THAT'S WHAT WE DO

On the planet right now, according to Wikipedia, there are in the neighborhood of 7.7  big ‘B’ billion human beings. For total people it’s 7.7 and eight trailing zeros. Again, roughly one third, (1 of every 3) righteous souls is either Chinese or Indian. Americans account for less than 5% of the 7.7 billion. I’m not preaching politics or environmental stewardship today, although I could. I’m trying to visualize the American niche when it comes to travelers on Starship Earth, my niche in particular. 

People my age or older make up just under 3% of the 7.7. Think, out of every 100 people alive in the moment, my demographic would be represented by two average old men and a one-legged dwarf, all over 80 years. The critic would argue that between fluctuating  birth and death rates, quantifying world norms by age is impossible and they would be correct if you want to think of it that way. But (people) love manipulating data and seeking universal truths. Certainly there is a number that falls within an acceptable range of accuracy that we can accept. It changes minutely from nanosecond to nanosecond but so what! It’s all theoretical anyway. The whole idea of universal truth is more about propping up ideologies like economics and religion than about anything universal. So, we’re moving on. 

On the wall chart that’s me between the dwarf and the tall African which means the dwarf is female and probably speaks Mandarin; the African could be a woman as well. If you want to know the percentage of 80+ Americans on the earth, get your calculator and do the math but I feel safe predicting the number to be significantly less than 1%. I can interpret that to mean, using random selection, the chances of finding another person in my demographic will be a long shot. In another 4.5 years (with good health and good luck) my number will surpass 85 and the frequency distribution for that crowd will shrink my category to an even lower representation. In that case my place in that graphic display might be a finger nail on the hand of a single, legless, one armed dude who also speaks Mandarin. I am becoming a rare commodity. Understand when something becomes rare its worth generally increases correspondingly. Either the message isn’t getting out or there is a caveat lost in the details because nobody is throwing money or seeking my counsel.  

With all that in mind my story is about life in the nether zone, 6 or 7 zeros removed from the decimal point. I tell stories, that’s what I do. There was a movie several years ago about a 90+ old man, living alone in rural, scrub/cactus, Southern California. His name, the movie’s name were both ‘Lucky’. It was a bitter-sweet rendering of sometimes lonesome, sometimes lonely, knowing the ride had nearly run its course. It was about affectionate relationships with locals and about drinking coffee, about walking for the sake of something to do, about finding shade in the heat of the day. Humor, both light and dark was like the urge to pee, no respecter of persons. If one suffered from depression it would be the wrong movie to see. Otherwise, it was what it was, the story of an old man making the most of limited resources, making the most of days and nights, one at a time. My takeaway was a reminder; not that I need reminding. Make today count. 

In the end, my times will be remembered for social unrest, for people who believe they are righteous in their extreme values and behavior. They have pitted themselves against others who believe likewise in their own, diametrically opposed, sacred truths. They are neither right nor wrong, just different, both with skewed views on moral principles. This kind of turmoil is not new, we’ve come this way before but that was when the world moved at a much slower pace. Sources were more responsible. Information at the speed of Twitter makes us nails instead of hammers. I still use my big screen computer, not my device and I trust sources with long standing reputations for independence and fairness like BBC and the NY Times. We all have feelings but passion is something else, feelings on steroids. Passion motivates like nothing else but likewise, passion is unreliable. Passion can leave you on a mountain top or at the bottom of a deep hole. By its own chemistry passion will pass, leaving you with feelings that you didn’t have when you began. Most often, we have too much invested in a passionate cause to put it down and say, I was wrong.  I leave ideology that feeds on passion to radicals and populists. 

If I have to embrace a cause for the sake of meaningful living I’ll pass on politics and religion. Remember me for my music and story. We are the only animals who have that capacity. Humans are like toddlers walking down there at curb level, clinging to a condescending hand, believing that we know where we’re going and that we can change the world. When will we ever learn? (Sounds like a Dylan song). Knowing is more complicated than it might seem and at best, we think we think. Everything we’ve ever learned, in order for it to be shared it must be translated into language and framed in story. Music is pure story, reduced to a few verses, a bridge and a chorus. It soothes the savage beast and elevates the heart from camaraderie to amour. 

You can take the Speaker of The House and the Senate Majority Leader, you can have the narcissist-bigot in the White House as well. Polarized hyperbole, that’s what they are serving in lieu of mutual respect and common courtesy. I will revere and respect the legacies of Mark Twain and Maya Angelou, of Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles. Their contributions will endure out of affection. We feel, that’s what we do, long before we think or act. I prefer peaceful reflection to prideful indignation, you would think they could figure that out. I am listening to the Tedeschi-Trucks Band; Midnight In Harlem. Agonizing over things I can’t change would be an exercise in vain self-conceit. Be well, take care.