearing those opinions for half an hour, I forced a vote, and a majority agreed the church should have a first aid kit. Relieved, I sighed “I’m glad that’s over.”

      It wasn’t over. Next meeting, under ‘Matters arising…’ was once again the subject of the ‘First Aid Kit’. “We decided that,” I said. “Yes,” came the reply, “but we didn’t decide which first aid kit.” I groaned. But, with relish, the leaders debated exactly what should be in a first aid kit. Again I tolerated this for 30 minutes, and then resorted to the favourite church way of handling awkward issues by appointing a committee to research first aid kits.

      Next month, next agenda, and the three words I’d grown to hate appeared again: First Aid Kit. Thankfully the committee had researched, and now reported that First Aid Kit Number 2, as sold by a major pharmacy chain, would be perfect. Great. Matter resolved.

      Matter not resolved. Next meeting’s agenda: First Aid Kit. “Surely we decided this…”. Not really, it seemed. “Yes, we decided which first aid kit, but we didn’t decide who would buy it.” Really? Yet more discussion, in which my only achievements were to get them to agree who would buy it, and to take only 15 minutes to make that decision. At last the subject of the first aid kit was finished. No, of course it wasn’t. Month after month, meeting after meeting, First Aid Kit was the monster that ate our discussion time. A First Aid Kit was always on the agenda, but never on the premises. Why not? Many more reasons:

      • “We didn’t decide where it should be kept”
      • “We didn’t discuss whether a first aid kit cupboard should be labelled First Aid Kit Cupboard”
      • “We didn’t determine who would be authorised to administer first aid”
      • “We didn’t explore whether our church insurance covered liability for providing people with medical help”
      • “We didn’t choose who would maintain the contents of the first aid kit”

      There were more reasons than those, but some psychologists believe the brain can repress traumatic memories, and over the years my brain has taken pity on me by hiding the rest of that saga. All I’m sure of is that the church got a new minister before they ever got a first aid kit.

      Those painful discussions were my worst ever experience of ‘how to not make a decision’. The story may make us smile, but we may also have experience of finding the hardest thing about making a decision is actually making a decision. By that I mean a final decision, and, hardest of all, a final decision about something that matters to us.

      But why do we find it so hard to make decisions? The simple answer is that people are unique – all different in our thinking, habits, and preferences – so what I would struggle to decide might seem straightforward to you. What attracts me, what frightens me, what confuses me, what is sensitive for me, none of these may be the same for you. Add to that how people and circumstances around us affect our decision-making. A 17-year-old told me she wanted to get married to get away from her parents. But another person, well through her thirties, kept putting off a wedding in hope that her parents would accept the man in her life. There is no single reason why we struggle to make decisions.

      However, accepting many factors are involved, I’ve compiled a list of five common reasons why decisions get delayed or never happen.

      When we’re comfortable with things as they are – so don’t want change    Even when offered a wonderful new opportunity, the person happy with their life is super-slow to make any decision which will disturb their comfort. And there could be good reasons not to change, such as children settled in school, or because moving away might ruin a spouse’s career, or poor health could mean it’s wise to stay where the best treatment is available. But, for others, the reasons for resisting change are not so clear. That happens, for example, when someone feels safe in their present situation, while what the future holds seems risky. So, they think… and think… and think but never actually decide to change. (I wrote about how I had that exact experience when I was ten years old – see https://occasionallywise.com/2021/01/09/going-out-on-a-limb/)

      When something is so good, we can’t imagine it ending    I feel like that when I don’t want an exciting book to end. Occasionally I’ve enjoyed a film so much I’m sad when the titles roll. Or a holiday is so wonderful we can’t contemplate going home. Or work is so satisfying we can’t imagine doing anything else.  We have the ‘don’t let it end’ reaction anytime we don’t want an activity, event, or relationship to come to a finish.

      I wrote before about the retirement of an elderly journalist. He’d worked in the office for 40 years. The next working day after his retirement he was back in the office, and the next day, and the next, and the next and so on. He’d loved his work, and simply couldn’t let it end. (You can read that story here: https://occasionallywise.com/2025/03/29/keep-on-keeping-on/)

      The more we love anything, the harder it is to let it go. Yet that puts us in a kind of prison cell. We could open the door and walk free but we choose to stay. So no matter how wonderful what lies ahead, we never experience it because we can’t let go of what we have already.

      When we fear what others will think    Some decisions are unpopular. And the more we care about what people think about us and our choices the less able we are to make a hard decision. Even easy decisions become tough when we fear other people’s opinions. Here are both big and small decisions people can find hard to make.

