Wednesday, March 13, 2024

PERMISSION TO RAISE A LITTLE HELL

  It is fair to ask what keeps me returning to these blog pages. After all, I’m the guy who sometimes tells himself that it’s time to head for the sidelines, that I’ve run out of October (and November) things to say. Yet  at least so far, it seems like every time I get in that space something like the following bit of elder wisdom has me thinking second thoughts.


 “For people like me the notion that ‘old age is a time to dial it down and play it safe’ is a cop-out. Those of us who are still able to do so should be raising a bit of hell on behalf of whatever we care about.


 Lest you think I am that bold, those are the words of Parker J. Palmer, from his book On the Brink of Everything — Grace, Gravity & Getting Old. It is a book I am pleased to recommend, and especially the implied permission it gives us late-lifers to continue with our own low-grade ‘hell raising.’


 Later, in those same pages Palmer adds, “I may be old, but I’m still a member of this community. I have a voice and things I need to say. I want to be part of the conversation.” 


With that in mind I invite you to consider the following bit of elder-babble.


 No matter what our age, our life-journey has included its share of highs and lows, twists and turns. Drawing on our own recollections we can track our personal life path in many different ways…..in terms of our school and work history, the things we have done and not done, how successful or unsuccessful our efforts have been, or the family we have helped create. Like a wilderness explorer blazing a trail through the forest we have left all sorts of personal markers in our wake.


 For reasons I am not sure I understand I have spent time recently focusing on one of those of those life-journey trail markers……namely, the most impactful friends I have made along the way, and how they have helped me become the person I am. 


 We humans have a habit of blaming someone else or something else for what goes wrong in our life, while at the same time we are apt to take full credit when things turn out right. Truth is, we too often we fail to recognize the contributions of our friends and allies……especially the ‘best friends’ we have made along our journey to today.


 The logic of it seems so sound to me, so rational. Everyone needs and wants friends. They help complete the person we are……filling in the blanks that are part of every life. That was true in childhood, in adolescence, in adulthood. It is still true even in elderhood.


 I am one of those who believe that deep friendships are not a matter of random choice. They happen because mutual needs are being met. It is also true that over the years our needs have changed, replaced by new needs that lead us to new and different friendships. Over time those close friendships, including the ones we have left behind, can act as trail-blazing markers, helping us understand the story of our own Becoming.


 At different stages of our journey different friends have helped us learn different life lessons. In a real sense we can chart important parts of our own path to Becoming by remembering the best-friends we have won and lost along the way.  


That was the story I was dwelling on this morning, the notion that revisiting my own life-changing friendships might help me better understand the person I have become. Sadly, a closer look at my own ‘friendship’ history was enough to raise more than a little hell with that logic.


 It took me about five minutes to realize the truth of it. Perhaps that ‘friend-tracking’ idea does not actually apply to me. Instead of remembering a string of best-friends, and their contributions to the ‘me’ I am, what I came up with was largely a list of acquaintances, each of them something short of a ‘best friend,’ who have crossed my path over the years. 


 Though I certainly appreciate all those folks, when it comes to close, life-changing friendships……beyond the family circle that has always been central in my life……I was able to count just three, or perhaps four, individuals who seemed to have played the role I am describing. For some reason I expected, or perhaps ‘hoped,’ there would be more.


 As a youngster I had ‘friends,’ lots of friends. But I was an insular kid…..I stuttered, wore glasses, and was a bit of a nerd…..not the sort to be looking for, or finding, a best friend. Not until the ninth grade did my first ‘crush,’ a sweet young thing, come close to whatever ‘best-friend’ meant to me at that time. Before that could happen we had gone our separate ways.


 It was not until my sophomore year at Salem High that I created a real ‘best-friendship.’ Jay had a car, so we could get around. For two or three years we careened through high school together, giving each other permission to be a little crazy, living out adventures I would never have tried on my own. 


 And then there was the high-school girlfriend, the first girl I knew who seemed to like me just the way I was. Most of us have lived through that magical time, reveling in the attention, thankful for the affection. Until, that is, I left for college and ‘out-of-sight, out-of-mind’ won out.


 Finally, in the exciting new world that was college, I would meet Roma, the one I was not willing to let out of my sight or mind. We met in our freshman year and spent 67 years together before she moved on to a better place. For literally decades her caring company continued to shape the person I was Becoming. Even today, nearly two years after her passing, she is still my Best Friend, the one I turn to most every day.


