24 Tiny Big Things From 2024
It’s been one hell of a year. There are so many stories we could tell. This list hints at one human’s story of the year, but it won't tell the quadzillionth of it.
Happy Tree Skeletons and Sky!
And a warm welcome from the last rites of 2024 — treasure the ritual because this year won’t come round again for a veeeeery long time.
While we all wait for Poincaré Recurrence Theorem, Loop Quantum Gravity, Hindu and Buddhist Kalpa or Penrose’s Conformal Cyclic Cosmology to work themselves out, here’s one last newsletter written by me — hello!
For those of you new around these parts, welcome 👋 My name is David and I’m a writer, outdoor instructor, cyclist-at-large with Thighs of Steel and Expeditions Manager at British Exploring Society.
In this newsletter, I write stories that help you and me understand the cosmos (and ourselves) a little better.
Sometimes I try to make sense of the year by compiling a list of things I’ve learned and — well spotted! — this is that list.
24 Tiny Big Things From ‘24
1. 86 Stories of Progress from 2024
As ever, the Fix The News annual roundup is essential reading. Here are three stories that caught my mind, two with vast global impact and one encouragingly local:
‘For the first time, the elimination of a cancer is within our reach.’ 😮
and…
The pace of [solar energy] deployment has become almost unfathomable — in 2010, it took a month to install a gigawatt, by 2016, a week, and in 2024, just 12 hours. […] The International Energy Agency said that the pace of deployment is now ahead of the trajectory required for net zero by 2050. 😎
and…
The Mersey River, dubbed the ‘greatest river recovery in Europe,’ continued to thrive with 45 different kinds of fish recorded, triple the amount from 2002. 🧜♀️
Oh shucks. I can’t resist adding a fourth:
Australia became the first country this year to ban social media for children under the age of 16, and next year France will become the first country to ban phones at school for children under the age of 15 nationwide. 📵
Honestly. There is so much to unpack in these 86 stories. Do yourself a favour.
If your eyeballs can’t handle so much progress all at once, then you can passively absorb the good good through your two earholes on The Good News You Missed In 2024 podcast.
2. Osteopaths are great.
I spent about two months of 2024 convinced that I had arthritis. I couldn’t walk on my left ankle, which was a bit of a shame for a qualified walk leader.
Despite its origins in pseudoscience, one osteopathy appointment at the Rebalance Clinic changed everything.
After asking about a million diagnostic questions, James got stuck in (literally) with needles, ultrasound, lasers, massage gun, fists and elbows. It sounds violent, but I spent the whole hour in fits of giggles.
Most importantly, I was back walking within days and the inflammation had all but disappeared by the time of my follow-up appointment two weeks later.
Bonus: if you have a proper injury, then ice packs are worth the investment. A simple velcro strap made all the difference to me. Frozen peas are for amateurs.
3. I'm addicted to courses (and external validation).
This year, I took three courses, most notably my Wilderness Therpeutic Interventions training, but also my Gold National Navigation Award and a day course in transforming conflict through Non-Violent Communication.
Three per year is actually quite a low hit-rate for me, courses wise.
Next year, I’ve already got my eye on four courses or qualifications: Wilderness First Responder, Level 3 Foundational Ethnobotany, Hill and Moorland Leader, and further training in transforming conflict.
There is no doubt that learning energises me, but I’m concerned about my need for external validation. I am vulnerable to mistake grades, approval and qualifications for learning or accomplishment.
For example: my brain is secretly hoping that next year’s Foundational Ethnobotany course will be as simple as a data download on my phone.
Like in the Matrix, I’ll upgrade my operating system with a new app that will be able to identify and prepare foraged food and medicines. I only need to pay for the training and get plugged in.
My rational self knows that won’t happen. Brains learn things through sustained focus and repetition. I could learn ethnobotany the way most people do: practice.
Still: I’m REALLY excited to learn from one of the UK’s most knowledgable foragers next year!
And, in fairness, I’ve been building my knowledge to forage throughout 2024.
4. My ‘Paradigm Shift’ Book of the Year
I love reading books. I love the ‘forced meditation’. I love the sustained connection with another human mind. I love the softness of the page, respite from the harsh eyepound of my screens. I love new angles on things I’d never noticed. I love the places I’ve never been and the characters I’ve never met.
I love the beginning and — days, weeks or months later — I love The End.
So here’s the first of seven books on this list, the winnner of my Paradigm Shift Book of the Year —
Humankind by Rutger Bregman (2020)
tl;dr: Humans are good people: the case for the defence.
5. ChatGPT diagnosed my rye bread failures.
This year, I had really inconsistent results with my sourdough rye until I worked with ChatGPT to diagnose, fix and understand the recipe.
A lot is said about A.I., but it has proved an effective replacement for a master-apprentice relationship in this one, admittedly quite niche, case.
