PERMISSION TO RAISE A LITTLE HELL

 

   PERMISSION TO RAISE A  

                        LITTLE HELL

 ( Originally posted Oct 2019)

It is fair to ask what brings me back to these blog pages. After all, I’m the guy who said it was time to head for the sidelines, that he had run out of October (and November) things to say. And that may have been true at the time. But that was before the following bit of elder wisdom that had 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 should be raising hell on behalf of whatever we care about.”

Those are the words of Parker J. Palmer, from his book On the Brink of Everything — Grace, Gravity & Getting Old. I am pleased to recommend the book, and especially the implied permission it gives me to continue with my 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, and 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……which can be measured and charted in many different ways. 

      Drawing on our own recollections we can track our life’s path 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.

This morning I set out to expand on another 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 like to blame someone or something else for what goes wrong in our life, while taking full credit when things turn out right. Yet too often we fail to recognize the contributions of our friends and allies……especially the ‘best friends’ we have made on our journey to today.

The logic seems so sound, so rational. Everyone needs and wants friends. They complete the person we are……helping us fill in the blanks that are part of every life. That is true in childhood, in adolescence, in adulthood, even in elderhood.

We know, of course, 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 ones that lead us to new and different friendships. It seems to me that over time those close friendships, including the ones we have left behind, can act as trail-blazing markers, helping to tell the story of our Becoming.

At different stages of our journey different friends have helped us learn different life lessons. In a real sense I believe 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 meant to tell this morning, the notion that revisiting those life-changing friendships will help us understand the person we have become. Sadly, a closer look at my own ‘best friend’ history was enough to raise more than a little hell with my logic.

It took about five minutes to realize the truth of it. Perhaps that ‘best-friend tracking’ idea does not apply to me. Instead of remembering a string of best-friends, and their contributions, what I came up with was largely a list of kind and caring acquaintances, good people who were good friends, but not 'best friends.' 

    Though I certainly appreciate all those folks, and the ways they have helped me, 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 individuals, three 'best-friends,' who played the life-changing role I have described. For some reason I expected there would be more.

First there was the high-school best-friend, my long-time buddy. Careening together through adolescence and into young adulthood he and I managed to give each other permission to raise a little hell a few times....taking us to places I would never have gone on my own. Though the results were not always productive, I owe him my thanks for the vivid memories those side trips created, and the way they impacted the timid young man I was in those days.

        And then, of course, there was the high-school girlfriend, the first girl I knew who seemed to like me just the way I was. As intimidating as it sometimes was, it was first and foremost a learning experience. Truth to tell, I remember being an interested learner. But then, a year later, I was off to college, and she remained in high school. Before long ‘out-of-sight out-of-mind’ had won out.

Then in college, I met Roma, the one I was not willing to let out of my sight or my mind. We met in our freshman year and for 67 years continued to expand the role of Best Friend, and what that meant to us. The person I am today is largely the product of that Best Friendship.

        Beyond those friends, and their impact on my life, what if in my remaining years there was a new 'friend' to factor into my 'best friend' equation? What if another age-appropriate candidate was to arrive on the scene, in an age-appropriate way? I am told that can happen. I have, in fact, written a dozen stories about such events.

Still, returning to my original point, the close and meaningful friendships that 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 Becoming. I know for sure that those on my micro-list have met that test. 

               All of which brings me to my suggested homework assignment for you, one that 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, 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 be different had he or she not shown up?

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 or more 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.

WHERE DO WE FIND THE PEACE WE SEEK?

   Where do we find the Peace we seek?  

It can be unsettling, the way our recollections of long-ago events, seemingly insignificant  at the time, can make their way back to the front of our mind, years after the fact.

For instance....what was it that prompted the “out-of-body” experience I remember so vividly? That was seven years ago….yet the memories remain as clear and real as the day they were made.

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My sleep was restless….dozing in fits and starts. The snug restraining straps, pulled tight across my stomach, left me unable to shift to a more comfortable position. It would be days before “comfortable” was a part of the equation.

My thin hospital gown, wet with feverish perspiration, was sticky and limiting. For an instant I was vaguely aware of the night nurse standing beside the bed, scanning the narrow printout from the dimly-lit monitor. 

