Totally Eclipsed

I was always a runner. A one hundred metre sprinter, or two hundred at a stretch. That short, sharp thrust off the blocks and burst of energy, unleashed with such explosive force then burning out in less time than it took to stand up and scratch yourself. Anything longer than that and I was done. 

Throughout primary and the early years of high school, athletics proved to be one activity I not only enjoyed, but in which I excelled. Blue and red ribbons came my way, which might not sound much in terms of reward for all that effort, but they indicated I was up there with the best, albeit at a very local level. The breadth of competition might have been comparatively small, but it wasn’t until a new arrival at my high school during my senior years, that my dominance in the running stakes was really challenged. 

There was a new kid on the block, two or three years my junior, but this unknown soon proved that she was much farther up the athletics achievement ladder than I would ever climb. I’m just over five foot one on the old measuring scale. Standing next to this amazon woman, or rather amazon girl, for she was only about fourteen at the time, her never-ending legs felt like they came up to my shoulders and I was staring at her belly button. I was a little squirt compared to her, running flat out like a hamster on a treadmill while she strode like a gazelle on the African plains.

I soon discovered she was a State high jump champion for her age, and no slouch on the track either. No amount of natural talent or training was going to help me surpass what was evident from the first moment she set foot on the track. There was no point in getting my knickers in a knot about it. I hadn’t a hope, but as it turned out there was a silver lining to the cloud looming to rain on my parade. 

Anger may bring extra energy, but it eclipses the best part of our brain: its rationality.

                   Dalai Lama

The school structure of ‘house teams’ for intra-school competition was in my favour, for as it turns out she was allocated to my house. We were competitors during the heats, and despite the fact she totally eclipsed me both in track and field events, we were in the fortunate position of placing first and second in the finals, garnering those precious points to boost our house’s attempt to win the pennant. 

The phenomenon of the total eclipse of the Super Blood Moon this past week was fascinating to watch. I was just as excited watching the moon rise as I was by the eclipse several hours later, for our night light rose large and glorious, heralding what was yet to come. Earth’s shadow gradually encroached on the moon’s radiance, and as the moon was eclipsed, it was then that the russet red colour came into its own in a stark black sky of brilliant stars. The sun, earth and moon have to align to create such a spectacle, whether it be lunar or solar. One overshadows the other, and we watch with delight as the process unfolds. 

As with my short-lived athletic prowess, I became the lesser light, and my team mate came to the fore and shone in spectacular fashion. I’d been dethroned, but by working together we became formidable allies. In the long run, it didn’t matter that I was overshadowed in this one aspect of my life. There would be other dreams to pursue, and it gave me the freedom to enjoy watching her excel and go on to reach her full potential in her own athletics career.

Actor Amy Landecker put it well when she said: You don’t want your personality to eclipse your work, because no one would be interested in seeing your work anymore.

None of us appreciate a poor loser, or those once dominant now past their prime, clinging to previous glories and bemoaning the rise of another to take their place. We can be caught up in the excitement and celebration of competition in whatever field of endeavour, but genuine grace and humility in victory as well as defeat is something we applaud. To receive recognition, to be in the spotlight, no matter how fleeting, is a privilege, but also carries with it a responsibility and expectation some have found to be a burden. 

Most of us can only aspire to such moments. The Olympic dreams of my childhood went out the door when I realised the simple joy of running was not going to get me there. In the end, I became the reliable middle-of-the-road athlete, making up the numbers for the relay, which didn’t really phase me for I loved the drama of relays. I would urge my team mates to practice baton changes over and over again, not allowing anyone to leave it to chance on the day, and then to top it off, I’d run the first bend which no one else wanted, for doing a crouch start with a baton in your hand could also be fraught with disaster.

Being eclipsed doesn’t have to be a drawback. We may have to put aside some of our dreams along the way, but even so, our best efforts will be noticed and appreciated by someone, even if we never hear about it. We may not find ourselves the centre of attention, but neither should we feel overshadowed by everyone and everything around us. 

Lost in the World of Books

I simply cannot imagine life without the joy of reading. The world of books, or rather the umpteen worlds, were opened to me from a very early age. The Famous Five and Secret Seven of Enid Blyton’s imagination accompanied me throughout my English childhood, appealing to my inner tomboy, justifying my dislike for anything ‘girlie’ and feeding my love of billycarts, climbing trees, homemade bows and arrows and the adventures that followed in the wake of such pursuits.

Just like walking into a movie theatre, I have no trouble in suspending reality for a time while I immerse myself in a world of someone else’s making, experiencing the ups and downs of the characters’ lives in the hope that a beneficial resolution will be reached before the final page or closing scene. A story is not simply several thousand words poured out of someone’s brain, but an entry point.

When I open a book and find dialogue, it’s a stark reminder that there are going to be people in there.

                      Sue Hepworth/Jane Linfoot  -  Plotting for Beginners

We become invested in the joys and challenges these characters experience, the twists and turns of plots as disaster looms. If it were not so, the Harry Potter books would not have caused such a stir and resulted in a resurgence of reading amongst the younger population, and no one would be binge watching such series as Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead.

I value my personal library, not for its monetary worth, but for the breadth and depth of creativity that has brought me so much delight as their many characters and settings are brought to life. Nothing gives me more pleasure than spending an hour or so in my favourite second-hand bookshop stocking up, especially at this time of year when an afternoon in front of the fire is just begging for a good book. There is always a sense of anticipation as I approach the beginning of each one. 

Funnily enough, I have always found the practice of searching out a first edition and the monetary value attached to such a book a strange phenomenon. A writer writes because he or she desires to do so, or is compelled to do so, not by some outside influence, though no doubt some publishers or editors or agents have turned on the screws to make their money-making charges get moving to meet their deadlines. The inner compulsion to get what is in one’s head and heart transferred on to the page has been raging since time immemorial. The writer writes because there is a story to be written, or a poem, a play, an essay, a conglomeration of ideas waiting to be gathered and put together in such a way that not only the author is satisfied, but those who read it are equally gratified or inspired. To complete a book and see it published must be a wonderful feeling, something I have never managed to achieve, but I doubt authors, even of the calibre of Dickens and Shakespeare, would see the point in their very first volumes hot off the press of whatever masterpiece, being so highly valued over those published in subsequent print runs. No matter when the book is published, the story remains the same.

The great thing about books was the solidity of the written word. You might change and your reading might change as a result, but the book remained whatever it had always been.

                            Karen Joy Fowler  -  The Jane Austen Book Club

At a market many years ago I found four volumes of Myths and Legends – Classic, Celtic, Teutonic, and Egyptian. Paying $10 for the lot, I expect I could increase my investment a few times over should I wish to sell them, but they won’t be going anywhere any time soon. With their pale green hard covers sporting black and gold lettering and symbols, plus coloured and monochrome illustrated plates, they are a joy to hold, but for me that is not where their value lies. They were written in order to be read. All published more than a hundred years ago, I have no idea how old the volumes I have actually are, but they will become part of my inheritance, that’s for sure. 

The written word will never cease to enthral, entertain, challenge and inspire me, in whatever form it comes, but the pleasure of holding a book, turning the pages, reluctantly slipping in a bookmark as I put it on the bedside table at night, waiting for where the next chapter will take us all on this journey together, who could resist such an invitation. No matter when a book is read and by how many, the story is fresh and new each time, for each person’s reading of it brings it to life yet again. The characters are awoken. It is opening night and the actors are released on to the stage for the first time, and no matter how many might be aware of the ending, in that moment, for that person curled up on the couch, book in hand, the story is yet to unfold.