During the first week of every year, my Australian friends and colleagues (this seems to extend to most Western cultures) ask me what my New Year’s Resolutions are. I’ve never made any. It seems odd to me to wait until a specific day of the year to make a change in my life. If I need to change something, I start immediately. If I set a goal, I begin working towards it immediately. But then, this tradition seems to be more about Tradition than any real attempt to improve life. The notable point of resolutions made at New Year is that they are generally broken within the first month. A person unfamiliar with the tradition may assume that the changes are simply too big to be maintained, but in fact they’re too small. Resolutions are usually about breaking or creating habits – giving up smoking, starting an exercise regime, being nice to your sister.

I don’t smoke. I only have a couple of glasses of whiskey in a month. I eat well. I’ve finished my studies. I’ve had no need for resolutions, especially ones that I might break, but I wanted to join the tradition this year. After much thought, I hit upon the perfect resolution. I’d commit to writing at least one blog post EVERY week, no exceptions. The beauty is that I’ve broken that resolution already.

2011 has been a big year for me. In March, my first book Dragon Bones was released in Hong Kong. In May it was released in the US. In June, I moved into my new flat – the first place of my own that I’ve ever lived in. It’s right on the train line, but it’s large and the sound proofing is excellent. A few weeks ago I submitted my thesis on culture in virtual teams that completes my Masters of Applied Anthropology. And I’ve shared the year with a very special woman.

With so much to celebrate, why then did my friends and family insist on celebrating my 40th birthday? For me, it held no importance, but I was bullied into organising two parties (I chose two to keep them as close to a typical dinner out as I could) for the benefit of others. Whenever I mention my dislike of celebrating a lap of the solar system, people make a comparison to Jehovah’s Witnesses, who apparently also oppose making an event out of birthdays. But I believe that the majority of the world’s people have traditionally had no such celebration.

Birthdays are really a celebration of individualism. The more value a culture places on community, the less likely it is to make a big deal out of an event specific to an individual. Even Christians historically celebrated the name day of their patron saint rather than their own birthdays. Ironically, and perhaps counter to my argument, I have to celebrate my birthday in this individualistic culture for collectivist reasons of meeting community expectations. In my own life, I’ve felt more comfortable celebrating birthdays when they signified a life event such as the right to drink and the end of legally requiring parental approval for my actions.

In many cultures, such rites of passage recognise groups rather than individuals. Massai warriors are initiated into manhood as a group. Boys in Vanuatu become men in a communal celebration at an annual harvest ritual. It has been argued that modern males remain immature late into life due to the lack of such rites of passage. Instead, birthday celebrations demand no challenge of manhood and would seem, through an annual shower of gifts, to reinforce a culture of individualism and possibly even greed. I never missed birthdays when I lived in Japan or Bhutan. They’re not particularly noted in Asia or Africa or in any culture outside of the British empire that I can find.

And perhaps I missed the importance of this birthday. Forty years is roughly the mid point of an average life. This may be a wake up call to set my life in a new direction. How do you celebrate your birthday? What does it mean to you?

I recently saw a sign in my neighbourhood that said ‘The path is there to share,’ with pictures of both a pedestrian and a bicycle. I’m not sure when this changed, but it certainly wasn’t the case in the Sutherland Shire in my school days. I know because I was ticketed for riding on the footpath.

I’d ridden the first 3.5km on the roads and then most of the way down the Kingsway. Twenty metres from the school gate, a police car sat in the left lane of the highway. Three lanes of peak hour traffic trying to squeeze into two was dangerous enough without adding a cyclist to the mix, so I picked my bike up onto the footpath to ride the last twenty metres. The policeman stopped me and gave me a ticket. I’m sure that’s entrapment.

I’ve been very careful to never ride on the footpath since and often find myself muttering under my breath at cyclists who do. They’re generally aware of pedestrians and aren’t riding dangerously so I haven’t felt compelled to complain directly.

A good thing too, because since 2009, Sydney council has allowed cyclists to share some footpaths in an attempt to convert more people to cycling. The standard law allows children under 12 (and an accompanying adult) to cycle on all footpaths in NSW.

I’m yet to see one, but NSW now apparently has ‘bicycle storage areas‘ to allow cyclists to wait safely at traffic lights. I love the growth of bike paths around NSW, but for streets where they don’t exist, I believe these changes are a step in the right direction.

The recent ‘Occupy‘ movement has been criticised for not having clear goals. Critics wonder how they are meant to take it seriously if the protesters can’t say what they want? I think that’s harsh. I wonder whether many historical revolutions have had a clear idea of the future beyond toppling the existing regime. It would, I believe, have been sufficient to express disapproval, then when the situation became intolerable, to take more aggressive action. Creating a new regime was surely the last step, though perhaps in the most successful cases the new was imagined beforehand.

I’ve been too focused on my anthropology masters thesis to consider joining the protesters in camping out in Martin Place, but I can understand their disillusionment. Capitalism doesn’t inspire me as an economic model either.

