So the tack is complete, we are heading in a new direction, the wind steadier, the sea friendlier. If the change was rough – a few moments of intenser activity, then so be it. What comes next is now the interest. The poet put it this way:

“And past the poppies bluish neutral distance

Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach

Of shapes and shingles. Here is unfenced existence:

Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.”

from Here by Philip Larkin in Whitsun Weddings

Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see. In the meantime, in the greater quest for understanding, I wish you fair winds and following seas. ~~~ Although it can be read as a single post, the above is part of a series that illustrates one of the author’s current interests, taken from a locker full of interests, at a major waypoint in his life. The series sets out as a comment on retirement before focusing around language. He wonders whether he himself has the language to cope as he steps out into the wider world popularly known as ‘retirement’ – an irreversible step into a world that he has previously only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, a world in which he thinks the word ‘retirement’ to be a misnomer. He has used the medium of the blog to paint the picture. The irony is that, whereas writing about it does allow him to reflect, sitting alone at a computer actually distances him from the face-to-face interaction he is describing.

I took the following images in Teignmouth earlier this month during one of three exceptional storms to hit the UK.

When the waves swamp the very ground that we love – ground that has seemingly been there for ever, ground we have always taken for granted, should we shrug our shoulders and walk away?

Or should we look at it afresh and see it for what it is, the erosion of a fragile and valuable asset that makes a harsher world bearable?

Should we keep repairing it or should we let it go?

The tide of languages is flowing and unstoppable. In many ways it is exciting. It is evolutionary. But it is eroding the core beneath it – the relationship-base that lies at the heart of humanity.

Should we keep repairing it or should we let it go?

Whatever language we speak, it’s our choice and we have to decide . . . now.

~~~

Although it can be read as a single post, the above is part of a series that illustrates one of the author’s current interests, taken from a locker full of interests, at a major waypoint in his life. The series sets out as a comment on retirement before focusing around language. He wonders whether he himself has the language to cope as he steps out into the wider world popularly known as ‘retirement’ – an irreversible step into a world that he has previously only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, a world in which he thinks the word ‘retirement’ to be a misnomer. He has used the medium of the blog to paint the picture. The irony is that, whereas writing about it does allow him to reflect, sitting alone at a computer actually distances him from the face-to-face interaction he is describing.

Now we have reached a point where I must stand back. It is easy for me to sit at the keyboard and write assertions. I am an ex-dentist, a white, 65 years old, married Cornishman who likes boats. There are a few people in the world who fit this description but the overwhelming majority don’t. It has been my intention in these posts to paint a picture. It is my picture but I want to encourage you to take it and do whatever you can with it. For you to do this, we need a starting point – that initial rapport I mentioned earlier, and I acknowledge that the description of me above might get in the way. However . . .

~~~

There was a time before I thought about things, before I worried over the problems of daily life, before I thought things through from start to finish, before I made decisions that pushed me in one direction or another, before my knowledge, skills and attitudes such that they are affected others.

These past few weeks standing astride the rather shaky line between a life that has now finished and one that has barely started seem to warrant a reflection on a moment when my own life was raw experience, untrammeled by the education of others. Was there ever such a time? – I wonder. If I can recall it, will it make a difference? – I don’t know. But let’s try and see what happens.

First thoughts: Aged two, I did not have the language to describe this in the way I am now doing – but I did have the feelings – the beginnings of experience:

This is a sunny day.

I stand on the waters edge.

I see flashes of light sparkling on the waves

Warm sun on skin.

There are the happy sounds of people talking, laughing, shouting.

Among them are two familiar figures, my mother and father. Even though they are a little further away, it is comforting that they are there. I feel safe.

There is the sound of water too. Small waves shushing round my ankles, the splashing of happy people and below this the deeper resonance of the sea breathing in response to the wider ocean beyond. I don’t know about the wider ocean but I do hear the sound it makes.

I lick the back of my hand and taste sea-water.

I feel the sand gritty between my toes.

As the waves wash over my feet, the sand moves and I feel my feet sink gently into it.

A bigger wave breaks against me and I step back and find no sand there. I tumble backwards into a deep pool, the wave rolling me over and over. I don’t know whether I am upright or upside down. I bounce on the sand at the bottom of the pool. The water feels cold. It pushes me first one way then another.

My eyes are open and I see sand and then sky through the water. It is indistinct, wavering. There is sand swirling through the water.

My mouth is open. I swallow. Water runs into my nose. My ears are full. My arms are waving and legs kicking.

From being warm and comfortable and happy, I become instantly helpless and terrified.

I cry out but make no sound beneath the surface.

And then, as suddenly, I feel hands around me and I am lifted into the air.

My eyes sting. I cough and splutter. I hurt inside.

Water runs out of my nose, my ears.

Tears stream down my cheeks.

There is the taste of tears and the stronger taste of seawater.

My arms around a neck. My cheek on a shoulder. My cries coming back.