      • Creating a radical new look with a hairstyle change
      • Dating the boy of her dreams, knowing he’s the boy of her parents’ nightmares
      • Telling family you’ve got a new job which will take you far away
      • Not wanting to follow your parents’ career ambitions for you; pursuing acting instead
      • Deciding to adopt religious beliefs different from those taught to you by your parents
      • Choosing not to have the lavish white wedding with lots of guests your parents always dreamed for you

      Here are three examples of making unpopular decisions, two of them very personal.

      First, the teenage girl, aged 14, who chose to go to school wearing the school uniform. But surely she was just conforming? Actually, she wasn’t. The uniform was optional, and not a single other girl in the school wore the uniform. I suspect the girl who wore the uniform loved to stand out from the crowd, but she was mocked for doing so.

      Second, Alison and I have four children. After the first two, a boy and then a girl, people said “You have the perfect family. You’ll be done having children now.” We weren’t done. When number three was on the way, some reacted with “Really! This one must have been an accident” or “How could you bring another child into the world?” So, when we decided to have our fourth – and it was a positive decision – we knew what we would face. Most did not congratulate us. There were looks of horror on some faces. “Oh no!” said at least two close relatives. Some suggested that we were irresponsible. Some believed we’d done something morally wrong. Some said they were worried for us. And the midwife at a prenatal clinic assumed we could be having a fourth only because we didn’t understand contraception. Many comments were ridiculous, but some really hurt. Thankfully we were undaunted. We were thrilled about having each of our four children. And then we decided our family was complete. Matters like that are personal and no-one else’s business.

      Third, I accepted the appointment of heading up a large mission agency. That would mean relocating from the north east of Scotland to the south of England. I was worried what that would mean for my Dad. Mum had died many years before, and Dad had eventually remarried but his second wife had also passed away. Now, although he had golfing buddies, he lived alone. His home was 100 miles from our north east location, but I visited him almost every week. The move south, however, meant I’d be seven hours travelling time from him. Visits would be far less frequent. It was tough telling him we were moving away, and it was obvious he was sad. But Dad was a hero. Firmly and bravely, he said “I would never want to hold you back from doing what is right for your career.” We went with his blessing. And, to our surprise, Dad in his mid 70s made arrangements to get flights from Edinburgh to London so he could visit us. That amazed us because Dad had never been on a plane before. Not ever. But he booked his flights and boarded planes just so he could see us. Which was great.

      When you know a decision is right but you’re fearful about the consequences    Accepting a promotion often comes with nervousness.It’s wonderful to move up the career ladder, and who doesn’t want a higher salary? But with that new position comes greater responsibility, and that can be daunting. Questions flood the mind like “What if I don’t have the skills?” or “What if I can’t manage a team” or “What if they fire me after a few weeks?” I used to encourage newly promoted staff by saying “You don’t have this new position because of what I hope you’ll be able to do one day, but because of what I’ve already seen you are able to do.” Sometimes I had more confidence in a promoted staff member’s abilities than they had. But, despite their fear of consequences, they accepted the promotion and ended up flourishing in their new challenge.

      When we can’t decide a project or task is complete    When I was only a few months into my PhD research, one of the older and well-respected faculty members took me aside. “Alistair,” he said “never be afraid to bring each part of your thesis to an end. Some people never finish their degree because they can’t accept their work is good enough.” That elderly scholar spoke the truth. I resisted the temptation to always add another nugget of wisdom or quote from yet one more source. And my thesis was accepted. But one friend – a brilliant scholar – almost never got his PhD because he couldn’t let any chapter go unless he considered it perfect. After 13 years, far longer than the university’s rules allowed anyone, he was told ‘Submit, or you fail’. Thankfully he handed over his manuscript, and it was accepted. But other students – no matter the pressure – still won’t submit their less-than-perfect work, which means that after years of hard study they never get their degree. There are times when ‘good enough’ is truly ‘good enough’ and we must have the courage to stop.

      I now need to stop. But I will finish by including a statement I came across when studying management. In the context of advice on how to reach the right decision came these words: “Of course the worst decision of all is not to make any decision.” A non-decision is, indeed, a terrible decision.

