We live in a constructed world

I wonder how you grew up.

Were your parents strict or lenient? Did they believe in God, or a better future, or the power of the mind? Were they private, or participants in public life? Introverted or extraverted?

Whatever your background, you will view this site differently. We all, from birth, assemble our ideas of what the world is like. We discuss, learn and teach others in an attempt to bring our ‘constructed meanings’ into alignment with those of others, and with reality.

I earn my living by assembling words and images in ways that convey information and, perhaps, encourage action. You can find some of my constructions here.

Who am I?

Hugh Todd writes and designs in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, Australia.

Upheavals

This has been a strange year.

In Queensland, floods have covered areas the size of European countries. A humungous typhoon smashed into the coast — fortunately in between major population centres.

The people of the Middle East, starting in Tunisia, set about deposing their despots; some seemingly successfully, others not — at least so far.

We were in a car in Christchurch when the earthquake hit. My quiet, steady home town smashed, its CBD still not open for business.

Then Japan.

Then an old friend diagnosed with advanced cancer. Another who lost his bid for custody after his wife left him for another bloke.

The 16 year Labor government here in NSW was tossed out with unmatched vehemence.

So many upheavals. The superstitious part of me sometimes whispers, ‘What next, and when is it coming for you?

All I know is that life is flux, that when we lose faith in the meaning we have constructed, we adjust or reconstruct it to enable ourselves to live with the new realities. We can’t help ourselves.

What makes the difference is the meaning we build or adopt.

Years ago, in a place where life was hard, I observed that some people had become untrusting and predatory while others become shining lights — their honesty, joyfulness, humour and love all the more remarkable when set against their difficult circumstances.

And these were not people with back-up resources, whether private or governmental.

They still inspire me, those old friends, living on borrowed land, badly paid, sometimes without enough to eat. Yet their love for each other, their faith, their gentleness and generosity of spirit sustained them — and me, the stranger they made welcome.

Many times I have let pressures get to me, when I have backed away, or gone into myself, or taken umbrage. I’d like to think I can find a way to walk with the grace and poise of those old friends, so that I can pass on hope and love and life to others, whether or not things are good for me.