Haruki Murakami

Decline

December 2

Just as I have my own role to play, so does time. And time does its job much more faithfully, much more accurately, than I ever do. Ever since time began (when was that, I wonder?), it’s been moving ever forward without a moment’s rest. And one of the privileges given to those who’ve avoided dying young is the blessed right to grow old. The honor of physical decline is waiting, and you have to get used to that reality.

~ Haruki Murakami

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I arrange my thoughts

November 14, 2023

[A]s I write I think about all sorts of things. I don’t necessarily write down what I’m thinking; It’s just that as I write I think about things. As I write, I arrange my thoughts. And rewriting and revising takes my thinking down even deeper paths. No matter how much I write, though, I never reach a conclusion. And no matter how much I rewrite, I never reach the destination. Even after decades of writing, the same still holds true.

~ Haruki Murakami

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Insignificance

November 3, 2023

The end of the race is just a temporary marker without much significance. It’s the same with our lives. Just because there’s an end doesn’t mean existence has meaning. An end point is simply set up as a temporary marker, or perhaps as an indirect metaphor for the fleeting nature of existence. It’s very philosophical—not that at this point I’m thinking how philosophical it is. I just vaguely experience this idea, not with words, but as a physical sensation.

~ Haruki Murakami

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Exerting yourself

October 24, 2023

Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: That’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life—and for me, for writing as well. I believe many runners would agree.

~ Haruki Murakami

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I am not a runner

September 25, 2023

I’m lately fascinated by the distinction between when I’m using an activity as a part of my identity (“I am a runner”) versus pointing out that I do an activity (“I run”). This sort of nit matters to me, because the nature of self-identity matters to me. If I am a runner, but then for whatever reason I don’t run… what then am I? What fascinates me isn’t the specific verbs, but rather: What actually am I? This locks me up thinking for long periods. I write. I run. I climb. I jump. Yes, but, what am I?

I look up at the sky, wondering if I’ll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don’t. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn’t be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature.

~ Haruki Murakami from, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

I enjoyed reading Murakami’s essays. Particularly because I run poorly, I wanted to know what he talks about when he talks about running. In fact, he does talk a great deal about literally running, in addition to the larger perspectives on his life for which everyone loves the book.

But one thing is for sure: I run. But I am not a runner.

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If this isn’t fun

June 16, 2023

If this isn’t fun, what would be? Because at this point, I don’t have any excuses for doing anything which isn’t simply, directly enjoyable. I don’t mean that I’m going to be petulant, and rage-quite taking out the trash and dealing with drains. I mean that upon careful inspection there isn’t anything which can’t be simply, directly enjoyable in the moment.

One rule of thumb is to ask yourself, “Am I having a good time doing this?” If you’re not enjoying yourself when you’re engaged in what seems important to you, if you can’t find spontaneous pleasure and joy in it, then there’s likely something wrong. When that happens, you have to go back to the beginning and start discarding any extraneous parts or unnatural elements.

~ Haruki Murakami from, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/nov/05/i-want-to-open-a-window-in-their-souls-haruki-murakami-on-the-power-of-writing-simply

The other day I spent an entire day stacking firewood. It’s a lot of work; but it’s not really that hard. I’d load the wheelbarrow (which is kneeling, squatting or stooping labor), run it to the stacks, stack stack stack. Repeat. After a few trips, I’d retire to the patio and combine some relaxing with some digital work. The parts where I managed to be aware of what I was doing—the sounds, smells, sights, and visceral sensations of hard work—it was definitely enjoyable. Most likely because I find the results of the effort (a warm fire in cold winter) meaningful. It’s any time the meaning seems to be missing that I find I get into trouble.

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