      ———————————-

      Several times I’ve written about decision-making. Here are links to some of those posts:

      Going out on a limb
      Keep on keeping on
      This way or that way?
      How do we make our biggest decisions?
      Why quit while you’re ahead?
      Procrastination

      Mac has died

      Just over a week ago, our dog Mac died. His breathing became difficult the previous evening, and Alison and I sat with him through the night. As soon as possible the next morning we rushed him to our vet. Just after we arrived at the surgery, Mac’s heart stopped. A brilliant team brought him back, but he was too far gone. We stroked Mac and told him we loved him, and then he died. A few days later we laid Mac to rest in a place which was a favourite for him.

      Part of the reason I am writing this is because Mac was mentioned in past blog posts, one very recently. (See https://occasionallywise.com/2025/11/06/a-life-that-is-centred/ and https://occasionallywise.com/2021/01/23/unconditional-love/.) But I’m honest enough to admit there may be another reason – sometimes grief just has to be shared.

      I’ve had dogs before, but never one like Mac. In the post on Unconditional Love, I wrote this:

      Mac is my dog. We have two dogs, but Mac is my follower. If I walk across the room, he comes too. When I sit down, he lies nearby. If I go to my home office, Mac joins me. (He’s here right now.) When I go to the bathroom, Mac would be there too, except I refuse him entry. But he’ll wait just outside for me.

      I’ve no idea why he’s so devoted. He just is. My companion, day after day after day.

      Mac’s devotion to me never wavered, and I became devoted to him. Hence how much I miss him. He was loyal, gentle, gritty, affectionate, and fun.

      Perhaps only those who have loved a pet can understand the grief that follows their passing. It can’t be compared with losing a person, but it is real grief.

      Some day – maybe – I’ll write more about things like that. At present my emotions are too raw. But perhaps it’ll always be too hard to reflect on losing my friend.

      Alison has been my strength through these day, while all the time needing strength from me for her own sense of loss. Our family have supported us wonderfully, and friends have helped too. We still have Ciara, a beautiful blend of German Shepherd, retriever and collie. It’s hard to tell, but she seems lonely, which would be understandable.

      We are deeply thankful that for eight years we were privileged to share life with Mac. There are many, many wonderful memories which we will treasure. The Bible says there is “a time to be born and a time to die” (Ecclesiastes 3: 2). What happens between these two ‘times’ matters greatly, and Mac gave us his best years. For that we will always be grateful.

      It would have been easier if I’d been drunk

      A young couple asked me, their minister, to conduct their wedding. “Delighted!” I replied. They added, “It will take place in Shetland,” apparently because the bride came from there. But that was no problem. Shetland is a long way north, but an easy flight from my base in Aberdeen.[1]

      So, in mid summer I flew to the furthest place north of mainland Scotland where some of the 100 islands in the Shetland archipelago are closer to Norway than to major cities in the south. That far north, summer days are long and nights have very little darkness.[2] I had time to explore. Since then I have visited dozens of other countries, but Shetland is still the most awesomely beautiful place I have ever seen.[3]

      The wedding service went well, after which the couple stood in warm sunshine for photographs and to greet their guests. Then came the reception, with plenty to eat and to drink. It was a great time.

      I had a flight to catch back to Aberdeen that evening. But, just before I started on the 25 mile journey south from Lerwick to Sumburgh airport, I heard that a thick sea mist meant all flights were cancelled. Not to worry, because the airline had booked all passengers on the overnight sea ferry from Lerwick which would arrive in Aberdeen at breakfast time. ‘That will be fine,’ I thought.

      It was very far from fine. The problem wasn’t the cabin, which I would be sharing with a Christian friend who’d also attended the wedding, and with two oil-rig workers going on leave. Nor was the problem lack of food on board, especially since I’d eaten well earlier and wasn’t hungry. And the oil workers weren’t the problem; they disappeared for hours to the bar.

      The problem was everything to do with the ferry journey. Once out of the harbour and into the North Sea, the ship pitched up and down as strong waves lifted and dropped the vessel. My stomach began to heave in sync with those waves. Then the ferry got far enough south to escape the shelter of Shetland, and waves from the Atlantic competed with waves from the North Sea. The ship’s up/down movement was matched by an all around movement in my inner parts. I could not have been more miserable. Lying flat on my bunk was the worst so I went to the middle of the ferry where people were stretched out on seats and the floor. Apparently, so the gift shop assistant told me, they did that because the central area pitched less than the bow or stern. Maybe it did ‘less’ but still a lot. “Never mind,” the assistant tried to comfort me, “trawlermen also get sick on the ferry because it doesn’t pitch enough.” I was not comforted.