 So, returning to my original point, I believe that the close and meaningful friendships you and I have made in the course of our life journey, (no matter what their number or when they arrived on the scene), have most certainly played a role in our own Becoming. Though my personal list may be short, I know for sure that those folks have met that test. Beyond that, I seem to be learning there is still room for yet another ‘best friend’ on my journey to the end.


 Which brings me to today’s suggested homework assignment, one I highly recommend. The instructions are easy-peasy. Simply turn off the TV, crank the recliner back a notch or two, and close your eyes. If you haven’t dozed off by then, take the time to make a conscious return to your past. Introduce yourself to one or another of the once-close friends who have perhaps not crossed your mind in ages.


 With that old friend perched clearly in the front of your mind, ask yourself a few questions. What did you learn from your time with him or her? How might your life have been different had he or she not shown up when they did? Take the time to retrace some of your personal history, as marked by those best-friendships.


 Make that internal dialogue as real and personal as you dare. Dig as deep as your comfort zone allows. This is not about sharing your insights with anyone. It’s about you exploring you.


 Though I have no illusions of it happening, if you are so inclined I invite you to share your own bit of friend-related ‘hell raising’ with the rest of us……in an appropriate, abridged form, of course.


 What do you think? Might it be time to revisit one of the 'someones' who once played an important part in your life……to perhaps mentally thank, or scold, them for their role? Most of us recognize the ways we were shaped by parents and family. I’m not sure how many of us understand the important ways our friends and friendships have played a part. I think it’s worth the effort to see where that takes you.


 If you are so inclined, you night even consider forwarding this ‘best-friend’ bit of elder-thought to the one or ones who fit that description in your life, along with your ‘thanks’ for their contribution.

Tuesday, March 5, 2024

IS THIS WHAT DEFINES ME?



Ah……the wonders of aging. Seems that some things never change. When I first posted this piece, more than five years ago, I must have believed that “Dull” and “Insecure” described the ‘me’ I knew. And if that was true then, it is even truer today.


By nature I am not an overly social fellow.....most certainly not a ‘joiner.' Yet, after all these years I remain a member in good standing of both of the mentioned organizations……still striving to live up to their lofty goals.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~


It is amazing how things can change so quickly. There was a time a few years back when I was ready to fold my blogging tent. It felt like I had said everything I had to say. And who needs a blogger with nothing more to add?


Some of you had been following these posts for years, and I had come to sense that perhaps you too were growing a bit tired of it all. At that point, more than five years ago, it seemed like a good time to call it a day.


Then, scarcely a week after having made that decision, with a single mouse click I was unexpectedly transported to a very different set of possibilities. You may know how I am, selling the virtues of following the late-life road less traveled, reaching beyond our comfort zone……at an age when ‘less traveled’ and ‘reaching out’ are not always the norm. 


Like I said, I was rather fussy about who earned my allegiance. It had to be a fit……which is why one of my only affiliations (besides our church) has been my membership in The Dull Men’s Club.


That’s right. A club for ‘Dull Men.’ Take a moment to think about that. What adjective better describes a November fellow like me.....someone who writes relational novels about his late-life peers? 


Then, having established his ‘Dull’ credentials, what if that same aging storyteller found it awkward, even hard, to explain to the world why his October stories ought to be read? Could that mean he is perhaps a bit ‘Insecure?’ Generally speaking it felt like I was a reasonably secure guy. But when it came to talking about my stories, perhaps not so much. 


Surprise……it was about then that I learned there also is a club for Insecure Writers. And I immediately signed up for that. Think of that, I was now a member of two groups…..…Dull and Insecure. Was I on a roll or what? 


Chances are over the years you have read my nagging doubts about the stories I tell, and the way I tell them. You’ve perhaps seen me grumble that no one seems to care that those stories are out there waiting to be read, even though my modest Gil Stewart.com website is welcoming, and my Amazon Author's Page offers 24 books just waiting to be discovered. 


So it should not be surprising to learn that this newly discovered group of creative souls, who openly discuss their questions and insecurities about something as personal as their own writing experiences, has made me feel quite at home. My first visit to the Insecure Writers Support Group (IWSG) website convinced me I belonged there.


