Pushing the Wave 2023: A transformational year

When I look back on the creation of Pushing the Wave 2023—my latest collection from these pages, to be published in September this year—my enduring sense from that year is one of transformation, both for me and for the Thoughts and Pieces section of this website.

It wasn’t simply that I posted much more content than in previous years, although I certainly did, or that the scope of the writing expanded as my confidence in writing a weekly column grew, although that, too, is undeniably the case. Rather, what made 2023 so remarkable for me and my output was a shift in ambition, underpinned by a far stronger willingness to engage both with myself and the outside world; to push myself; to test myself, even; and to offer readers something more personal, more varied and, I hope, more resonant.

The breadth of what I covered during 2023 seems, in some ways, surprising even to me. There were, of course, many more recipes: improvisational, heartfelt, and practical, born from the needs of hungry mouths and requirements of busy evenings, albeit with the aim always to nourish body and spirit. But there was also the launch of new article series, most notably my ongoing love affair with ferries (starting here), those sturdy, magnificent workhorses that traverse not just the open seas but, for me, the boundary between the everyday and the remarkable.

Beyond these lighter and more playful explorations, 2023 marked a turn toward greater personal depth. I wrote with increasing openness about subjects that have long been circling in my thoughts and previously did not have the confidence to explore: the shifting role of religion in society and how we respond to that and our ongoing need for spiritual and pastoral care; the promise, the peril and the existential threats presented by artificial intelligence; the breathtaking adoption of electric transport, which can, and in some cases has, run counter to all sense of logic; the way in which we conveniently duck our collective responsibility when a predator is found to have exploited a complicit cultural milieu to abuse; and the murky, sometimes disturbing, intersections between conspiracy theories and the alternative health movement.

These weren’t just intellectual exercises for me; they were attempts to understand where we are going as a culture, as a society and as individuals. Above all, I kept returning to what I see as one of the defining challenges of our time: the steady decline of liberty since the end of the 20th century. It is a theme I return to again and again in my columns, not because I want to dwell in pessimism, but because I believe naming the problem is the first step toward confronting it; and confront it we must if we are to address the widespread and understandable sense of disenfranchisement and isolation that haunt the lives of many millions of people, not just all around the globe but in every city and community in which we live.

Yet the year was not all heavy topics and cultural critique. There were moments of joy, of whimsy and of rediscovery. I wrote about the ebb and flow of my passion for books, reflecting on the simple yet profound pleasure of returning to old favourites and stumbling across new ones. I delved into the world of a neglected English composer from the early 20th century, whose work, I believe, deserves far more attention. I shared thoughts on landmark exhibitions (here and here) I was lucky enough to catch during my travels, when art, place and memory collided in unexpectedly powerful ways, and I reflected on how the changing of the seasons can unearth experiences from our past that can enrich the present. I also returned to another perennial favourite topic of mine: the remarkably wide cultural differences that exist between Britain and France, despite the two countries being such very close neighbours and sharing thousands of years of history.

And then there was the visual side of the project: a plethora of photographic collections that transported me back to the rugged beauty of the Cornwall, the windswept North Norfolk coast and the quietly beguiling corners of south east England. Perhaps most special of all were the two sets of photographs taken in New Orleans (here and here), captured on two consecutive years when I was fortunate enough to visit it for work. Looking at those images now, I am reminded of the vibrancy and resilience of a city that had seen so much and still pulsed with life, despite the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina being all-too evident, five years after it made landfall. Add to this the inclusion of more of my drawings and sketches, including images of everyday London as well as meditations on our sense of self and place, and you begin to get a sense of how much this project became, for me, a record of experience; a gathering of moments both fleeting and enduring.

In putting Pushing the Wave 2023 together, I thought often about what it means to create a book like this. It is, at heart, a curated set of memories, a collection of fragments that, taken together, trace the contours of a year, as well as trace a line back into the past and, potentially, far into the future. But it is also an invitation. I hope that readers will not only enjoy the pieces themselves, but also feel drawn into the world they evoke. Whether it’s through the taste of a home-cooked meal, the reflection sparked by a provocative essay, the memory stirred by a photograph or the flicker of recognition in a sketch, I want this book to feel welcoming, open and alive.

Of course, none of this would matter without the readers who return, week after week, to engage with what I share. Your quiet presence on the other side of the page is what make the whole endeavour meaningful. I am grateful for the time and attention you give to this project and, by extension, to me.

So, here it is: Pushing the Wave 2023, A book that grew out of a year of transformation, ambition and, above all, connection. I hope you experience as much joy in reading it as I did in living the experiences that shaped it.