      Back in my cabin, and foolishly lying down again, my stomach churned. Suddenly I knew I was about to bring up my delightful wedding reception meal. I rushed to the small ensuite bathroom, but the door was locked. My Christian friend was emptying everything he’d eaten that day. Now desperate, I ran into the corridor where there were toilets for passengers without ensuite facilities. I saw the word ‘toilet’, went straight in, and was sick on an almighty scale into a sink. Only after I got back to my cabin did I realise I hadn’t checked whether I’d entered the toilet for men or the toilet for women.

      The rest of that night I lay sleepless on my bunk except when I was being sick. Around 1.30 in the morning, the two oil workers returned from the bar. Both were clearly very drunk. So drunk, they collapsed on their bunks, immediately fell asleep and stayed asleep until the ship docked in Aberdeen harbour. The oil men that morning were bright and cheery. I was not. Alison met me from the ferry, and said she’d never seen me look so ill. All I could reply was, “It would have been easier if I’d been drunk”.

      I didn’t actually wish I’d been drunk, but I couldn’t escape the thought that my non-drinking friend and I had no reward for our righteousness. The oil men had a peaceful night. Our night was a horror story. It didn’t seem fair.

      The hard truth is that doing what’s right doesn’t guarantee an easier life.

      The writer of Psalm 73 in the Bible didn’t hesitate to complain to God that the wicked “have no struggles; their bodies are healthy and strong.They are free from common human burdens; they are not plagued by human ills” (vs. 4-5). While he has kept his heart pure, the wicked have amassed great wealth (vs. 12-13). Later in his psalm, he does recognise that the final destiny of the wicked will be ruinous, but his earlier words are comfortingly honest, that those who live to please themselves may have an easy life, with none of the sacrifices faced by those who try to do what’s right.

      So, let’s recognise a few realities.

      First, this world often seems unfair. People cheat – such as some students at school or university with assignments or exams – and too many are not found out. Applicants for top jobs submit their résumé or CV (curriculum vitae) claiming qualifications they have never earned. Mistakes at work are covered up. Tax claims are falsified or earnings hidden. The owner of a garage told me I would be entitled to a big discount on my car repairs if I paid with cash rather than cheque. Naïvely I asked how that could be. “It’s simple” the garage owner said. “If you pay with cash we can avoid the value added tax.” I quickly replied that I couldn’t do that since I was a church minister. “Yes, I know you’re a minister,” he said. “That’s why I thought you might appreciate a discount.” I smiled, but he was proposing fraud. I paid by cheque.

      There is a cost – sometimes literally – from being honest, truthful and virtuous. It has always been like that, and it’s never likely to change.

      Second, short-term advantage can, however, lead to long-term disaster. I recall being asked to check if someone had actually held the university posts he claimed on a job application. I did find out – he had never held any of those posts. Not only was that applicant not appointed to the position he now sought, news of his deceit inevitably spread far and wide. His dishonesty meant he’d never be employed at a senior level.

      Cheating can reach the level of bizarre. One of the most flagrant and now notorious cases concerns George Santos who was elected to the US House of Representatives from a New York congressional district in 2023. News reporters then researched Santos’ background. What they found differed significantly from his own story. He had lied about his education, past employment, business activities, earnings and wealth, and not disclosed his criminal history, nor that he was facing lawsuits. Just before the end of 2023 the House of Representatives voted 311 to 114 to expel Santos. In August the next year, he pleaded guilty to identity theft and wire fraud, and was sentenced to 87 months in prison. On the day of his sentence, John J. Durham, United States Attorney for the Eastern District of New York, said this: “Today, George Santos was finally held accountable for the mountain of lies, theft, and fraud he perpetrated. For the defendant, it was judgment day, and for his many victims including campaign donors, political parties, government agencies, elected bodies, his own family members, and his constituents, it is justice.”[4] Santos was jailed but a few months later President Donald Trump commuted his sentence and he was released. He had freedom from prison, but no freedom from a ruined reputation.

      Another reputation – that of David, King over Israel and Judah – was ruined around 1000 years BC. While walking on the roof of his palace late one evening, David saw a beautiful woman called Bathsheba bathing in her nearby home. Her husband, Uriah, had been gone for some time, fighting in David’s army. Filled with desire, David sent for Bathsheba and they had sex. Later she discovered that she was pregnant and let David know. The King’s secret affair would soon not be a secret. Trying to cover his tracks, David had Uriah brought back from the front line, supposedly to report on the progress of the fighting but actually so he would go home and have sex with his wife. But Uriah’s sense of honour would not let him make love to his wife while his fellow soldiers were camped on a battle field. David was now desperate. He gave Uriah a sealed letter to take back to the army commander. That letter was Uriah’s death sentence, because it ordered the commander to put Uriah where the upcoming battle would be fiercest, and then withdraw support from him so Uriah was stranded and killed. It happened: Uriah was abandoned during the battle and died. David, an adulterer and now a murderer, breathed a sigh of relief. But not for long. Through a prophet, David’s sin became known, resulting in great trouble during the rest of his reign. His sin was also recorded in the Jewish scriptures and then in the whole Bible, where we can read about it today (in 2 Samuel, ch.s 11-12). David indulged his lust for Bathsheba, but one night of pleasure led to one of the world’s worst stories of illicit sex and murder being read everywhere for some three millennia.