As she moved closer her touch on my shoulder had me jerking away, a movement that triggered the protesting pain of a newly reset broken arm, a broken clavicle, a few broken ribs, and a collapsed lung….reminders of my not-so-gentle tumble from a falling ladder.

Actually, it hurt to be awake. That much I understood. Yet before I could cast those disjointed sensations into a meaningful whole, my thoughts had retreated to the inviting comfort of another, more welcoming reality. I reached for the morphine pump clipped to my gown.....pressed the button once, then again. 

For a few seconds I felt myself stranded in the real world….between sleep and medication. Then finally a fresh wave of narcotic relief wrapped me in a blanket of well-being, and I settled back against the raised bed, once again beyond the reach of pain…. into a state I can best describe as "Peace.".

Of course I had read fanciful stories of ghostly, disconnected souls floating effortlessly above their own body, watching as the doctors worked to bring them back. Invariably those remembered accounts spoke of a long tunnel that led toward a bright, white light. 

Though I don’t recall wondering what might lay beyond the tunnel, most of those stories hinted at some matter of unearthly delight. Yet, try as I might, I would never have expected to find something as welcoming as La Paz….Spanish for “The Peace.” 

That’s right. I had made my escape from the stifling constraints of the ICU. I had been transported through a morphine-induced haze to the inviting afternoon warmth of Baja California. 

There, in welcoming, small-town La Paz, I was sitting alone at a sidewalk table outside the not-so-busy Los Arcos Cantina when the smiling, dark-skinned waitress returned with my second, or perhaps it was the third, cool Cervaza Corona. Across the wide Malecon, where locals strolled along the waterfront, the soft waves of the inner bay made lapping sounds on the shoreline.

Without knowing how I got there, I sensed myself in the midst of that 1960’s scene, a time when The Baja Road….the primitive highway that led to La Paz….had exerted a hard-to-explain hold on me. 

The original Baja Road was eight hundred miles of bad road…...washboard sand, jagged boulders, and mile after mile of cactus….the absolute epitome of backroad travel. At that time, in my young mind, La Paz was the oasis at the southern end of the road….a pleasant respite from the dusty highway.

That was a time before the glory years of Baja tourism….a time when Cabo San Lucas was still a scruffy fishing village, and Todos Santos was populated by peasant farmers. In my Oregon mind the entire southern end of the Baja peninsula had an "old worldly" feel. 

Truth to tell that was also a time when I was on more or less intimate terms with the infamous Baja Road, having ridden the length of it in 1962 on a Honda 50 trail bike, and driven it again in 1967 with Roma and our sons, Adam and Marc, in a four-wheel drive Ford pickup. 

By then I had been captured by the wild, unspoiled spirit of that time and place. Indeed, there was a time when I was so attached to the romance of Baja that it felt as though it was calling me home…. permanently.

The initial attraction, the memories that kept drawing me back to that end-of-the-world locale, were products of the honeymoon week Roma and I spent at Los Cocos, La Paz' swankiest resort in those not-so-swanky days. 

Though we had no way of knowing it at the time, we were at the forefront of what would become a full-fledged tourist invasion ….which would in time overwhelm, and then eradicate the slow-paced, old-world charm that made pre-invasion La Paz so appealing.

Looking back I can still sense those first timid steps in my search for an authentic home….a place where Roma and I could create the life and the family we wanted. We would revisit the Baja and La Paz several times in the years that followed…. with our own family and once with my parents.

Each return seemed to reinforce the unspoken knowing that I had found what was meant to be my place in the world. 

How serious was my enthusiasm? During our last visit my Dad and I spent several days researching available properties in and around La Paz, looking for land where we could build and operate a modest resort hotel.

By then the notion of La Paz as home had taken hold. In hindsight I can see that it was an inherited tendency….one that father and son were pursuing together, each of us feeding the other’s dreams. 

And all the while, as Dad and I chased our hopeful, if impractical vision, Roma and my mother stood quietly aside, hoping we would not commit to something that could not be undone. They too had dreams….none of which included La Paz.

I suppose it is fair to say that my La Paz infatuation died a natural death. When Adam and Marc started school, and Amy, then Terry joined our ranks winter travel, the best time of the year to visit that arid southland, became harder to accommodate.