Bhutan gave me a new model to aspire to. Some Bhutanese are fixated on financial gain, but as a whole, the people are more interested in enjoying their lives, enjoying each other and creating a country that their children will be happy to live in. Gross National Happiness might only be a part of the model, but importantly, GNH removes the focus from finances and puts it on the environment, culture, sustainable development and the governance to make it all work.

I would be happier spending my working life in a role where I can really make a difference to the quality of someone’s life rather than simply striving for financial gain. I don’t know that the ‘Occupy’ movement has quite the same ideas, but I’m sure they see the problem with a system that’s built on competition rather than collaboration. The open source movement has shown how much is possible when people work together for the common good and for the simple pleasure of giving. If the Occupy movement needs a new model to sell, I’d suggest starting by aiming for an open source economy with GNH goals.

I didn’t see what befell the old man, but he’s being helped off the highway crossing by two others as I walk around the corner. He doesn’t appear to know his helpers and doesn’t acknowledge either. As soon as he reaches the curb, he grabs hold of a railing and tries to support himself.

I try to work out what has happened before I offer help. Is the man hurt or in shock or just slow? Was one of the men who helped him off the road a friend? Did the two of them have the situation under control and would they resent interference. Two men and a woman in business suit approach from behind me and offer their help. There’s a hospital just across the road – I wonder if that’s where he came from – would he like them to take him there? It seems to me that the old man really wants to be left alone with a chance to redeem his pride, and he has enough assistance so I go on my way, but with a smile.

Too often I write about how life in Australia frustrates me. We’re usually too focused on ourselves and I miss the culture of Bhutan, where people always have time for one another. I might prefer the passersby to be more aware of the situation before stepping in, but I’m glad to see my countrymen looking out for others. And perhaps I should do something myself. Am I wrong not to step in and offer help? Am I wrong not to ask the others to give the old man some space?

After word: While looking for images for this post, I found an article from China saying that people now don’t offer help to others out of fear they’ll be blamed for whatever happened in the first place. With the growing practice of suing in Western society, I wonder how long it will be before we go that way too. I’m even more happy now to see my countrymen are Good Samaritans.

I was dismayed to see that the French rugby team were fined for their response to the Haka at the World Cup Grand Final. Apparently there is a 10 meter exclusion zone for the ‘cultural ritual.’ This isn’t the first time that a team opposing the Kiwis has been challenged for responding inappropriately. I can understand that the Haka has become a significant identifier for both the All Blacks and Rugby Union as a whole, but it should be seen as it really is.

The Haka is a war dance, performed before a battle to intimidate the enemy. Sport plays a role in replacing war in modern societies by providing an outlet for aggression and national pride. Reenacting the war dance is then appropriate before a major sporting event, but it must give the All Blacks a major psychological advantage. I know I’d be intimidated by a group of large men screaming at me with muscles bulging aggressively.

Interestingly, the All Blacks web site describes the Haka as a dance of welcome. If that’s true, the welcome is one given as a warning that the host is not to be trifled with.

Why must the opposing teams quietly allow themselves to be intimidated? In a real war, the opposition would be performing their own war dance. The French don’t have a war dance so they tried to show that they weren’t intimidated by forming a wall and walking towards the All Blacks. Rather than recognising the response, the International Rugby Board fined the French team.

In 1996, the Wallabies decided to show they were not cowed by turning their backs on the Haka and warming up. The English also turned their backs on the Haka in 2008. In both cases, the teams were ridiculed for their lack of respect for a cultural ritual. Greg Growden, a rugby journalist wrote, ‘It has been made clear by international rugby’s ruling body that while New Zealand rugby teams lay down the challenge, opposition teams are expected to stand motionless and make no reaction.’

I feel the need for respecting culture, but it must be taken in context. Were the All Blacks a warring Maori tribe performing the war dance before a battle, they would expect their enemy to respond in kind. Other rugby teams don’t have a ‘cultural ritual’ to call on so they must be allowed to intimidate or indicate their lack of intimidation in some way other than to stand there and take it.

I’ve just been watching an old episode of SBS’ Insight where Rajat Ganguly said that terrorism is sometimes analysed as a type of warfare conducted in an asymetrical power relationship. Al-Qaeda didn’t have the same power base as the Western / Christian world they were rebelling against. They couldn’t wage a war on equal footing, so they resorted to clandestine, suicidal, indiscriminate attacks.

My first thoughts were to compare the recent Libyan rebellion, but as soon as I started writing this, I realised that I would fail. From the little I know, the rebels haven’t attacked innocent people. They’ve targeted the military power. The rebels haven’t used suicide attacks. In fact, the war seemed to be on equal footing.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that we in the West are too quick to take sides, labelling one group terrorists and the other liberationists; to condemn the success of the first and to celebrate the success of the latter. We support the Libyan rebels because we believe they’re fighting for freedom, for an end to tyranny, for democracy and other values we imagine we share. We hate Al-Qaeda because they don’t share our Christian values and push a particular form of Islam. Yet we push our own form of Christianity and capitalism on them.

From the other side of the world, I sympathise with the rebels who are fighting for freedom from oppression, for a way of life more conducive to their own well-being. I can also sympathise with the minority – who see a corrupt world, ruled by Western infidels, and have no real power to do anything about it so lash out in the only way they can – even if I don’t agree with their vision or their methods.