True, lots of my fellow ‘Insecure’ club member are kids……20s, 30s, and such……and most are women, which seems to be the norm for wannabe writers. If I was younger I might find that intimidating. But it seems that I’ve outgrown that sort of concern. 


To be sure, their stories are not at all likely to be the Geriatric Adolescence tales I tell. But it has been fun to read about the many paths they have followed on their creative journeys.


Yet no matter what their age or what they write, as I trolled through the member blogs, each of them linked in their own way to the same creative impulse that keeps pulling me along, it felt like I was eavesdropping on a family affair……the sort of clan I would like to be part of.


Truth to tell, at any age (even in late-life) unpublished or self-published writers are apt to find themselves in an insular space…..perhaps lacking the skills, resources, and/or the contacts to have their work refined and noticed. In a world where thousands of self-published stories are released every week.....Amazon claims to add two thousand titles every week.....it is easy to feel that even though we are creating something good, chances are no one will know about. That seems to me a likely recipe for writer insecurity.


IWSG’s stated purpose is very straight forward……to provide a format for writers to share our creative experiences, while encouraging those who have set out on that path. The goal is to provide a forum where writers feel comfortable asking questions, offering advice, and discussing the doubts and concerns they have about their craft…….i.e. a safe haven for insecure writers, no matter what they write. 


Finally, taken together it feels as though my dual memberships.....Dull and Insecure.....have helped provide the support I need, we all need, to deal with our late-life future. 

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

WHAT.......ME WORRY?

 

Having spent the last few weeks dwelling on my own “I REMEMBER” past, it was a bit surprising to find my thoughts turning to the future…..looking ahead to a hazy, but unsettling vision of what might be.


Turns out that some things don’t change much over time. When I first posted this piece in 2018 it made sense to me. Revisiting it again, I’m thinking it sounds even more sensible.



Where to begin?


 Truth to tell, there are so many things that need explaining. Let me start with a ‘little’ mystery……something that needs explaining, at least for me. Such as, do the endless pharmaceutical commercials that dot the nightly newscast bother you as much as they do me? 


 They seem to follow a common formula……smiling faces of folks made well by some medicine with a phony, nonsensical name are parading around while the fine print at the bottom of the screen recites all the ways that wonder drug may harm or maim me, all the reasons I ought not use it. Most aggravating of all, they carry on without ever telling me what ailment their medicine treats. Small wonder those ads get muted in our house.



 So why, you might ask, have I offered that bit of whimsey as an introduction to the following sad lament? I’m not sure I know.



Do warts really worry?


 Did it ever happen to you? Did your mother ever look across the dining table into your eyes, with an admonition that sounded something like this? “Don’t be such a worry wart, son. It can’t be as bad as that.”


 A ‘worry wart?’ Now there is a term you don’t hear much anymore, at least not in my circles. But there was a time, perhaps before ‘The Power of Positive Thinking,’ when it was a not-uncommon label for those who raised their concerns, especially unpopular ones. 


 So here is today’s question, the one I am asking you to consider…….is this Stewart fellow a worry wart? Does he have any reason to be concerned about what he sees ahead? Please read on, and tell me what you think.

 

Signs of trouble in Late-Life land


 Perhaps you have heard rumors that all is not well in today’s senior world. An endless stream of dire accounts and daunting predictions keeps reminding us how many of our October/November peers are ill prepared for retirement, or late-life in any form. 


 The equivalent of whole forests have given their lives to produce the newspapers, magazines, and books making that point. And odds are that depressing onslaught will continue as the unsettling tide of financial reality becomes more apparent, and the fiscal noose continues to tighten.


 To be sure, if you are one of those caught in that tightening noose you know how real it can be, because it is happening to you. After all, our own reality is the most real of all. We understand that truth, don’t we? So what is it that awaits us around the next corner or two?


Who will pay the price?


 The questions facing the next generation or two are indeed formidable. Is Social Security really a ‘forever’ program? What about Medicare? Will affordable health care be available ten, twenty, or thirty years from now? Or what about the long-term impact of student debt? Will those underemployed graduates ever get beyond that?


 Then, as you look ahead to that future, consider this. The tightening noose facing today’s “Greatest Generation” may well look like the ‘good old days’ to a significant portion of the Greatest Generation Plus One. And if that is true, what about Greatest Generation PlusTwo……our grandchildren. After all, they are the ones who will be asked to pay the bill we have left for them.