For those interested, the solutions were:
Buy a bread thermometer probe and bake the loaf until the centre hits 100C.
Carve slashes into the surface of the loaf before baking.
6. Note to self: dancing to live music is great.
I can count the number of gigs I went to in 2024 on the fingers of one hand that has been involved in a nasty carpentry accident.
Next year, I would like to barely count them on the fingers of both, ideally fully digitised, hands.
7. My ‘Fix Your Brain’ Book of The Year
Unwinding Anxiety by Judson Brewer (2020)
tl;dr: Anxiety is a habit; break the loop with mindfulness.
See Procrastination Doesn’t Work for one of the ways this book helped me in 2024.
8. Greek salads are super yum.
Key ingredients: lashings of olive oil and oregano and a whole slab of Greek feta.
9. I sleep much bettter than I thought I did.
In July, I bought an Oura ring — a screenless wearable device that gives me a stupid amount of biometric data on my physical activity and sleep.
Thrillingly for someone addicted to grades, the Oura scores my sleep out of 100 every night. And I can print out a GRAPH, look —
As you can see, my average is 88, which Oura classifies as ‘Optimal’. I’m SO PROUD.
When people ask me whether the Oura was worth buying, this is the first thing I say: ‘It’s showed me that I sleep much better than I thought I did.’
As you can see, despite having a couple of bad nights every month or so, my sleep is rock solid.
A lot of people think they’re bad sleepers when in fact they sleep really well. I am not in that group any more. I sleep darned well, all things considered.
The Oura was worth the money on that score alone. But does that mean I’ll keep wearing it into 2025? Maybe not.
Sometimes collecting biometric data leads to good outcomes: having a benchmark of my physical activity means that I can work to increase it and then see the results on a pretty graph. Yay me!
(I’m aware now that I’ve been sitting here in this chair writing for a couple of hours — the Oura won’t be happy. I should move.)
On the flip side, we know that grades are not a good thing. Extrinsic rewards like this drain the joy from chosing challenge.
Do I sleep better for wearing an Oura ring? No — but I have learned that I sleep well.
Do I walk more? Perhaps. It certainly encourages me to move, to make the Oura’s activity goals and boost my activity grade.
But there are better questions:
Do I enjoy my walks more for having the Oura and its activity grades? No.
Has the Oura made me joyless?
How long will it take my brain to recover once I stop wearing it?
10. Mortality is a good thing?
How would you like to feel, in your mind, in your body, at the moment of death?
As advised by Geshe Tenzin Namdak, I’ve been using the dark minutes before sleep as a rehearsal.
Sleep as death; dream state as transcendence; waking as rebirth. I’ve found it puts any pettyfogging worries to rest and quiets the mind. Sleep comes more easily to those who surrender.
Having said that, aging is a bitch, isn’t it? What if I never cycle across a continent again? What if I never live beside the sea again? What if I never write that novel?
I get the whole Buddhist death thing, but I’m still not sure what I’d say if you offered me eternal youth.
Just like everyone, I am of the nature to age. I have not gone beyond ageing.
Read more about why the Donkey Is Not A Tiger.
11. I did 91 Days of Adventure.
That’s 20 fewer than 2023, but not at all bad considering I lost two months to injury and got a full time office job.
12. I am David, Eagle of the Skies.
The eagle is watchful. The eagle sees all. Nothing happens without the eagle knowing.
Sounds creepy when you put it like that.
Detraumatise yourself with this wind meditation:
On a day with a gentle wind, go to the woods. If you don’t have any convenient woods near you, find a tree in a quiet corner of a garden or public park.
Lie down on the ground (don’t worry, it’s only for a couple of minutes). If you can’t lie down, then please sit down or lean up against a tree.
Look up at the tree tops. Notice what you notice. Notice how the wind sways the treetops. Listen to the wind as it moves through the branches and leaves.
Take a deep breath in. As you slowly exhale, mimic with your breath the sound of the wind. Do this for a few rounds of breath: inhale, slow exhale like the wind.
Ponder for a moment: the wind that blows through the treetops is the same air that you are breathing. You are part of nature.
13. My ‘Fix Your Relationships’ Book of the Year
High Conflict by Amanda Ripley (2021)
tl;dr: High conflict hijacks our brains; how to escape the trap.
Read more here; listen more here.
14. My CAT phone might not reduce my screen time…
But it does add a disruptive layer of mindfulness. Highly recommended. Read more here — or just go right ahead and Delete The Internet. (👈 Second most popular newsletter from 2024.)
Nothing bad will happen.
15. My ‘Jeez This’ll Really Stay With You’ Novel of the Year
Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver (2022)
tl;dr: Chemical romance epic; Dickens for the OxyContin generation.
16. Hot tubs are amazing.
Completely against the run of play, 2024 was the year of the hot tub. They are amazing. New life goal: an outdoor bath tub.
