— iRacing.com (@iRacing) January 23, 2017
In the first two weeks of this year, I’ve often looked back on my life in a very practical, non-philosophical way. I revisited my former schools in Google Streetview, I went through designs made years ago, I played a video game which the teenage-me also played, and I read emails sent a decade ago.
Perhaps what triggered this, is that my sister and brother-in-law are expecting a baby. It’s wonderful, of course, in nearly every way. Yet in some ways, it’s frightening.
New life confirms the feeble nature of time. Until now, I don’t think I’ve really understood this, but it’s something everyone has to understand at some time in his or her life, and a topic on which poets and writers have emptied their pens on for centuries.
We often measure time in minutes, hours or years, but when we zoom out and look for measurements like generations, that’s when we can understand time.
My parents will be grandparents soon. What makes it scary is not the associations I have with the noun ‘grandparents’, but the fact that in the past month, not only the year has changed, but also a generation has passed.
The good thing of looking back on life is the appreciation for all the places in which we’ve lived, the things we’ve done and made, the people we’ve met.
When you add it all up, it’s mind blowing. And it somewhat soothes the passing of time, up until the point were it’s, you know, totally acceptable.
In 2009, I was doing a six-month internship in Sydney, Australia, at Marketing Mechanics. Since Melbourne was really close, I bought tickets to the Australian Grand Prix.
I arrived in a dirty and cheap hostel, and had a roommate from France, who was a huge Lewis Hamilton fan. I was reading a book from 2001 by Dutch commentator Olav Mol, and read that Mclaren had an annual lunch on St. Kilda beach, on the Wednesday afternoon before the Australian Grand Prix. I told my roommate, but he didn’t believe me, so come Wednesday I went alone.
When I arrived on St. Kilda Beach, I saw the team of Force India, instead of McLaren. Adrian Sutil and Giancarlo Fisichella on roller skates! There were only a handful of journalists, and suddenly I saw Olav Mol! I had a great chat with him, I mentioned that I had read about the beach in his book. I also chatted with Sutil and Fisichella, and wished them luck for the race. A journalist told me McLaren would be there the next day…
So I got back at the hostel and told my roommate. He still didn’t believe me, until I showed him the photos. When we arrived on Thursday, Ron Dennis and Martin Whitmarsh parked their car and we were somewhat starstruck. They went into the restaurant, in which obviously we weren’t allowed, so we waited for the drivers to finish their interviews and lunch. Lewis Hamilton came walking out and we both got autographs. I quickly said ‘Goodluck Lewis!’, and he smiled: ‘Thank you’. Kovalainen didn’t wait and rushed to his car, but Pedro de la Rosa was nice and waited for us and gave his signature too.
My hostel-roommate was the happiest McLaren fan in the world, he couldn’t believe he just met Lewis Hamilton. Back at the hostel we made the bet (me wearing a Ferrari jumper) that if Mclaren would finish ahead of Ferrari, I’d give him a bottle of rum (and vice versa).
The race was a big shock and won by Jenson Button in the new BrawnGP. Hamilton finished third, ahead of any Ferrari driver, so I bought him a bottle of rum which we both enjoyed. After that we parted ways. He went on a roadtrip in Australia, I went back to Sydney to complete the internship. We didn’t exchange Facebook or email or anything.
When I was back in Sydney, Hamilton was disqualified in which was called ‘Lie-gate’, putting Ferrari ahead of McLaren. It meant the Parisian guy should have paid the bottle of rum, yet I didn’t mind; I had an awesome weekend.
Here’s a look at Coanda Simsport’s last year. Hours of sim racing compiled into three and a half minutes, with victories in the iRacing 24 Hours of Le Mans, the 24 Hours of Daytona, and the titles in the NEO Endurance Series, the World Championship GP Series, and the Blancpain GT Series.
