So far this year I’ve been going to the gym first thing after morning ritual and I make it most every weekday. Before that I sat down at the computer and wrote first. When I get home, instead of writing I move on with something else. This is Saturday, coffee group at 9:30 and that is two hours up the clock so writing now feels normal. You don’t forget the keyboard, the letter ‘a’ is still under little finger-left hand. I’ve always had to sneak a peek at the numbers but muscle memory still kicks in on the home row. When my granddaughter was 11 or 12 she asked a question while I was typing. I looked up at her but kept on typing and she freaked out. They used computers at school but practice ‘Hunt & Peck’. She blurted out, “How do you do that?” But she types on her cell phone with only her thumbs and I think that is unreal.
I am the classic introvert, spending a lot of time inside my head rather than milking the environment for stimulation. Back when: my wife kept telling me I should be more outgoing but competing for talk-space in a group was never a good fit. People time their leap into the conversation so there is no break in the stream of words. By the time I can muscle into a short pause the subject has changed. Then there’s the Mark Twain quote; “When you have nothing to say, say nothing.”
I am too old by now to be anxious about growing old. In a random crowd of 100 people there will be (maybe) one or two others my age or senior to me. Church and the hospital don’t count; they’re not random crowds. I’ve bee lucky all my life. When I break something now it takes longer to mend, maybe a lot longer but I mend. My introvert-self reasons that long life is preferred to the alternative and good health is an afterthought until it goes away. I cannot take good fortune for granted, can’t count on it but when Karma smiles on me I practice sincere gratitude.
Still, with advancing years I can’t ignore the obvious. As far as we know, we are the only self-aware species. We think about thinking and about what others are thinking. We connect the dots and make meaning. Without any ‘afterlife’ hyperbole we understand ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. This life can be measured in wake-ups and the number of remaining wake-ups dwindles with each new day. When we are young the number seems so far removed it’s easy to dismiss. So every new day I spend a moment being self-aware; my number today is diminished by one measure from what it was yesterday. Every new wake-up becomes more precious than the one before and I don’t want to squander any wake-up. I try to have a plan, even if it’s just for the day, do something important enough to feel good when you close your eyes goodnight. Life is short; by the time one realizes that inevitability it’s later than you think.
BREAK: That was four days ago and I’m just getting back to writing. Been walking at the gym early, made cheesy-grits for breakfast when I got home and noticed I had an unfinished draft waiting in my journal. Today is Wednesday before Maundy Thursday, then Good Friday, skip Saturday and Easter itself. Busy week for the Faithful. I have Jewish friends who consider themselves Cultural Jews, observe all the holidays but pass on the religion. I could think of myself as a Cultural but nonpracticing Christian. Again I default to Mark Twain who was quoted; “Having Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” So Easter for me is welcoming new life springing from the earth from baby eagles in the nest, the greening of new grass and flower beds coming back to life after a long winter sleep.
Speaking of life resurrected, stepping out the door this morning I was taken aback. Over night the buds on the Choke Cherry tree next to my driveway had transformed into tiny leaves but leaves none the less. Backing down the drive I could not dismiss the leafed out Choke Cherry standing there next to the bare-naked Golden Raintree and equally undressed Sycamore. In a few days there will be clusters of tiny white cherry blossoms with a pungent-sweet scent that cannot be ignored. I know it’s coming but every year I am surprised by the way it lifts my spirit. Yesterday I planted columbines in the flower bed under the cherry tree and never thought about the buds above me just hours away from popping.
I feel better. Not so long ago I was preoccupied with what I consider to be a failed, lack of leadership at the highest level. If I let their self-promoting obsession spoil any part of this wake-up or the next or the next; then I’m taking the bait and become part of the problem. So I don’t tune in on the news as there is no good news. The less I know is not a handicap. I missed the ‘No Kings’ demonstrations recently but nothing or nobody suffered as a result. They were timely and welcomed but they were not diminished by my not knowing. I’m writing less but otherwise able to focus on doing what I can do and being a minuscule part of the change I want to see. A friend (philosophy Prof.) once told me; “The world is broken but you didn’t break it and you can’t fix it. So be the change you want to see and live the best life you can. That’s all there is.”
I am the classic introvert, spending a lot of time inside my head rather than milking the environment for stimulation. Back when: my wife kept telling me I should be more outgoing but competing for talk-space in a group was never a good fit. People time their leap into the conversation so there is no break in the stream of words. By the time I can muscle into a short pause the subject has changed. Then there’s the Mark Twain quote; “When you have nothing to say, say nothing.”
I am too old by now to be anxious about growing old. In a random crowd of 100 people there will be (maybe) one or two others my age or senior to me. Church and the hospital don’t count; they’re not random crowds. I’ve bee lucky all my life. When I break something now it takes longer to mend, maybe a lot longer but I mend. My introvert-self reasons that long life is preferred to the alternative and good health is an afterthought until it goes away. I cannot take good fortune for granted, can’t count on it but when Karma smiles on me I practice sincere gratitude.
Still, with advancing years I can’t ignore the obvious. As far as we know, we are the only self-aware species. We think about thinking and about what others are thinking. We connect the dots and make meaning. Without any ‘afterlife’ hyperbole we understand ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. This life can be measured in wake-ups and the number of remaining wake-ups dwindles with each new day. When we are young the number seems so far removed it’s easy to dismiss. So every new day I spend a moment being self-aware; my number today is diminished by one measure from what it was yesterday. Every new wake-up becomes more precious than the one before and I don’t want to squander any wake-up. I try to have a plan, even if it’s just for the day, do something important enough to feel good when you close your eyes goodnight. Life is short; by the time one realizes that inevitability it’s later than you think.
BREAK: That was four days ago and I’m just getting back to writing. Been walking at the gym early, made cheesy-grits for breakfast when I got home and noticed I had an unfinished draft waiting in my journal. Today is Wednesday before Maundy Thursday, then Good Friday, skip Saturday and Easter itself. Busy week for the Faithful. I have Jewish friends who consider themselves Cultural Jews, observe all the holidays but pass on the religion. I could think of myself as a Cultural but nonpracticing Christian. Again I default to Mark Twain who was quoted; “Having Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” So Easter for me is welcoming new life springing from the earth from baby eagles in the nest, the greening of new grass and flower beds coming back to life after a long winter sleep.
Speaking of life resurrected, stepping out the door this morning I was taken aback. Over night the buds on the Choke Cherry tree next to my driveway had transformed into tiny leaves but leaves none the less. Backing down the drive I could not dismiss the leafed out Choke Cherry standing there next to the bare-naked Golden Raintree and equally undressed Sycamore. In a few days there will be clusters of tiny white cherry blossoms with a pungent-sweet scent that cannot be ignored. I know it’s coming but every year I am surprised by the way it lifts my spirit. Yesterday I planted columbines in the flower bed under the cherry tree and never thought about the buds above me just hours away from popping.
I feel better. Not so long ago I was preoccupied with what I consider to be a failed, lack of leadership at the highest level. If I let their self-promoting obsession spoil any part of this wake-up or the next or the next; then I’m taking the bait and become part of the problem. So I don’t tune in on the news as there is no good news. The less I know is not a handicap. I missed the ‘No Kings’ demonstrations recently but nothing or nobody suffered as a result. They were timely and welcomed but they were not diminished by my not knowing. I’m writing less but otherwise able to focus on doing what I can do and being a minuscule part of the change I want to see. A friend (philosophy Prof.) once told me; “The world is broken but you didn’t break it and you can’t fix it. So be the change you want to see and live the best life you can. That’s all there is.”
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