In time the original sand and rock road, where we once averaged nine miles an hour over five days of travel, was paved….making way for recreational vehicles and spendy tourist stops. By then the primitive allure of the Baja outback was fading.

The things we remembered most of all were growing more distant….picking wildflowers after a rare spring rain, looking for sea shells along a deserted Pacific beach, being followed around the town plaza in San Ignacio as young Mexican girls crept up behind our tow-headed sons, Adam and Marc, reaching out to touch the first blonde hair they had ever seen…. wondering if it was real.

They were incredibly seductive, those fifty year-old recollections…..the ones that once had me believing that Baja could be our home….the ones that must have drawn me through the long operating-room tunnel into the brilliant white light of Baja sunshine, complete with a cold cervaza waiting for me in sunny La Paz. 

I must have been replaying my acceptance of that reality when the cold stethoscope the nurse pressed against my chest jolted me awake. 

Though at that moment I had no recollection of a long tunnel or bright lights in the course of my morphine-induced travels, I can clearly recall my awareness of the unfamiliar cast on my arm, and still-fresh thoughts of peaceful La Paz in the front of my mind….as though I was waking from a well-dreamed dream. 

That must have been a "long-tunnel" experience. Right? What else could have made it so real?

 

CAN WE VOTE AWAY OUR OWN RIGHTS?

I intend to make this short today. It won’t take long to state my concerns.

Regardless of your political persuasion chances are you have had your fill of repetitive, often offensive campaign ads. Yet we have learned to accept those irritants as a given in the democratic election process…..the price we pay for the right to choose our leaders and what they stand for.

Yet, in this era of “election deniers” we are reminded that our supposed ability to make those choices for ourselves might be in peril…..that perhaps there are those who would have our so-called leaders making the choices that affect us all …..creating an election landscape our democratic upbringing had never warned us of.

I cannot tell the future…..and don’t pretend to try. But I, like you, can do my best to understand how it may play out. With that in mind I invite you to consider the following basic fact. Does it frighten you at all? Do you see the irony of it?

IT SEEMS THAT IN A DEMOCRACY THE ELECTORATE CAN VOTE TO RESTRICT THEIR OWN DEMOCRATIC RIGHTS….THEY CAN VOTE TO HAVE SOMEONE OTHER THAN THE VOTERS THEMSELVES DECIDE ELECTIONS….ONCE WE HAVE GIVEN OUR LEADERS THE RIGHT TO DO THAT, WILL WE EVER BE ABLE TO VOTE FOR THE RETURN OF THOSE RIGHTS?

Think about that for a moment. Is that likely to happen? I don’t know. I for one do not believe that a foreign army or sinister Sino-Russian alliance will spell the end of our beloved democracy. I can, however, imagine that such a loss might be possible…….as a result of our own vote.

LATE-LIFE REALITY......REALLY

 