      Doing something wrong for short-term gain rarely ends well.

      Third, honouring your beliefs and principles is always right. In a previous blog post I described a personal experience.


      The UK runs a national census in every year that ends in a ‘1’. The census is done now by answering questions online but in earlier years everyone filled out census forms. In one of those past ‘1’ years, I was a student looking for summer employment and got hired to help deal with the millions of census forms. My job was in a very large warehouse, almost entirely filled with shelving holding boxes of forms. A small team of ‘experts’ sat at one end coding each answer for entry into the rudimentary computer system used back then. I was a much more lowly file-picker. All I did every day was take an order for a batch of files, find their boxes among the shelves, and transport them by push-trolley to the coders. When the coders were finished with them, I put them back on the shelves. It was brain-numbingly boring work. But they paid me to do it, so I was grateful to have the job.

      A fellow file-picker told me one day that when he was given an order to bring a batch of files, he was told not to use a trolley, just bring them one box at a time and walk slowly. He thought it hilarious that he was ordered to take as long as possible to do his job. I didn’t think it funny, just strange, perhaps too strange to be true. Until one of the bosses gave me virtually the same instruction: to fetch files but not to use a trolley and to take my time.

      Eventually the explanation dawned on me. It wasn’t just the file-pickers who were temps; so were the coders and so were many of the bosses. Almost everyone working in that warehouse had a financial interest in their job lasting as long as possible, hence a secret ‘go-slow’ policy.

      That first time I carried the files one by one to the coders and back to the shelves. And I did it the next day. But then I couldn’t do it any more. This was wrong, just wrong. Deliberately slow work cheated the top officers who needed census results processed promptly, cheated the tax payers who were paying my wages, and, for me as a Christian, I felt I was cheating God by not giving my best. I didn’t sleep well that night; I knew what I had to do next morning. I got my first order for files, went to the shelves, offloaded the boxes on to a trolley, and wheeled it to the coders. Later I did the same in reverse to put them back on the shelves. I kept doing that through the day. No-one said anything.

      But they did the day after. I got an order for files, and found my way to their location in the centre of the ‘stacks’. Two file-picker colleagues were waiting there for me. One pinned me against the shelving, while both of them made their views very clear. ‘You do what you want to do, but you’d better not show us up by how you do it.’ I can’t reproduce the hostile tone they used, and I haven’t included the words beginning with ‘f’ and ‘b’ that littered their warning. With a last shove they let me go, and disappeared. It was a moment of decision. But the only decision I could make was to be true to myself. I had to live what I believed, and that was to do the job right. Which I did, day after day. And, as with most bullies, the file-pickers didn’t go through with their threats.

      Living with a clear conscience, living as you believe you should – it’s the only way to feel good about yourself, to honour others and God, and to get a good night’s sleep.  [From https://occasionallywise.com/2021/03/27/be-true-to-yourself/]

      That was a trial-of-principles moment for me. It was hard at the time but it strengthened my determination to always be true to what I believe is right.

      But no trial of mine can be compared to the choice which faced Polycarp.[5]

      Polycarp was Bishop of the church in Smyrna, a city in Asia Minor (modern Izmir in Turkey), around 160 AD, a time when Christians were distrusted and hated in the Roman Empire. They would not submit to the rule of the emperor as a divine figure, nor would they sacrifice to the Roman gods, so Christians were considered guilty of disloyalty and treason. Many died for their faith.

