What Is It All About?
I am now in my 77th year and quite frequently, in this mostly-retired life I’m living, I wonder how to make the most meaning of my remaining days. I say “mostly retired” because back in 2019, after five years with no earned income, I decided to seek part-time work that would supplement my various and sundry (i.e., relatively-modest) retirement-income streams. So, in the last five years, and because I have a wide range of skills, I have worked three successive, different jobs on our local community college campus. It has been a valuable experience, so far, and keeps both my mind and body active.
Retirement, though, is nothing like I imagined – that is, if I thought about it much at all. I never really did have a coherent “retirement strategy,” as we are encouraged to do. Rather, my approach seemed to be: to work as long as I can and then see where I was in “old age.” You would be right in concluding that this is not really the most prudent game plan. And, as it turned out, I spent a considerable portion of my life pursuing multiple academic degrees, which significantly cut into my ability to put away any kind of really-comfortable, old-age nest egg. (Student loans played a big part in that, I have to admit; I was paying them off until age 66. It seems I missed the whole “forgiveness” scenario by about three decades.)
The bottom line here is: I have found this time of life to be quite problematic. Despite the fact that I am working part time, getting up in the morning and finding purpose has been a real issue. Questions such as: what am I doing with my life? and what have I done with my life” keep seeping into my consciousness. I keep wondering about the value I have added to the universe during my younger years, and I am especially questioning the value of my life now. As always, I am asking: what’s it all about?
Most people would say: love. But it seems that has mostly passed me by this time around.
Soundtrack Suggestion
What’s it all about Alfie
Is it just for the moment we live
I believe in love, Alfie
Without true love we just exist, Alfie
Until you find the love you’ve missed
You’re nothing, Alfie
(“Alfie” – Burt Bacharach)
Adieu
Teller was not so much bereft as he was stunned; although, he admitted, this was accompanied by a healthy dose of relief. He was aware that he should be grieving, as would be normal under such circumstances. Perhaps the immense sense of fatigue that he was feeling, down to the core of his being, was a symptom of his sadness.
The relationship that he had been involved in for five years was now officially over. Given that he had invested so much of his life in this one person, it qualified as one of the major liaisons of his life. But now, it was, finally: kaput.
Not that this should be a big surprise. In fact, anyone with a lick of sense would have predicted this outcome for a coupling with such a turbulent and chaotic dynamic. The on-again/off-again nature had been truly maddening.
Teller and Gwendolyn had met online and had their first date on her 65th birthday in 2019. He was 71 at the time and hoping to meet his last love. However, despite their mutual attraction, from very early on differences over fundamental values were evident.
Consequently, there were oh many instances of painful conflict along the way. And it did not end well, with Gwen sending a final, distancing text: “… and please do not contact me again.”
Yes, Teller was stunned. And yet, bound to honor Gwendolyn’s wish.
Adieu: perhaps to his last love.
Soundtrack Suggestion
And I know it’s long gone
and that magic’s not here no more
And I might be okay
but I'm not fine at all
(“All Too Well” - Taylor Swift)
Generosity and Free Will
“I was trying to figure out what I should have already told you, but I never have. Something important, something every father should impart to his daughter. I finally got it: generosity. Be generous, with your time, with your love, with your life.” [From a terminally-ill, near death, Dr. Mark Greene, to daughter Rachel, during “On the Beach,” an episode of “ER,” May 9, 2002; emphasis mine.]
I wrote last time about my fall on the ice during the recent storm. As reported, I did not break any bones; however, the residual effects of the mishap continue to linger on. The trauma of the tumble seems to have taken up residence in my lower and upper back – as well as in my psyche. My spirits are quite low.
In the first two weeks after the storm, I had massage, physical-therapy, and Zero-balancing sessions – in addition to my regularly-scheduled therapy appointment. At this point, though, my recovery still has a way to go. I need significantly more time – andhelp- to facilitate my healing.
In questioning my life’s choices during this period of blueness, I reviewed an essay from February 2006 here on Musings entitled “Generosity.” I have had reason to reflect again on the meaning of this term and specifically its place in the context of friendship.
What am I talking about? Well, I now have reason to believe that what I had experienced as acts of generosity from a friend were, perhaps, deeds that had been misinterpreted by me. I now suspect that perhaps some kind of relational score-keeping had been in play. This has sent me even more into an emotional tailspin, leading me into a deeper examination of my own behavior; to wit: Who am I as a friend? Am I in search of some kind of reciprocity rather than act from a generous spirit? Am I generous enough with my love? My time? My energy? My life? Who am I, really? And, in this context, how am I perceived by others?
I have always believed that each of our lives are comprised of our own individual choices – a sum of the good and/or bad. This long-held belief has, recently, however, come to be challenged. During the last few weeks I have been trying to make my way through Determined by Robert Sapolsky, a dense academic treatise on the topic of free will. Sapolsky makes the compelling argument that, essentially, free will is a myth -- that our livesare really the sum of our biology, our environment, our experiences, of human evolution. The theory is that whatever we choose to do in any moment is dictated by the sum of our life up until the previous moment, that that moment is the result of the previous moment, on and on and on. From Sapolsky’s viewpoint “…all we are is the history of our biology, over which we have no control, and of its interaction with environments, over which we also have no control, creating who we are in the moment” (Sapolsky, 2023, p. 85).
