My Amateurish Ideals

What I hope to achieve with my writing

I met Craig in Keurboom Park for a Saturday morning trundle with the two kids in prams and a dog. “Frances frisked me before I left, to see that I wasn’t taking beers out the house saying: ‘I know what you and Nic get up to on your walks in the park!’, so I brought some coffee…” This is how Craig starts conversations. 

He said he enjoyed my essay, The What Do You Do Game, which he followed swiftly with “What’s your plan for your writing?” This was a question I’d thought about, but hadn’t been forced to articulate first thing in the morning: I took a long sip of my coffee.

I didn’t have a fully formed plan: I write for enjoyment’s sake, it helps me think clearly and a writing habit provides a nice lens to view the world through. When I described writing as a “high leverage activity”, I immediately regretted bringing such corporate-speak into this Saturday morning. “Not in front of the children!” he said, and then we laughed. 

By the time the weekend comes around, many of my friends wouldn’t choose to spend more time hovering over a keyboard. But tinkering with words, phrases and ideas feels like play to me, and the voice inside my head has become more positive and kind as a result.

The thing that has surprised me most, though, is how publishing my writing online has helped me feel more connected, and has improved several of my most treasured relationships. When you put a piece of yourself online, you make it easy for people to reach out and support you, and I’ve been inspired by these dialogues.

Isn’t that a lovely outcome? I’ve hardly been prolific with ten posts under my belt, but publishing as many pieces of writing in the past two months as I had in the previous decade is something I’m proud of. 

As we walked across the fields of the local boys’ school I attended, I thought back to the times in my life that the voices inside my head weren't so kind. There were few things that upset me more than listening to the cricket coach reading out the names of the team, and not hearing mine — I could even spot one of the places I once sat with a lump in my throat, fighting back the tears. I beat myself up for not putting in the work.

Craig and I watched men in their fifties in their cricketing whites warming up and bowling little tweakers. I remembered quitting the sport in a huff at the age of fifteen, disillusioned with the powers-that-be’s selection policies, but mostly with myself. Is there a better reminder of the short-term thinking of a teenager, than seeing middle-aged men, playing their favourite sport - your old favourite sport - three to four decades after finishing school?

I have two very talented brothers and my desire to match their achievements often trumped playing for enjoyment’s sake. We were just kids, playing a few games of ball and what should have been light fun, carried the weight of a more professional endeavour. Funnily enough, I knew of a boy that was incentivised R50 per try he scored — swiftly bringing the amateur era of schoolboy rugby to an end.

In What Sport Tells Us About Life, Ed Smith writes: “A century ago ‘amateur’ was a compliment to someone who played sport simply for the love of it - it is derived, after all, from the Latin for ‘to love’.” Smith laments the loss of the virtues of amateurism in the overly professionalised world of sport. He discusses how mavericks like Wayne Rooney and Kevin Pietersen, who were able to play in the spirit of the amateur — both with joy and without fear of consequence — are in the minority.

We use ‘amateurish’ as a synonym for sloppy and incompetent behaviour and my favourite, “amateur hour”, to describe a time where a lack of skill, ability, or performance is displayed. What a shame! Is there any better reason to take an interest in developing a skill than for the love of it? 

Man of few words that he was, it was Charlie Chaplin that said: “That’s all we are — amateurs; we don’t live long enough to be anything else.”

There’s a fascinating clip of Jordan Peterson on The Joe Rogan Experience describing how to explain to your children the virtues of being a good sport, win or lose. It’s about developing character, and forming a strategy that allows you to win over the long-term. This only works by playing well with others, collaborating and being reciprocal. If you are fun to play with, other kids will line up to play with you, and you will likely win the largest number of games, across the longest span of time. 

My wife, Jules, has a lovely aunt that reminds me of this ethic. Jane Rafferty still takes her tennis racquet, shoes and balls on just about every holiday she goes on, keen to get a quick game in with whoever’s able and willing. I wonder how often she thinks about who was top of the tennis ladder at school, or what team she played for at her University. I’ve never even thought to ask her. Her love for the game is so infectious and I always hope that I get to play as her doubles partner.

So maybe I did have a plan for my writing after all. To maintain the amateur ideal of writing purely for the love of it, with the hope that one day I’ll be the old man on holiday, armed with a notebook and pen, working on a story about a walk with an old friend.

📸 by Annie Bisset