      Bishop Polycarp was an old man, old enough to have known and followed the Apostle John. His age did not save him from persecution. He was told to burn incense to the Roman emperor or he would die. He refused and he was arrested. Polycarp knew what lay ahead for him, but said: “86 years have I have served him, and he has done me no wrong. How can I blaspheme my King and my Saviour?”[6]

      Dragged into an arena, the Proconsul warned Polycarp he would be torn by wild animals if he would not recant his faith. Polycarp was unmoved. Then, the Proconsul said, you will be burned at the stake. Wood and bundles of sticks were heaped up. Soldiers stood ready to nail Polycarp to the stake so he could not flee when the fire was lit. Polycarp stopped them: “Leave me as I am, for he that gives me strength to endure the fire, will enable me not to struggle, without the help of your nails.” The fire was lit and blazed furiously. Polycarp stood still, and somehow – by a miracle observers said – the flames burned around Polycarp but did him no harm. But he could not be allowed to live, so an executioner was ordered to stab Polycarp to death, which he did, and his dead body was later burned by the Roman authorities.

      Not many have been as true to their beliefs as Polycarp was. His remarkable example is of someone determined to be firm in his faith, no matter how dreadful the consequences.

      In conclusion, then, it’s easy to opt for the easy life, doing what everyone else does. You don’t upset anyone. You don’t get into trouble. But can you live with yourself doing that? Suppressing the truth deep in your soul? Abandoning your principles just to be safe, just to be comfortable? It’s not right, and the benefits don’t last.

      Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor, could not accept Nazi ideology, could not go along with the crowd as many others did. Alexei Navalny could not keep quiet about the way his beloved Russia was being governed. Both dared to oppose their nation’s rulers, knowing that might mean paying the ultimate price. Bonhoeffer was hanged only a few months before World War II ended. Navalny died in a remote Arctic prison colony in February 2024. Neither saw their dreams fulfilled, but their example, their refusal to abandon their beliefs, has inspired thousands, probably millions.

      Jesus said: “… wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it” (Matthew 7:13). Don’t be part of the crowd on that road.

      [1] There are more than 790 islands off the mainland of Scotland, but only 93 of these are inhabited. The islands can be grouped into four main clusters: the Inner Hebrides and the Outer Hebrides to the north west, the Orkney Islands and the Shetland Islands to the north.

      [2] In midsummer, after 19 hours of daylight, Shetland experiences the ‘simmer dim’ – described this way: “Simmer dim refers to the time around midsummer, when after the sun has set, light lingers. It is neither daylight or darkness, but an uncanny in-between time, an extended twilight blurring the boundaries between day and night.” https://www.shetland.org/blog/midsummer-in-shetland

      [3] For more information about Shetland, I recommend this website: https://www.shetland.org/about

      [4] U.S. Attorney’s Office, Eastern District of New York: https://www.justice.gov/usao-edny/pr/ex-congressman-george-santos-sentenced-87-months-prison-wire-fraud-and-aggravated

      [5] The details which follow about the death of Polycarp were in a letter called The Martyrdom of Polycarp sent by eye-witnesses of the martyrdom to churches in the surrounding area.

      [6] It is hard to be sure if Polycarp meant he was 86 years old, or that 86 years had passed since his conversion to follow Christ.

      A life that is centred

      ‘Edith was a little country bounded on the north, south, east, and west by Edith’.[1] That short sentence perfectly describes people who are egocentric, self-focused, or self-obsessed. I’ve known some like that: in love with themselves, and all too sure their wants are more important than anyone else’s needs.

      Of course self-focused people have their lives centred, just very badly centred. Everything is about them. Others exist, but they’re useful only to serve number one’s desires. The self-focused are like cats, because, as the old saying goes, ‘You don’t own a cat – it owns you, and your only role is to serve the cat.’ I don’t mind that cats think like that; I’m deeply troubled when people do.

      So, what is an alternative way of thinking about a life that is centred other than on self?

      My answers will relate to questions like these: Who am I? Why am I here? What is my value? How should I live? How should I treat others? Those deep questions have been discussed and debated by very wise people for more years than history has recorded. I can’t match history’s greatest sages but here are my short answers to those questions.

      Who am I?

      I am created and loved by God; brought to birth in this world; given health and strength; privileged with education, relationship and work opportunities; helped to survive dark times; forgiven for my foolishness; surrounded by people who love and support me; blessed with a positive spirit; and grateful that I can still do good for myself and others.

      That is my personal summary. I will have overstated some things, and likely left out important other things. But it’s how I see myself. Because I am a unique individual, someone else is bound to summarise their life differently.

      What this happy and secure life has given me is a solid foundation. How I think of everything around me is infused with promise. The world is full of possibilities. People have potential. Change brings opportunities. The future can be better than the past. Misfortunes can be turned to advantage.

      Most of the time, that positive view of my life means I am not focused inwardly but outwardly. I have been blessed, not just for my sake but so I can use my energy, gifts and opportunities to help this world become more like the world it was meant to be. I have no excuses for failing.

