We are the little people, living our own histories

I discovered mountain bike riding when I was 16 years old. I was living near Templestowe, outside of Melbourne. The mornings were cold and the tracks were slippery and muddy. I’d see Cadel Evans at some races, he was riding in “experts”, while I was still in amateur class.

It was the perfect challenge for an athletic and intellectual teenager with an independent spirit. I felt the chill wind and the rain, every jolt of the terrain and every swerve of the light, but surprisingly robust vehicle.

While I have competed against many other riders, the real competition was against myself, against my fears, my failings, and all my inadequacies. Some young men of an engineering mind become keenly involved with their cars, others with computers, those in the country with their firearms; I had a similar interest in this advanced specialised high-performance bicycle.

We’ve come a long way from penny-farthings and gentlemen in suits and bowler hats with clips on the legs of their pants to keep them from tangling in the wheels. Now we have precision machines engineered within an inch of their lives and customised for their environments and their riders. It may seem like a small wonder, but small wonders are what our lives are about.

Most of our lives are not history-changing textbook-making events. Most of our lives are made up of events – setbacks and advances – that matter only to us and to those around us. They are not going to change the world in the way new technologies or wars or big discoveries do.

And that’s OK. Because, while we may not be changing everyone’s lives, we are changing ours. These things matter to us. The little things really matter to us, because, really, we are the little people.

It is not for nothing that Tolkien makes his heroes the Hobbits, the little, ordinary people seeking to live their lives as best they can. For Tolkien, just as for Chesterton before him, it is the little people who really make history.

The heroes and heroines of epics may have the stories that echo down the ages, but their stories matter because they echo our own. They echo our victories and our defeats, our feats and our failures, our fear and our courage.

Knowing our stories, knowing ourselves is how we enter the greater and grander and more terrible stories of history. Entering into our own stories, and the grander stories, is how we enter into the stories of our friends who have faced down tyrants and survived, often at a terrible price.

This requires reflection and self-review. Anyone with a hobby or a sport knows this. We all know that the only way we improve is by reflecting on what we have done, systematically and dispassionately, tracking what has worked and what has not, what can be improved and what must be left behind.

To remember who we are, we must reflect critically on what we do and why. This gives us the solid foundation from which we can act, and act for what is good.

We have some events rolling out in Brisbane this month, including our 15th annual gathering of YPAT, a one-week immersion retreat, for which places are still available. Go to ncc.org.au/ypat for details and to register.

Luke McCormack is national president of the National Civic Council.