17. Stupid = Good
I need to remind myself of my own 7 Little Ways To Stay Stupid:
Start from where you are
Stay present
Stay connected to yourself, other people, your surroundings, or whatever you’re doing
Stay curious: ignorance is a helpful signpost
Say something out loud to someone (then listen)
Take your ‘little voice’ by the hand and explore together
Take the first step, then take it piece by piece
18. My ‘Atmospheric’ Novel of the Year
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett (2001)
tl;dr: Tender and taut.
19. Crypto is going crazy and I’ve made some money.
And I can’t decide whether it’s good that at least some normal people are profiting from the kakistocracy, or if I’m part of the problem. Please don’t tell me.
20. Adventure isn't adventure if you already know the outcome.
This is an echo of previous entries:
Smartphone mapping makes it too easy to know the outcome of an adventure.
The Oura ring urges me to race through a hike, to not get lost, to get through my steps as efficiently as possible.
But that’s not adventure. Once this newsletter is done, I’m going to spend the last of the daylight lying in a treetop. That’s adventure.
And, every now and again, it’s good to add the chaos of random chance to my life. (👈 The most popular newsletter from 2024.)
21. Full time work is hard.
The commute is a grind — or it would be if I didn’t cycle.
One of my promises to myself when I started was that I would never use the underground for work. I’ve kept that promise.
Since August, I reckon I’ve cycled about 810km to and from work, saving over £260 in the process.
That’s the same distance as riding from London to Edinburgh — and enough dosh to pay myself back for buying that Oura ring 😂
22. My ‘Glorious Nature’ Book of the Year
Goshawk Summer by James Aldred (2021)
tl;dr: A cameraman sits in a tree during a pandemic.
As good with words as he is with film, James Aldred artfully captures the vulnerability of goshawks chicks as they hatch and fledge — but it’s the territorial vigilance of their fearsome mother that comes through most powerfully.
As a reader, I feel like I’m being watched: one false move and she would show no mercy tearing me to shreds, talons ripping viciously through the pages.
See Iolair Nan Speur: Eagle of the Skies for more on my fascination with raptors.
23. I've gained weight this year.
Over the course of about six hours, I seem to have jumped the scales from a lean 66kg to a vaguely bloated 71kg. And I’ve stayed there all year. Weird.
I have no explanation except my body suddenly realising that it’s middle aged, or perhaps the couple of months I spent weightlifting.
Who knows? Who, really, cares?
24. My ‘Understanding Israel’ Book of the Year
A Day In The Life of Abed Salama by Nathan Thrall (2024)
tl;dr: The humanity and tragedy of daily life in an open prison.
It’s been one hell of a year. There are so many stories we could tell. This list has hinted at one human’s story of the year, but it doesn’t tell the quadzillionth of it.
Whereever you look, humanity and tragedy abound. Through one angle you see this; tilt the mirror and you see the other.
Perhaps we’re all playing our part in the Poincaré Recurrence Theorem. Perhaps it’s time to go back to the 86 Stories of Progress from 2024. 😜
Right — we’re done here. I’m off to the Forest treetops. Have a wonderful evening and I wish you wild blessings for the year ahead.
FINALLY: Thank You 💚
Huge thanks to all the paying subscribers who helped make this year possible. You know who you are. Thank you. 💚
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As always, thank you for your eyeballs and thanks for your support.
diwyc,
dc:
Thank you, as ever. Well not always, sometimes I'm not in the mood to read your things, but I'm glad I did today. Reading about your things reminds me that some of my things are not objectively as poo as the story I tell about them when I'm feeling rubbish. I went for a really long walk a couple of days ago, and got a bit lost in a field. Nearly fell in a stream. It was lovely. Also I had nearly a whole week before Christmas of horrid throat and head pain, that turned out to be referred pain from the scalene muscles in my neck, and I massaged it better myself. MYSELF. WITH MY THUMBS. Also I passed my third wine exam, played my first professional concert, donated a shit ton of clothes to charity and discovered some of the suburbs of Johannesburg on a bicycle. I've been journaling quite a lot, especially when I can't sleep, or have had too many inputs (from the phone). And then, having read Atomic Habits, I've finally got back into daily meditation, limited screen time, and I've even making my bed. I'm not feeling all that satisfied, and I suspect there's going to be some project I'll have to throw myself into shortly, because I've met myself. But maybe that's a good thing.
From that perspective, it's not been bad. But as I accidentally go a bit blind, sitting at my kitchen table watching the sun disappear behind the Mountain of the Moon (that's the name of the one in Sintra with a silly 19th century palace on top) for the last time this year I realise, for the millionth time, that everything external only ever really reflects my internal state.
There. That's my response to your thing. I love you, please keep being David Charles, I assume that's not too much of an ask.
Andrew