      Why am I here?

      I hear interviewers ask people ‘What do you most want in life?’ and a typical answer is ‘I just want to be happy’. That’s what ‘Edith’ would say, because personal happiness is a self-serving goal, as if everything and everyone should bring the interviewee pleasure and prosperity.

      I’ve never believed that I exist to serve myself. At least, I hope not. Yes, I’ve had ambitions. I left home aged 16 to train as a journalist in Edinburgh, convinced that I would become one of the nation’s most brilliant reporters and broadcasters. Modesty was not my highest virtue. But the dream was never about my fame. The passion was to report news, share truth, give perspective, and perhaps to influence government and society. A few years later my career choice changed, and life went in a wholly different direction because I felt God wanted me in Christian ministry. I studied for many years, and then my roles became church ministry to hundreds of people, then heading up a mission agency bringing hope and help to tens of thousands, then being President of a seminary preparing gifted people to serve in caring and pastoral work right across America. Whatever the role, I consistently focused on serving others, not myself. That was my aim and I hope it still is.

      So, why am I here? Not for myself, nor for any of the ordinary things people covet for themselves like fame, money, prestige, comfort or pleasure. If I’d continued in journalism – where I was doing well – I could have had these things. But they are superficial and fleeting possessions. You can’t take them with you beyond the grave. I chose to spend my time, energy and gifts on others.

      What is my value?

      If you enter ‘How to assess someone’s value?’ into a search engine, most of the answers you get will relate to what a person does – the career they’re following, the positions in business or politics they hold, the changes they are bringing to their community, how they visit the sick or campaign for human rights. Or any other of many activities.

      But what we do should not be the primary answer about our value. Utility – usefulness – is an inadequate way of measuring any kind of value. The most expensive painting in the world is considered to be Salvator Mundi by Leonardo da Vinci – it sold for US $450.3 million in 2017. It is truly magnificent but also a completely inanimate object. Do people admire it? Yes. But ask what the painting does? The answer is nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet it’s considered to be of high value.

      My point is that value should not be assessed only in terms of usefulness or productivity. In particular, a person’s worth should never be calculated that way. We have value independent of our work, our social standing, educational qualifications, achievements, race or gender. That truth lies behind Article 1 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights”.[2] I have value. You have value. Simply because of who you are, you have value.

      From my Christian perspective, that value is ultimately because I am made by God. These verses in the Bible from Psalm 139 are very special:

      For you created my inmost being;
          you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
      14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
          your works are wonderful,
          I know that full well.
      15 My frame was not hidden from you
          when I was made in the secret place,
          when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
      16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
          all the days ordained for me were written in your book
          before one of them came to be. (vs.13-16)

      What remarkable imagery: God knitting us in our mother’s wombs and weaving us together in the depths of the earth. And awesome to be described as ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’. How could I ever imagine I lacked value?

      How should I live?

      This is a tricky question, but only if we try to answer it with one moral theory supposedly applicable to everyone, no matter their background, culture, beliefs and context. Instead, it’s reasonable to suppose most people know instinctively what’s right and what’s wrong.

      From ancient to modern times there have been many lists of right actions. Here are two, one from a philosopher and the other from an apostle.

      In 1930 philosopher David Ross wrote down seven prima facie duties – things which he believed were self-evidently right to do. Here’s his list with explanations of what he meant:

      1. Fidelity – keeping a promise; not misrepresenting history.
      2. Reparation – putting right what you did wrong in your past.
      3. Gratitude – appreciating and expressing thanks for what others have done for you.
      4. Justice – making sure people get what they deserve.
      5. Beneficence – Using our skills or resources to give others a better life.
      6. Self-improvement – improving our character, learning, or skills to fulfil our potential.
      7. Non-maleficence – not injuring others, such as by violent acts, or verbal assaults like unfairly criticising or shaming. [3]

      Ross’s list made good sense, but he was criticised because he believed all these were knowable simply by intuition. His critics pointed out that intuitions vary depending on past experience, beliefs, outlook, and values. And that’s true. But what’s also true is that all moral judgments – however they arise – vary based on background and experience.

      I like Ross’s list, and I admire his courage in publishing it. But I’d probably add a few other virtues such as humility, peace-making and courage.

      In a letter which now appears in the New Testament, the Apostle Paul wrote a list of the fruits of the Spirit. These nine ‘fruits‘ are also a wonderful guide to the kind of people we should be:

      22…the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, and self-control.  (Galatians, 5: 22-23)

      Live so these ‘fruits of the Spirit’ control your thoughts and actions, and you will not only bless others but know inner peace too.