The following post dates from June, 2014, with a couple of recent updates. In my tired old eyes it still rings true 

~~~~

I’ve spent the last couple weeks proofreading October Bold one last time. In that story David and Marian are stumbling toward one another…..each of them weighing the possibility of a new relationship against their personal experience in a long and successful marriage. As I tell their story I am trying my best to imagine their hopes and anxieties as they consider a new and very different future.

Like it or not, late-life reality is inescapable. As I’ve said before, October is not for sissies. Of course, we all like to dwell on the high points of that special time….a fruitful marriage, our children’s success, the wonderful world of grandchildren, the moments when things work out like we planned. Who can fault us for reveling in those good times? More to the point, it is those successes, both large and small, that help us cope with the other side of late-life….the sometimes dark moments of October/November reality.

Whether as individuals or couples, each of us deals with our own unique set of late-life circumstances ….a personal blend of issues that may include family, financial, health, and relational challenges. 

Each of us knows someone who deals with one or all of those. Perhaps it is you. After all, those of us who are fortunate enough to make our way to late-life arrive with a weighty load of existential baggage. At every turn the person we are still becoming, and the future we are still creating will be impacted by those very real realities. 

Our April dreams….(Remember those?)…. have been tempered by a lifetime of personal experience. Yet even now we continue to update our expectations, creating new understandings of what we consider acceptable outcomes. We have learned by now that our dreams are not static. Our youthful visions of  “happy endings” have been reshaped, probably more than once. Though we keep dreaming, our dreams are undoubtedly very different these days. 

Truth is, for some of our peers loneliness, worry, and doubt have become dominant elements of their late-life existence….testing the responses they have spent a lifetime learning….creating what I consider spiritual challenges. 

No matter how you choose to label those soul-deep trials, my personal sense is that one of the most effective coping responses, whether you view your dilemma as transcendental or purely coincidental, is the presence of the right person at your side. I am one of those who believes that late-life works best as a shared experience.

But before we start down that path let me take a moment to address the obvious. For many, perhaps most late-life survivors a new relationship ……one that is meant to dull the hurt and loneliness of losing a beloved life-mate……is no answer at all. They are quite willing to settle for their one, just right, partner. I will admit that I have always considered myself to be in that camp.

After sixty-two years of satisfying matrimony and the blessings of family the great cosmic parade has taken my soulmate to a better place. One day I hope it will be my turn. In the meantime, I have never imagined the need for a new partner to take her place. Still, how could I say that would never happen? 

Since those stories of mine were written I have personally experienced the gnawing emptiness her leaving created. In ways I had never considered before I can sometimes relate to the feelings my Tenner Chronicles seekers are experiencing….the need for a supportive partner. Perhaps the pain of life lived alone fades with time, or maybe it is a permanent reality. In either case, how does one one move ahead?

It is the possibility that “It works for some people” which nudges me toward the October/November relational stories I tell….the ones that illustrate the impact of a new or renewed relationship on the distressing landscape of late-life reality. We know that sometimes happens in real life. And it happens in the course of my Tanner Chronicles stories.

Take a moment to consider that possibility. What kind of October/November person would choose to start from scratch with a new partner? If you’re like me, you’ve spent a lifetime creating a life with “the one.” (And he or she with you.) At this stage of the game, would you be willing to relive that same, sometimes bumpy learning process yet again?

In the course of eleven novel-length “relational” stories I have followed my Tanner friends, the ones with their own late-life issues, as they travel toward what they hope is “one more time.” Why wouldn’t I have paused along the way to wonder if my depictions of a “second chance relationship” are too simplistic? 

After all, I have lived out the deeply personal process of bonding with a life partner….and her with me. I know that the merging of any two lives into a meaningful partnership is not always an easy thing. 

That must be especially true when each of them has already spent a lifetime in the company of someone else, acquiring their own unique set of habits and preferences. My first partnership experience, all those years ago, required realistic expectations, chemistry, trust, patience, and a huge dose of good fortune. Seems to me that late-life relationships must be built on those same elements.

When I step back to consider my own experience I remember the first times I seriously considered a future with “her”….and how the youthful lad I was at the time charged ahead, relying on an oh-so-naive “I’m sure it will work out.” assumption. Fortunately, it did. But there were no guarantees. That was true then, and still is.

After all, there are so many variables. How can anyone be sure that what worked so well in one relationship will succeed with a new and different someone, especially someone they are still getting to know? Is that even realistic? Small wonder that not all my stories end with a gift-wrapped, happily-ever-after bow. Yet even then, who am I to say they shouldn’t have tried?

Perhaps you can tell that digging deep, looking for unseen motives is an occupational hazard for someone like me. If that’s true I accept it as the price of making my stories as authentic as possible. I want them to be something more than feel-good caricatures of lost and lonely souls seeking a last chance at happiness. My Tanner friends know it’s not always like that. Truth is, you’ll find very few ivory towers in a late-life landscape.

WHEN A REALLY GOOD WORD GETS A BAD NAME

It is a word I have come to appreciate, even celebrate, the older I get and the more I experience the need for what it means.

Though it is a description most of us may not use every day, we generally understand its meaning in at least one sense. Chances are if you hear it used in casual conversation it is describing a parent, a spouse, or a friend who supports or allows some sort of negative behavior by someone else

In short it is one of those words which has gained a permanently negative connotation.

That seems to me an ironic outcome……the way our culture focuses on the potentially negative possibilities of what I submit is an otherwise positive, even noble concept…..a word that at its heart describes what can be a blessing of great value, a virtue that may literally impact the course of our life.

Let’s begin at the beginning. Oxford Languages, the world’s leading dictionary publisher, provides two primary definitions for the word - 

ENABLER     (en-a-bler)

1).   a person or thing that makes something happen, 

2)  a person who encourages or enables negative or self-destructive behavior in     another. ….i.e. they have “enabled” that behavior.

We know, of course, that life, especially late-life, is a collaborative process. We may pride ourselves in our independent, individual accomplishments, but the truth is……it takes the people around us to make our life what it is. When all is said and done the life we create is usually the product of our own thoughts and actions interacting with the people close to us.

They may be family, friends, caregivers, or mentors……the ones who help us live the life we live, and walk the path we have chosen. 

Though we sometimes overlook the input of those “enablers,” and their role in our life’s journey, they are always there to help. We would do well to remember that as we assemble our personal cadre of Enablers, the ones who keep us going. Without them the life we hope to live, whether holy or humble, might well be out of reach.

I can imagine at least two types of positive ‘enablers’ in my life. First there are those who are close at hand, ready to do the tasks I have come to struggle with…..the heavy lifting, climbing the stairs, or opening a new bottle of catsup. Those are the ones who make a nearly-normal life possible for a used-up November guy.

And then there are what I will call the “social enablers,” whose presence on the other end of a letter, an email, or a phone call helps me, and those like me, live something approximating a normal social life. Providing the support and encouragement we receive and offer in those forms can be especially important to those of us who are no longer as mobile as we once were……when the prospects of travel or entertaining are no longer attractive options.

It seems the longer I reside in this tired old November world of mine the more I appreciate my enablers. After more than sixty years of constant enabling by a loving and determined life-mate I am all the more grateful for the enabling son with whom I share a home. He and his helpful siblings make it possible for me to enjoy a satisfying, if limited lifestyle pushing my walker from room to room.

At the same time I give thanks for the family and friends, those social enablers whose online conversations and occasional phone calls keep me in touch with the outside world.

Of course my inability to do what I once did without a second thought sometime creates an unfamiliar level of disappointment. But with the help of my enabling Enablers I can still create more possibilities than I will ever be able to make happen on my own. I have learned by now that it will take the people around me, my own late-life Enablers, to help turn at least a few of those possibilities into actualities.

