Instinct

People have been e-mailing me, or messaging me, or posting comments on here, asking why on earth I was considering going to Iraq, if indeed they believed that I was really serious (which I was). And to this I have to say; instinct.

I always believe, even though it is a complete cliche, that it is better to go by your instincts, as it usually turns out to be the most reliable sense you have, before it gets taken over by all the other feelings that swamp you when you actually think about what you're doing. This is true in a number of contexts. What you instinctively write in an exam when you're not sure of the answer is usually more reliable than what you get when you spend twenty minutes thinking about it, unless you know you know the answer but are just having a mind block. This is exemplified by my physics GSCE, where I wrote the entire two back pages right, then came back to it later and crossed the whole thing out, redoing it completely wrong. I have always hated physics.

Anyway, it's also true that you should go by your instincts in other situations. If you look at oysters and think they look disgusting, it's unlikely you'll enjoy them. If you gaze at fairground rides and feel like you'll puke if you go on them, you invariably will. People who act 'instinctively' in emergencies usually come out of them better than people who think about their actions before carrying them out - it's what we depend on to survive. The old chestnut about 'love at first sight' may sound like a Hollywood invention, but in fact if you think about it, it's instinct. If you meet someone and you immediately feel a powerful attraction to them which you have never felt before, it is something you should go with, rather than being scared of it. It's instinct taking over. And usually, if you don't follow your instincts, they come back and bite you on the arse.

And so to Iraq. When my flatmate told me that there was a call for forensic archaeologists, and I read the advert on the web, my instinct was: what a fantastic job. However this was immediately followed by: my parents would flip. Both of which I knew were correct - it would be a fantastic job (in the sense of interesting and rewarding, not in the sense of enjoyable or fun), and my parents would constantly be having heart attacks, wondering if they were going to turn on the news and see that I had been kidnapped. My instinct was not to apply for the job, but if it was just me, and I didn't have any next of kin to worry about, I would have gone for it. There will probably never be another job like that landing in my inbox, and it would have been something I would have relished doing, but I had to decline. Damn instinct......