Now that the Libyan rebels have taken control of their country, I hope that we in the West will allow them to find their own way forward. Democracy is an expensive form of government and does not suit everyone. I hope that the rebels will find a model of governing that fits their culture, economic position and their dreams for the future without Western influence. If they choose democracy, let them do it for their own reasons.

Recently, a few people I know have expressed their irritation at tailgaters at train stations. These people get through the ticket gates without paying for access by closely following a paying customer through the gate to confuse the sensor.

Tailgaters don’t contribute to the public transport system in terms of either money or statistics. I believe that public transport is the only reasonable solution for Sydney traffic problems, so we should be encouraging people to use the trains. Unfortunately, the government is far less likely to invest in new infrastructure if usage numbers are low and income is not flowing in.

That’s not to say that I don’t understand why people might do it. Even recently I’ve ridden trains without a ticket, forgetting that my destination on a particular trip was outside the range of my weekly pass. Years ago in Japan, before electronic tickets, I used to forge daily passes to save myself the fares at a time I had almost no money. I’m not proud of that, but train tickets are expensive.

Is tailgating an Australian form of begging? Begging makes me uncomfortable because I believe that any money I give is likely to go to cigarettes or alcohol rather than to helping the beggar survive and find a better life. At least tailgaters aren’t wasting my money on addictions, but I find myself feeling complicit in the rort when I’ve put my days of exploitation behind me.

I feel a little cowardly for not confronting these people, but it happens so quickly that by the time you get over the shock of having someone pressed up against you, they’re gone. All that’s left is a faint ‘thanks, mate’ ringing in my ears.

During the week I joined a strata meeting for everyone who owns flats in my new building. The main reason for the meeting was to approve a change to the strata by-laws that excluded the entirety of one flat from the ‘common area’ of the building. The owner had decided to redo the bathroom and kitchen because when she sat on her toilet, she could see right outside to the street. My first thought was to wonder why she would have the bathroom door open when she was using the toilet, but that point was moot. The work had begun and we had to protect ourselves from liability for any damage, made now or in the future, to the common ‘wet walls’. That amendment went through unanimously.

I then questioned the value of a clause stating that no one was allowed to dry clothes or bedding on their balconies, especially when the only other option was to use a dryer which is known for its terrible power consumption and negative impact on the environment. Every balcony that I can see from my flat has a clothes rack on it that’s used regularly and the people above who look down on mine say they’re fine with me drying my clothes there, but no one would agree to remove the clause.

The last item on the agenda was to vote on whether to provide alternate options for strata notices to go out. Right now, notices of meetings, rates and warnings of violations can only be sent by paper mail, which costs in printing and stamps. The change would allow people to choose to continue to receive notices the same way or to opt for email or fax delivery. As I plan to travel and have no fixed address, it makes a lot of sense to me to receive such notices by email. Agreeing to the change would not have an impact on anyone who wanted to continue with snail mail – that option would still be available. Yet 33% of owners chose to vote against the change. It was enough to block it. I would love to know why this particular change was blocked, but the only clue I got was one of the ‘No’ voters saying, ‘too expensive.’ I didn’t get the chance to talk to him afterwards, but next time I’ll be asking what he sees as the additional cost.

Australians don’t like change. Very few referendums that directly give Australians the chance to change law and government policy have succeeded, no matter how reasonable such change should be. The most famous, of course, was when we declined to end the monarchy in favour of becoming a republic. That was a more complicated issue, with the odd form of republic that our then royalist Prime Minister proposed, but I wonder if it would have made any difference. Unless we’re voting to protect what we already have, the vote will almost always be ‘No.’

I thought that when I moved to my new flat I’d get out on my bike more. I’ve cycled most of my life, but where I used to live, there was large hill I had to conquer before I could go anywhere else and it was enough to put me off. I still took the challenge every couple of weeks, but the top of the hill usually became my destination. With so much more time on my hands and without the psychological barrier of the hill at my new home, I thought I’d be on my bike almost every day.

Ironically, I haven’t ridden much recently because I’ve been spoilt for choice. The guide map that I picked up from the local library showed an intricate network of bike paths that was difficult to follow and I couldn’t find an obvious destination. I was looking for something like the path along Parramatta River – with a scenic route that used to inspire me to get out every Sunday morning.

Disappointment is often fueled by expectation. During my first months in Belgium I’d looked forward to getting my bike out and going for a ride before work. The morning after my bike was delivered (along with all the furniture I’d brought with me from Japan) I got up excited, but lost interest when I saw it was raining. I was about to give up and get ready for work when I realised that I would never ride in Belgium if I let a little drizzle stop me. So I got out the bike and went anyway, then enjoyed riding a few times each week for the next three years.

In Sydney it was the same. On Monday, I decided to get out the map again and find somewhere to go. Right in the middle of the map was a path through a national park. That was perfect. Along the way, I discovered some great paths that I could use to get to the major shopping centre near me, to get to archery along a dedicated pathway beside the tollway and many interesting back streets. It’s all well sign-posted and they even have special traffic lights for bikes where necessary. I’ll be out enjoying the Australian outdoor life properly from now on.