Soothing words. A comforting hand rubbing my back.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you are, there was a moment in your life when the raw world first touched you too. It may have been a good moment or a bad moment. The above was mine. I share it with you . . . in the greater quest for understanding.

~~~

Although it can be read as a single post, the above is part of a series that illustrates one of the author’s current interests, taken from a locker full of interests, at a major waypoint in his life. The series sets out as a comment on retirement before focusing around language. He wonders whether he himself has the language to cope as he steps out into the wider world popularly known as ‘retirement’ – an irreversible step into a world that he has previously only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, a world in which he thinks the word ‘retirement’ to be a misnomer. He has used the medium of the blog to paint the picture. The irony is that, whereas writing about it does allow him to reflect, sitting alone at a computer actually distances him from the face-to-face interaction he is describing.

In this post, I want to highlight a specific example of the negative language mentioned in the last post.

When I was a student, I was in awe of the complexity of the discipline I had undertaken. I looked at experienced practitioners and thought they were all brilliant – every one of them seemed stuffed full of the knowledge, skills and attitudes that I was aspiring to.

After I qualified and gained experience, I realised that I had been mistaken. We were not all stuffed full of all the knowledge, skills and attitudes that were open to us. Some were more skilled than others, some were very skilled at certain things and ignorant of others; while some were constantly studying, others had a more relaxed attitude.

A pattern was pointed out to me in numerical terms. It was stated that 2% of practitioners fully mastered every aspect of the profession, 8% became very adept in one part or another, 34% were students, studying hard to join the adept and the masters, and the remaining 54% practiced at a reasonable level but, for various reasons, did not wish to take their study a lot further other than the normal upgrading of current knowledge.

I’m not keen on putting numbers to this because numbers tend to imply an exact science and I am sure this is not one. However, I can illustrate the point. Take the annual London Marathon as an example. Every year some 36,000 people volunteer to run the 26 plus miles. This is a very positive group of people with a common aim.

However, if we look at the line-up at the start, we find a relatively small group of top class runners in the front row. Behind them is a bigger group of national class runners and the best of the club runners. Then come an even bigger group, the ‘students’ – the rest of the club runners and everyone who is keen to make a creditable time compared to all the good runners, i.e. they are in it for the race. Finally there is the majority – everyone else in the race for many different reasons. And there will be some stragglers who for one reason or another don’t make the course. There will be very few of the latter.

The success of the city marathons is that the language is a positive one and they involve a very wide range of people. However, it is important to their success that the best runners enter because they lift the whole field. The leaders create the space for those behind to run into.

Now, here is my concern. We are going through a period of regulation – in my example above, the stragglers – the ones who don’t match up to certain standards, are being removed from the race. If they are in a position to cause harm to others, this would seem to be a sensible aim.

However, the problem is not the regulation itself but the growth of regulatory bodies.

There are ‘stragglers’ in every walk of life and, for longer than I can remember, regulatory bodies have existed as a means of maintaining standards.  For various reasons in recent years, there  has grown the suspicion that people cannot be trusted to regulate themselves and would benefit from outside regulation – an independent committee to look into perceived problems. Not a bad idea on paper.

This was done but the newly-formed regulatory body took on a life of its own. It had the power to decide what aspects of the organisation to regulate and what form that regulation should take. Experts were consulted. Budgets were set. Software was introduced that allowed digitalisation and control. Policies, protocols and procedures were put in place. Managers were appointed. Inspectors were trained. Because there were other regulatory bodies, there was competition for more recognition, financial support and staff. PR became important to show that they were ‘fit for purpose’. Continued regulatory development meant continually changing inspection requirements and increasing imposition on those being regulated.

And suddenly here was an entirely new independent industry with a language of its own and with – ironically (although I doubt irony is their thing), the need for outside regulation to maintain its self-manufactured standards.

Unfortunately, in the caring professions at least, the language of the regulatory bodies is at odds with the language of the physician. A language that ideals with suspicion, fearfulness and dispute will inevitably be at cross-purposes with a language that is based on understanding, respect and trust. The result has been that that  the regulatory bodies have an initial benefit but then limit standards within the health professions.

Let me explain. Take the ‘marathon’ example above: rather than allowing the runners to run their own race, it is as if it has been made compulsory for everyone to run the race in four hours. An intense training regime has been imposed to do this. Yes, some people will raise their game but the ‘four-hour’ training schedule disrupts everyone else’s preparation. The best runners will lose their motivation and go elsewhere and the race loses its spark.

The problem is not the concept of regulation per se. The problem is that the very success of these outside bodies and the language they have created undermines the more constructive language involved in healing. Within the NHS, it is easy to see the language of the regulators competing with the language of business and finance, the language of the large corporation and the language of technology, all of which compete with the core language of the doctors and the nurses.

An “if you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear” attitude is counter-productive, as is the encouragement of whistle-blowing as a form of confrontation instead of an opportunity for support. Suspicion invites more suspicion, dispute more dispute.

In my opinion, however exemplary the original aim, the language of the regulatory bodies contributes more towards ours becoming a more pinch-lipped, suspicious and fearful society than towards our becoming a more understanding, respecting and trusting one.

~~~

Although it can be read as a single post, the above is part of a series that illustrates one of the author’s current interests, taken from a locker full of interests, at a major waypoint in his life. The series sets out as a comment on retirement before focusing around language. He wonders whether he himself has the language to cope as he steps out into the wider world popularly known as ‘retirement’ – an irreversible step into a world that he has previously only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, a world in which he thinks the word ‘retirement’ to be a misnomer. He has used the medium of the blog to paint the picture. The irony is that, whereas writing about it does allow him to reflect, sitting alone at a computer actually distances him from the face-to-face interaction he is describing.