The man next to me took his phone from his shirt pocket and aimed it at the sun, which was setting into Mumbai’s bay. It was of no use; the sun, red and bright in front of our faces, was barely noticeable on his phone’s screen, reduced to a mere pixel. He threw his hands in the air, and saw that I saw it. He sighed and laughed, and we started talking.
He was forty-five years old and wore a green polo shirt with black horizontal lines. His hair was grey, his face friendly. He had grown up in a village in rural India, which nested on a beautiful hillside, or so he said. Some two thousand people lived there. He was the only one with an education — even his wife didn’t speak English.
Clearly he could see I was not from India: “Traveling is so good”, he joyfully said, “To connect with someone from another culture, it teaches you about people different than you, how they think differently, how they believe different things. And at the same time, it teaches you that we are all the same”, he concluded as he pointed at his nose, ears, and eyes.
I told him I felt the same about Mumbai. To me, Mumbai was a blend of familiarities and otherworldliness. The way people interact with each other is no different than at home, but the setting in which it takes place is vastly different. I told him I had seen a boy who lived on the street, who played with a stick in the mud, enjoying every second of it. I told him I had seen a girl in a with a shirt ‘Don’t Facebook your problems, face them’. And that I had seen groups of people without a house, having recreated somewhat of a living room on the side of the street.
I told the man that human behaviour seems to follows the same principles everywhere, no matter the climate, the culture, or the history, but the expressions vary vastly. I felt there was an absence of rules in Mumbai. Traffic is anarchy, slums are dwarfed by skyscrapers, and every where you look you’ll see a crowd of people. Yet somehow it all works, as a hugely diverse population of nearly twenty million peacefully coexists.
Although the man had never been anywhere outside India, he knew about the Netherlands. He had seen it in Bollywood films, and had also spoken with a Dutchman five years ago, on a train to Ahmedabad. He knew about Amsterdam, the canals, the bikes, hagelslag, and tompoezen. Again I spoke about the differences between our countries, now inverted. Amsterdam was quiet and cold compared to Mumbai. It felt a lot smaller and dense too, despite having a population density four times lower.
The man again spoke about his birthplace, the recurring theme: “If you want to make a phone call, you have to stand on the highest hill to receive a signal”, he said as he pointed out at the bars on his phone: “There’s no commercialism, people live and work together. Mostly from the land. There is no water, except from the rain”, he said: “Living in the village means everybody’s connected to nature, and to each other.”
How different to Mumbai, that was. Every material need one can possibly have is within a hands reach, yet emotionally, each is on his own. It’s painful to see, I said. I still didn’t know what to think of people who slept on the streets. How can one rationalise this to oneself? Especially as a tourist it feels unjust, visiting and looking at it, doing nothing. Among beauty, the world is packed with misery. It would be so fair if everybody in the world could go to sleep without being hungry. Yet, like a deer caught in the headlights, I feel overwhelmed, and I’m left with inaction, not knowing where to start.
And then, suddenly, the man had to speak about the problems that weighed on his shoulders. And so he spoke.
After his education he found work at a pharmaceutic company in Mumbai, so together with his wife and two children he moved from the rural village to the city of Mumbai. After nine years at the pharmaceutical company, the company changed hands and he lost his job. His wife, son, and daughter, had moved back to the village. That was three months ago. He had remained in Mumbai to find new work.
He applied to many jobs, hoping his experience and education would help. So far to no avail. Without a penny in his pocket, he sometimes couldn’t even travel to the application interviews. In the meantime he did day work, but the pay was poor, and because the municipality distributed the jobs fairly on a large group of people wanting them, it meant he could only work one in four days. He had slept the night outside, he said, and hadn’t had a good meal in days. But he didn’t give up. He was mixed with sadness and hope: “I like coming to the bay, because when everybody looks at the sunset, they can’t see whether I’m laughing or crying.”
As he told all of this, the contrast of our situations dawned on me. He was drawn to Mumbai to seek a better future, and was unable to make ends meet. I merely visited Mumbai as an escape, a leisure trip. It make me feel uneasy, ashamed of myself almost, being so privileged. Should I give him money? My mind raced.