~~~~~

P S ……Blessed are those who have gathered their personal clan of Enablers over the years. Everyone of us needs those folks in our life. We never know when we will ask for their help, or offer our help to them. But we must not wait until we need that help, or when it is expected of us, to cultivate an enabling relationship.

 And do not forget, our ongoing reliance on our Enablers is a two-sided transaction. In the same way we rely on them, they deserve the best help we can offer on their behalf. A fruitful Enabler pairing is always a two-way street. 

GROWING INTO OUR GIFTS

Some things haven’t changed much in nearly six years. For instance the main thrust of this post from early 2017, rings even more true today…..as I try to move ahead without the inspirational nudgings of my longtime helpmate. 

It feels like I need a kick in the pants to get back on track. This return to ‘Becoming’  felt like something I needed to hear.

                                              ******* 

When the veneer is peeled back to reveal the reality of it, blogging….pretending to offer one’s own insight or wisdom in the form of a blog….is like most human activities. It is bound to say more about the blogger than the world he or she claims to understand.

That was one of the insights that bubbled to the surface as I took a deeper look at ‘Becoming,’ especially ‘late-life Becoming.’ For more than a dozen years my stories and blogs have endorsed the virtues of using the gifts we have received and the time we have been given. Yet rarely have I paused to wonder where that ‘Becoming’ obsession came from, or what it says about me. Then, somewhere in the course of this return to ‘Becoming,’ a new understanding began to emerge. 

For some reason I have developed an aversion to ‘wasting’ the God-given years I have left. I am not sure if that is normal, or even healthy, and I don’t pretend to understand why that is, but I know that reality will color what follows.

                                                         ******

Allow me to introduce Brene Brown, Ph.D., an author and research professor at the University of Houston. As I noted in an earlier post, her emphasis on “growing into our gifts” strikes me as another way to frame the notion of  late-life ‘Becoming.' 