How did we get here?


 But before we turn our attention to those we care about the most, let’s take a moment to visit some of the reasons we stand at the edge of what might be a steep and slippery slope. I would submit that a lifetime of cultural potty training, in the form of schooling, television advertising, movies, books, social media, etc., has enshrined and empowered the supposed virtues of material success, status, and the accumulation of ‘stuff and things.’  


 Not just any ‘stuff and things,’ but the right sort of stuff......the stuff so prominently affirmed in glossy TV ads and accepted by our peers as desirable. 


 Too many of us have spent too much of our life worshipping what we called success as the primary measure of our efforts. We know how easy it is to become addicted to the ‘feel-good’ rush of the Divine Dollar Sign smiling in our direction, validating our efforts and confirming our worthiness. Of course, when the dollars and status fail to flow our way that same commitment to material rewards can be enough to lay us low.


 To be sure, for as long as there have been sellers and buyers, sellers have wanted to sell more, and buyers have wanted to buy more. There is nothing new about that. What is perhaps new, however, are the pervasive forces that feed the blatantly materialistic culture we have seen evolve in the course of our postwar lifetime.


They learned from us


 Truth is, an era of unrivaled prosperity……in the form of growing income, burgeoning credit-card balances, easy-to-qualify mortgages, inflated home values, and generous pensions……has enabled us to dream dreams no earlier generation had ever dared to dream. In the process we have taught our our offspring, consciously or not, to dream those same dreams. 


 Unfortunately, the historically unique times that allowed so many of our dreams to come true may not be found in the world our loved ones inherit. For too many of them the world will be a harder place to grow the dreams they learned from us. In that case they may have to settle for more modest, more achievable dreams.


 Will they be willing to settle for those ‘more achievable dreams’? I hope so, but I am not overly confident. So much depends on the path our nation, and the world, follows in the years ahead. Given today’s political climate who would pretend to know what lies ahead? 


How can they be ready?


  We were raised to believe that things are always improving, that the years ahead will be better than those we have lived through. We call that progress. It turns out, however, that progress is not a given.


 The best advice I can offer my own children harks back to my long-ago Boy Scout days. “Be prepared.” Create a lifestyle that has you living within your means, setting more than a ‘little something’ aside, and relying on as few ‘safety net’ resources as possible.


 In my humble opinion the odds of taxpayers and governments, from municipal to federal levels, continuing to fund what politicians call “entitlements” over the long haul, especially at today’s levels, is very iffy. Any future that includes substantial numbers of tomorrow’s late-life population depending on Social Security, Medicare, and other government programs is apt to produce a disappointing outcome.


The case for caution


 Hopefully those of us who have already made it to October and beyond have outgrown the need for all that ‘stuff and things.’ We are likely to understand the advantages of creating a ‘cautious’ lifestyle, preparing for an uncertain future. 


 Fact is, those lessons are best learned early, when the student has time on his or her side. Still, as convinced as I am of the need for caution, I realize how much easier it is for an elder fossil like me to accept that logic……compared to a starry-eyed twenty-five year old, whose weekly mail includes half a dozen credit-card offers.


 In all likelihood most members of the next generation, our children, will emerge intact, if not victorious, from the challenging life-maze that awaits them. But what about their babies, our grandchildren? I fear it will be a harsher and more traumatic journey for them.


They’ll have to find out for themselves


 It seems that life’s lessons must be lived to be learned. I suppose it’s always been that way. We may wish that our hard-won elder wisdom was easily transferable to those who come behind us. But alas, there are inconvenient laws of nature at work……laws which are rarely rescinded. 


 We can share our concerns and self-proclaimed wisdom, but it is left to those younger generations to accept it, if they will, and put it into action. Here’s hoping they can pull that off.


 Those of us who make up today’s October/November population will find a way to muddle through to our natural end……some quite elegantly, others on a more modest scale. Our trek to the future will not be easy, especially if at some point we are forced to travel alone, without the helpmate who has blessed our life for so long.


 Still, as you can tell, my anxiety is stoked by what I see ahead, the challenging future that awaits the next generations, and the impact that future will have on the ones you and I care about. Those are the thoughts that have me sounding like what Mom called “a worry wart.”