At the same time, I feared that he would ask money, that our conversation just served him this purpose, but I instantly felt bad just to think that way; he never asked me for it.
Our conversation had started because he tried to photograph the sunset. We had connected on a personal level, and I had enjoyed every second of the discussion, for its only purpose had been to talk about life. We were equals.
Abu — I think his name was — brought forth the suffering of millions, in the shape of an individual. Until then, it had always seemed abstract to me. But now, I could relate to those troubles, because I could see the same patterns of thought in myself.
We chatted for only a bit more, until I shook his hand and left. By then, the sun had firmly set in the bay, reducing all individuals to mere silhouettes against the skyscraper-led-skyline of Mumbai.
They say India stirs your stomach, but much more than that, it has trembled my heart.
“Last weekend, eleven time Grand Prix winner Rubens Barrichello logged in on his computer from Brazil to compete in a simulator version of the 24 Hours of Le Mans, sharing the car with other drivers across the internet. In Argentina, reigning WTCC champion José María López did so too — together with almost two thousand other drivers.”
This is my last article for BadgerGP (for now): an interview with some of the members of the Coanda Simsport team, who this year took the inaugural iRacing Blancpain GT Series Championship – our top team endurance eSport racing series, as well as the iRacing World Champion GP Series – our top road eSport racing series.
When I started blogging for Coanda Simsport, earlier this year, they where already one of the top simracing teams in the world, but yesterday, thanks to Martin Krönke, the world championship was clinched.
I’m immensely proud to be a part of this team. To celebrate, here’s 937 laps from 16 races compiled into a season review!
There’s an increasing amount of stuff that makes our lives easier, all of it increasingly within hands reach. We get taught how to write essays, how to use hashtags, how to get your crush to like you. All within minutes and digestible steps.
The risk of this is that we tend to focus on the easy stuff. When you read an article on how to run a successful social media campaign, you’re just reading the preconditions, the very basic outline that would make such a campaign possible.
Many people or companies can get that right, but don’t go further. They make what everyone can make.
The basic stuff tricks us into thinking we’ve done enough. We’ve applied the filter, and now our picture is pretty. Yet, what makes our work go beyond the average, isn’t captured in ‘Five ways to get more Instagram followers’, or any short cut which is just a search entry away.
By definition, the average is easy and obvious.
At the heart of anything creative — the stuff that surprises or shocks us, makes us wonder, or sticks to our mind — is the opinion, the idea, the craft. We see the author back in his or her work.
It’s not about tuning the strings, but about the playing of them. Let the things you create be evocative, pretty, hopeful, rude, or even ugly. Let it be an extension of yourself. But most of all, let it be something only you can create.
An answer to this question on Reddit.
This was twenty years ago, I was seven. At school, the teacher asked whether any of us knew someone with an email address, I was the only kid in class who did. The next day I brought my dad’s email address on a piece of paper, and the whole class sat around me as I wrote the silliest email, saying something like ‘Hi dad, I’m writing you now’. My dad replied a day after, again the whole class sat around the computer as we opened this new ‘digital post’. That felt like the future, yeah.
An answer to this question on Quora.
What I would like to see is more positivity. Right now, we see melting ice caps, drowning polar bears, factories blowing plumes of smoke into the atmosphere. And the more you read about the climate problem, the more distressful you get. We hear that the economy must shrink, and that we need showering shorter. That’s not all fun. Even in victories we look for the downsides, by stating the new agreements aren’t enough to prevent drastic climate change. We get it, but in this respect, the reporting on climate chance is like visiting your dentist: no matter how you brush, it’s always wrong.
Instead, can’t we focus on the dream, instead of the nightmare? You know, to walk barefoot in the grass, having rustling leaves over your head. See white beaches with blue water, snowy peaks above dark green forests. If we’re ever to inspire people, the love for a healthy planet should be the message. As Wubbo Ockels once said: “If you love something deeply, you’ll do everything to protect it.”