The art of living vicariously

Vicarious: experiencing something indirectly through the actions, feelings, or experiences of another person, rather than doing it yourself

To me, if you can happily live life by gaining pleasure from living vicariously then you have a pretty good life balance. Those that suggest that you need 'to do' in order to fulfil some sort of obligation that we owe to the universe are, in my mind, wide of the mark. These thoughts came back to me strongly recently and seemed ripe for a bit of bloggage...

I have, and never will, surf. However, I am absolutely wrapped up in watching 'big wave' surfing videos (eg Riding Giants), binge-watching TV series (such as 100-foot Wave) and reading books (like Barbarian Days by William Finnegan) and can claim a fascination with all things extreme surfing. I will, I repeat, never surf and have no inclination to do so. Watching others do it, and do it with so much skill and bravado is enough for me. I can feed off of their excitement, feel their anxieties, share in the successes and failures and all without having to stand on a surfboard and grab hold of a tow-rope. It is sharing in a way of life and subculture that is utterly foreign to me. 

Apart from flying over and looking down upon the Himalayas I have not physically set foot in the region, but have read countless books on their geography, history and wildlife to make me feel as if this is a region of the world in which I am invested.  As I no longer fly (unless there is an urgent and pressing reason to do so) and unless I suddenly don a kaftan and follow the hippy trail with the aid of the Magic Bus I am unlikely to do so. This doesn’t diminish my interest in the area or make me feel as if I am experiencing the Himalayas in a unfulfilling way. The mountains still call, but via the printed word and hi-res video footage. 

Apart from walking to the top of a couple of tame Scottish Munros and Mont Ventoux in France I am not a mountaineer, yet can claim that a number of books which I have immersed myself in (including Dark Summit by Nick Heil; White Ladder by Daniel Light; Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer; Between the Sunset and the Sea by Simon Ingram) have burnt deep into my soul. I love mountains. I believe that I know what it feels like to summit over 25,000 feet, to suffer altitude sickness, to look down upon the earth, all without running the risks involved of actually doing so. Good writing can do that. But I will not be giving it a go.

The same could be claimed for my natural history interests. When I had settled into the world of birding there were a number of 'events' or 'milestones' that I just assumed would happen - visit Fair Isle, reach 500 UK species, see Slender-billed Curlew in Morocco, achieve a world list of at least 5,000 species, become an observatory warden... and now, years later, although some of these are still achievable (but one, maybe two impossible) I am not worried about that the fact that I will not meet them - but I have experienced them all through the words and pictures of others and that sits well within me. Does that suggest a lack of ambition? Half-hearted interest? An acceptance of second best? Or maybe it should be accepted and celebrated as an announcement of contentment. I look at my bookshelves. Full of books that I have throughly enjoyed reading, written by do-ers. Redolent of success. Of achievers. Of grit and determination. Of obsession. Yes, obsession...

That is often the key word. Obsession. People prepared to put their obsession before all else. The need to place the aim, the target, the purpose in front of anyone and anything. I just haven't got that in me. Never had have. Or the drive. I've marvelled at friends that have gone off birding around the world and come back months or even years later with enough tales (and obviously birds) to fill a lifetime. But it isn't for me. I would fold under the pressure, worried about travel connections, political unrest, dangerous situations - and that is before fretting about whether or not the target bird species will play ball. So instead I bathe in their glory and can be thankful that I have experienced a modicum of world birding. It has been enough for me. Of course I would have loved to have seen a Giant Pitta or a Malaysian Rail Babbler. But I did see a Masked Finfoot and a Mountain Peacock Pheasant. You cannot have it all and I’m grateful for what I have had. I can read a birder’s trip report from anywhere in the world and celebrate their success, feel their joy and do you know what affect that has on me? It inspires me to go outside and bird in Surrey! How lucky is that?

Part of me wonders whether my choice not to fly, to leave the car on the drive and conduct my natural history as close to home as possible is just a cop out. A way of not having to make big choices. But I don't think so. My embrace of the simpler ways of life is genuine. The pleasure that I get from such choices is just naturally there. And I know there will be many who will just not understand that.

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