I happen to believe that her closing advice…. “It’s time to show up and be seen” applies to us October and November types as much as it does to the midlife folks she is addressing.

Here is what she has to say.

I think midlife (and late-life) is when the universe gently places her hand upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear:

“I’m not screwing around. It’s time. All of this pretending and performing - these coping mechanisms that you’ve developed to protect yourself from feeling inadequate and getting hurt - has to go.

“Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts. I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy of love and belonging, but you’re still searching and sometimes it feels like you’re more lost than ever.

“Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can’t live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through you. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It’s time to show up and be seen.”

  

                                                   *******

Does that sound to you like good advice? That “It’s time to show up and grow into your gifts”?

I sometimes wonder if I have returned to the notion of late-life ‘Becoming’ because it seems to me that many of my peers have settled for the status-quo, as if at their age they have nothing more to give?  

Disclaimer #1 - If that is my reason, it is far too presumptuous of me. How could I possibly know someone else’s degree of ‘settling?’ Besides, who am I to judge how they live their lives? I have trouble enough with my own.

On the other hand perhaps this ‘Becoming’ obsession of mine is a purely defensive mechanism, sparked by my own weakness….fueled by the guilt of having wasted so many opportunities, and having left so much of my own life undone. Or could it be that my extended exposure to Wayne Dyer’s mind-bending wisdom has tilted my brain in that direction.

Anyway, no matter the ‘why’ of it, ‘Becoming’ ….making the most of late-life in our own unique way….has become an important focus of my stories and blogging---including today’s post. There is even a novel, of which I am rather proud, titled Becoming. And too, the series of blogs I posted last summer, and the resulting book….Living With Dying….turned a spotlight on my efforts to continue ‘Becoming’ in the face of a serious medical diagnosis.

Along the way I have learned that in late-life, when the need to chase the almighty dollar is hopefully less urgent, there are many other satisfying reasons to keep ‘Becoming.’ Best of all there are few rules and no ‘right’ way to do that, beyond what you find fulfilling.

It was that thinking which had me subtitling this blogsite ‘Thriving in late life.’ True, at the time I was referring to our 60s and 70s. Now in my 80s here I am again, back for another bite of the apple. 

                        *******

So, first things first. Whatever our age and whatever our goal, ‘Becoming’ is a matter of change….of moving some of our thoughts and actions from Point A to Point B. To be clear, that minimal understanding makes no judgment about whether Point B, the result of our change, will be better or worse than Point A. In the same way ‘Becoming’ does not imply any particular outcome, positive or negative. 

There are other things we know about ‘Change.’ To begin with, it is a given….we are always changing. That is easiest to see over time. Take a moment to recall the person you were five or ten years ago. Can you identify some of the ways that you, the person you know best of all, have changed in that time. 

Now, take a peek into your crystal ball. Will the ‘you’ that appears four or five years from now look and feel like like today’s ‘you?’ (I realize, of course, that at 85 it is an act of faith to believe I will even be here in five years.)

      *******

Many of us know how October and November can sneak up on a person. By now our ‘status-quo’ has certainly deteriorated a notch or two. Some of what we could once do, we no longer can. It probably feels like we are decelerating….sometimes slowly, sometimes not so slowly. And there are bound to be times when we believe the opportunity to become more than we are has passed us by. 

I don’t want to sound like I spend my waking hours dwelling on nothing but ‘Becoming.’ Truth be told, it was the Living With Dying series I mentioned earlier that renewed my interest in how I could make better use of the time I have left, be it weeks or years. There I was, dealing with a potentially lethal diagnosis. What options did I have? What options do any of us have?

On one hand, we can accept that we are too old and too set in our ways to become something more….whatever that means to us. In that case we can settle for what we have and remember the good old days, while perhaps bemoaning the sad fact that those days are gone forever.

Or instead we can draw on a lifetime of hard-learned lessons to steer us toward a modestly-optimistic use of the gifts we still have in our quiver. Of course, our notions of what amounts to a worthwhile result have changed over the years. In my own hopeful moments I like to believe that my understanding of what makes me ‘whole’ and ‘complete’ has matured with time.

On the plus side, however, I believe that everything we need to create such change is close at hand. Actually, it has always been with us. If I am going to ‘Become’ something more than the person I am now the implied change, however modest it might be, must begin with me. There is no one else who can do that for me.

