Get out more!

Last week I was in Bucharest. Sometimes I travel there with a colleague, and then we will usually share an evening meal. But last week I was on my own. When that happens, normally I just sit in my room and eat in the hotel or at a fast place nearby.




But last week I forced myself to do something different. One evening I went to the city centre and had a far nicer Turkish meal for far less than I would have paid in the hotel. And I also googled concerts, and got my seat for a choir and orchestra concert at their main hall, the Athenaeum.



So on Friday evening I got in my four dollar taxi and made my way into town to use my fifteen dollar ticket, unsure what to expect. One of the main works of the programme was by a Russian called Taneyev, who I had never heard of.



The hall was full, the choir numbered a hundred and the orchestra nearly the same. The soloist and the conductor gave a lot of passion. I loved the piece I did not know, a cantata of St John of Damascus which I now look up is also known as a Russian Requiem. I loved the whole show.



Then afterwards, the show had started early, so I needed to eat something. I started walking vaguely towards the centre. I almost entered the lowest common denominator, Pizza Hut, just what I would normally do alone and in a hurry, but luckily it looked very busy so I walked on.



Then I came to a Christmas market in university Square. It turned out as tacky as most Christmas markets, and I am certainly not a shopper, but was still an experience, with something for all the senses and a beautiful surrounding. I ended up eating a local seasonal speciality, dough rolled on an outsize rolling pin which is then barbecued and dipped in cinnamon or sugar or nuts. And of course I had a glass of hot wine, which of course was worse than mediocre, but still I got home happy.



I drew three lessons from my unexpected Friday night, one about being active and two about humility.



The one about being active was the most obvious. How much effort did this evening cost me? How much money? I had a delightful time, even on my own, just because I opened my senses and put in a tiny bit of effort. It is clear that the world is a wonderful place and much of it is available to us, yet we plough our narrow, narrow furrows most of the time. We should all get out more! This applies at home as well as away, and doesn’t need anything as dramatic as a night out in an unfamiliar city. Why do I never talk to my neighbour on a plane? Why do I always choose familiar food? Get out more, Graham!



Answering my own questions leads me to the second great lesson from Friday. One reason we stick with the familiar is that we arrogantly assume we know so much about the world that we haven’t got much to learn from or delight in. We don’t reach out to people because we assume we have nothing in common, or worse, that somehow other people are beneath us in some way.



How many times have I had to learn this lesson, and how many times have I just discarded or forgotten it? People always have the capacity to surprise. Romanians can sing beautifully. Composers I have never heard of can write masterpieces (and this is from a familiar genre and culture, what might I be missing from Africa or India?). The most neglected city has wonderful hidden gems somewhere. Traditions can often delight.



Three years ago I joined a specific self-help group for a time, a group which did me a lot of good. Many of the other attendees were quite desperate in different ways, and few had had the benefit of much education or the chance to amass any wealth. One day I was at a meeting with just two of us. I was a bit disappointed because I had a particular dilemma to raise and had hoped for a bigger crowd, while this particular lady I had always discarded as rather dull. I raised the dilemma anyway, with modest expectations. And this lady said three or four things that were as profound as anything I had ever heard, mature, relevant, empathetic. I cannot even remember the dilemma or its solution now, but I remember the lesson that many people have great depths if we can only seek them out. It was one of the most humbling experiences of my whole life – though I wish somehow I didn’t keep making the same mistakes again.



The third lesson is about humility in a different way and came from some thoughts spinning through my head during the evening. As often happens, a moment worked like a bolt, shooting my mind to a memory. The Christmas market sent me to Montreux, and the last time I had been at such a market, and many happy memories of that time. One piece of Rachmaninov reminded me of another, and a moment in my twenties on a plane to a new life with that music in my ipod (or Walkman back then, more likely). Memories are often jogged that way for me.



This concert was probably enjoyed in as many ways as there were people in the theatre, with different memories jogged. Some people may have had a bad day at work, or been stuck in traffic. Others may have enjoyed a compliment, or a hug. Some will have tired, others wide awake. For everyone, the experience will have unique.



Then go wider. There are seven billion humans, all with memories to trigger and hinterlands to be explored. Each of us is made of countless cells that somehow divided when they were supposed to. The Athaneum has a circular mural which I think showed the history of Bucharest – how many people’s lives have been affected? Many in audience will have also been there in Caecescu’s time. So might the homeless people outside. I noticed a young couple on a first date. Flowers laid by a statue recalling the events of 1989. Looking up, I see stars and galaxies.



How utterly bewildering the universe is. How many dimensions of unfathomable scale interact to create history, present and future?



This does not necessarily make me believe in a God. What it does do is make me believe in my own smallness, in the smallness of all of us. We know nothing, yet we muddle along and stuff happens.



I love this thought. It leaves room for wonder and delight and joy. It leaves incalculable space to learn. It leaves reason to hope. But it also helps humility. Whenever I think I know something, or even that collective we know something, I can think about nights like this and realise how little we do know.



That leads to a good sense of exploration, but also a good sense of caution. How can any human make definitive remarks about something like climate change, or something like the limits of the human mind? We are taught to try to be definitive, and to value certainty. We seem to need our politicians and scientists and business leaders and bosses to reassure us, so that is what they try to do. They simplify. But then we believe the simplification, and that makes us too sure, and too arrogant, and stops us listening and observing and learning. And that is how cataclysm might arise. Who can possibly be sure that the complex changes man wreaks on a planet will not end in our destruction? No-one can. Surely we need to start taking out a planet insurance policy?



So, three great lessons from one solitary night. And some good music and barbecued bread too. I must get out more.