      As I said, there are other lists of virtues or commandments. The fact is that there’s no great mystery about knowing what’s right. There is, I admit, a great difficulty in consistently doing what’s right.

      How should I treat others?

      My father had a very long career with the Post Office, but only a very short time serving customers at Post Office counters. He hated that job intensely. The work was not difficult, but the customers were. Many of those who stood before Dad imagined one or both of two things: 1) that somehow they’d be cheated during their transaction; 2) that by being angry and aggressive they’d get prompt and better service. Dad experienced insult, abuse and distrust every day, so he would trudge home after work feeling miserable. Before long, though, he moved upwards in Post Office management, which meant relocating to backroom offices. Now he was at peace because no longer was he made miserable by miserable customers.

      Wuthering Heights is the only novel by the English author Emily Brontë.[4] For me it was a hard read. I kept waiting for happy stories, but happiness is not common in Wuthering Heights. Much of the misery surrounds the main character, Heathcliff. Here is how Brontë describes Heathcliff:

      “… his naturally reserved disposition was exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of unsociable moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, apparently, in exciting the aversion rather than the esteem of his few acquaintances.”

      That does not describe a person anyone would want to know. Brontë said Heathcliff’s character had an excess of ‘moroseness’. My dictionary defines moroseness as “the state or quality of being ill-tempered, gloomy, and unwilling to speak or smile. It describes a sullen, moody, and resentful disposition.”

      Heathcliff bathed in misery, bloody-mindedness, and contentiousness, freely spreading his gloom to all around, contributing almost nothing to the happiness of others.

      The lives of people like that are centred very badly. Their disposition is firmly ill-natured and ill-humoured, primed by resentment, distrust, and hostility. They assume their luck is always bad, that they are constantly treated unfairly, and that their future will be one of disappointment. Bitterness and anger have moved their thinking, expectation, and experience into a dark and hostile place, and they now interpret every word spoken and every action taken as opposition or antagonism towards them. What a sad way to live.

      Their lives do not have to be like that.

      The first step to wholeness and happiness begins with recognising your view of the world is distorted. You see everyone and everything as hostile, unreasonable, and difficult. The second step is believing, or at least hoping, it may not always be like that. The third step is identifying things and people who are lovely, kind and good. Start with recognising the beauty of a flower, a sunset, or the adoration of a dog. Or appreciating that someone accepts you unconditionally, helping you without seeking anything in return, Or acknowledging that your life has had advantages, good events, and what lies ahead could be wonderful. The fourth step is determining to live positively, believing that good can happen, and finding happiness and contentment whatever your circumstances. Take all four steps, and your life will have been re-centred in a way that brings joy to self and others.

      I’ll finish by describing a recent event. I heard the sound of running. Someone was coming up fast from behind. Before I could turn, a figure raced past me and careered on down the side of the hill. Thankfully I recognised my friend Mac, almost off his feet as he raced down the steep slope. He didn’t stop, maybe couldn’t stop, but ran and ran until the slope eased and he slowed and finally came to a halt. Then, out of breath, Mac looked from side to side, as if wondering ‘What am I doing down here?’ or ‘Where am I now?’ A bit late to be asking those questions, I thought to myself.

      But Mac – my dog – isn’t brilliant at planning.[5] I often wonder what Mac is thinking, or even if he’s thinking at all. Perhaps his only ambition that day had been to run down the hill. Where would that take him? What would he do next? Not questions Mac had considered. I would advise all of us to know our answers to those questions, along with the five I’ve posed here: Who am I? Why am I here? What is my value? How should I live? How should I treat others? Find the answers, live in the light of them, and your life will be well centred.

      [1] The words are quoted by H.E. Fosdick, 1943, On Being a Real Person. The description of Edith comes from novelist Martha Ostenso, “Gardenias in Her Hair,” Pictorial Review 38 (September 1937): 84. Fosdick was a famous American pastor and writer. He died in 1969, aged 91.

      [2] The full Declaration can be read here: https://www.un.org/en/udhrbook/pdf/udhr_booklet_en_web.pdf

      [3] These prima facie duties are to be found on pages 21-22 in Ross, W. David. 1930. ‘The Right and the Good’. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

      [4] Wuthering Heights was initially published in 1847. To hide female authorship it appeared under Brontë’s pen name “Ellis Bell”.

      [5] I wrote about Mac before when describing ‘unconditional love’: https://occasionallywise.com/2021/01/23/unconditional-love/