We are already familiar with the seeds that create change. They are called thoughts, and most of us have them every day….by the thousands. It is our thoughts about a desired result that trigger change, promoting the urge for something more or different….first as a wish, then as a willingness to imagine how a desired change might feel, and finally as a determination to follow through.

Of course our dreams of change must be realistic, as well as age-appropriate. In the end, however, achieving those dreams, whatever they may be, is not nearly as important as knowing in our hearts that we have done our best in that pursuit.

                                                     *******

When all is said and done the choice….whether or not to keep moving ahead in our own way, at our own pace….is ours to make. The Divine Life Force I accept as real does not judge how far or how high our Becoming takes us. But rather, the test is how well we live out the Source’s love-based expectations.

To become more than we are today, expending our life energy, however limited it may be, on what we perceive to be a higher purpose…that is my idea of a worthy goal, something to strive for. That is especially true when those energies are pursued in the name of love, kindness, and caring, as opposed to meeting our need for ego-gratification.

You remember, don’t you….those dated images of late-life as ‘rocking chair’ time? I believe we are called to make it more than that. What form of ‘more’ works for us is our choice to make. No matter what we have in mind it will always begins with the same first step….a thoughtful decision to change, to keep Becoming.

A HI-TECH ANSWER TO A LOW-TECH QUESTION

I realize that the subject of aging, with its trials and possibilities, is well covered these days. I for one have filled a lot of blog pages writing about the pros and cons of late-life. I must admit, however, there is one bit of  late-life reality that seems to have escaped my attention……until recently.

As sometimes happens in this time of life, I have been on my own for a couple months now……dealing with her absence and left to make sense of life alone. Fortunately I have had lots of support from the four ‘helpers’ we created over the years. Still, at least once a day that lovely lady makes her way into my thoughts, reminding me “You can’t quit living. Get out your to-do list and get busy.”

The history of my situation is simple enough……. and not all that uncommon. You see, my beloved helpmate, the one who picked me up when I stumbled, has moved on to a better place. Though I live with son Terry, and he is a big-time help, he works all day, while I am home alone. Can you see where that might lead……leaving an eighty-five year-old misfit on his own for six or eight hours at a time?  

Don’t get me wrong. I am not a particularly sociable guy. I don’t mind being alone. In fact I generally prefer it that way. On the other hand, when I listen to my children what I hear sometimes sounds like an unanimous declaration ……that Dad is too old to be on his own. 

That in turn seems to call for a special sort of help. Perhaps something the old guy could use to summon assistance, if ever that was needed. Something like a simple button, a distress call he could press from anywhere around the house or yard. Well, that sounds doable, doesn’t it?

You’ve heard the pathetic, whining commercials on the tube……”I have fallen and I can’t get up.” Seems to me those ought to be the words of an infant, learning to walk. But in fact they are spoken by an elderly man or woman struggling to do what any six year-old can manage. Since those ancient folks cannot pass that test on their own they must use what seems to me a hi-tech device to summon help.

Well, my ‘device’ was delivered yesterday. I knew it was coming, of course….. so its arrival was not a shock. Instead it is the unsettling realization of what it represents…..my perceived need for that bit of help…..that has me wondering.

Don’t get me wrong. The necklace itself is not at all uncomfortable or hard to wear. As far as I know it works as intended. But that doesn’t answer my obvious question……why are my own kids so sure that I need it?

After all, at eighty-five I still get around pretty well…..for a fellow my age. Sure, I use the hand rail on the steps, and pause to get my balance when I get out of my chair. And some things take longer these days. But beyond that what are they so worried about?

True, the ladder incident did land me in intensive care for a few days, but that was a freak thing……broken ribs, punctured lung, fractured clavicle, and bulging vertebrae. Besides, I don’t do ladders any more. And the fall off the trailer wasn’t nearly as bad……though I do remember that a fractured pelvis hurts a lot.

So what kind of mischief can an old guy get into around his own house? I can only imagine. Could it be that our offspring have it right after all? Without Mom on hand to keep the old man out of trouble perhaps it is best to rely on a hi-tech necklace.

I suppose it’s worth a try.