So, in this particular paradigm of human existence, none of us can really be held accountable for our actions – they have all been pre-determined. In fact, every act of mine (ours), lets say in the matters of charity or generosity, are built into us and that we don’t really choose to behave in one way or the other.
I admit that I find myself being quite depressed at the concept that my (and your) existence has already been determined in advance, that my (our) choices are not really choices. Thinking about this interpretation of being human has not done anything positive for my spirits.
So, in sum, right now my body and my soul are in pain. I am seeking help from various sources to manage life right now. But I am in a state of confusion about the meaning of the human experience and what actions I (we) may (or may not) have control over. I am wondering what “choice” is --and whether or not I have the ability to actually choose the right way to work my way out of this painful period.
Reference
Sapolsky, R. (2023). Determined. New York: Penguin Press.
Surviving Winter
As I sit here in my neighborhood Starbucks, sipping a hot chocolate on this late-January Sunday afternoon, I am thinking about how I have (mostly) successfully made it through another horrible winter-weather event. No, here in the Willamette Valley we really don’t have the blizzards and sub-zero temperatures that regularly incapacitate other parts of the country; that’s not our thing. The experience that we have all collectively lived through here, recently, is yet another Oregon ice storm.
Starting nine days ago, on the evening of Friday, January 12, freezing rain began to coat the landscape from Eugene, here the southern valley, up to Portland in the north. When it started we didn’t really know how bad it was going to get, of course. But the forecast was not encouraging. And when I awoke last Saturday morning, it brought back unpleasant memories of a previous ice-storm disaster we had here. It was in December of 2016, when I was living in another neighborhood of north Eugene, that freezing rain left a good portion of the city immobilized. I had electricity for the first day of the storm, but when I awoke during the middle of that night, I had the realization the power was out. For the first full day of darkness, and then the second, I wore multiple layers of clothing (including a down jacket and ear muffs), huddled on my couch, for hours and hours at a time, under a big pile of blankets. I kept my phone powered on with an external battery pack and listened to the news.
The temperature outside remained in the teens and twenties. More trees fell under the weight of the ice, more power lines went down. I learned that it could be several days before power was restored. The temperature in my apartment continued to fall. It was about the time that I began to see my breath that my mood began to significantly decline. Oh, I thought, this is the very scenario that plays out when it is ultimately learned that the storm has led to various fatalities: people freezing to death, alone in their own dwellings.
It was after two full nights alone in the cold when I decided, on the third day, that I needed to take some kind of action. Given that the power was not out all over the area, there were pockets where life was, unbelievably, going on as usual. I called a hotel a few miles away, learned that they had power, and that they were offering discounts to folks who were seeking a safe place in the storm. I made a reservation, hastily packed a suitcase with my frozen fingers, and very carefully drove over there. I settled in, took a long hot bath, and started to feel safe. But this whole experience had been traumatizing and had left me with a sense of dread, unease, and extreme vulnerability.
Now, fast forward to 2024 and this storm. The weather this time turned out to last days longer and be more severe than originally anticipated; in fact, this storm was even worse than last time, according to the experts. Reports kept coming in with more and more power outages, even as my lights remained on. I became increasingly anxious. I rather expected to have to relive the trauma of 2016 all over again. And this time, any kind of escape seemed even more problematic; I didn’t believe my car would make it out of my parking lot, much less get me to a hotel that had power. What was going to be my survival maneuver this time?
So then, at one point, on the third day of pandemic-like isolation, and because of my previous hardship, I tried to make from the bottom of my stairs to my car. I took just two steps -- before I fell! Luckily, I didn’t believe I had any broken bones, but I felt foolish. What was I thinking!? I still had power, internet, heat and food. There was no call for emergency measures yet, but still I was somewhat panicky. I was likely in a state of trauma-induced anxiety and not thinking entirely clearly.
I went back upstairs and started to take care of my slightly wounded body. Even without any broken bones, I was hurting. My left shoulder seemed especially problematic. I texted a friend who immediately called me back with some self-care advice.
As this episode ends, I am able to report that I was able to make it out of the house on day six and find some comfort and care with a massage therapist who began tending to my slightly-broken body (and spirit - and ego). I am on the mend now, though it appears I have some healing yet to do.
With this essay I am, of course, reporting on one man’s lived experience of these events; ultimately, I survived just fine. The lights in my dwelling remained on the entire time and I only lost internet for about 15 hours. Mostly I had to deal with my increasing anxiety -- and then with my injured body.
What is missing from this report, obviously, is the experience of the thousands and thousands of other Oregonians who fared much less well: those families whose lights went out, and are still out; those individuals who tried to walk outside and ended up in the emergency room with broken arms, wrists, hips, pelvises; those folks who tried to heat themselves inside with dangerous devices and ended up with carbon monoxide poisoning; business owners who lost days of income because of closure; and those of us who physically survived but will live long-term with the trauma.
If you are out there and reading this, I hope you are in a place where you are warm and safe – and, for the time being, living your life mostly trauma-free.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Time, time, time, see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities
I was so hard to please
Don't look around
The leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
(“A Hazy Shade of Winter” - Simon & Garfunkel)
Ten Before Thirty
I just finished reading Ten Before Thirty, the debut novel by Yana Kazan, a work that was recommended to me recently by friends. I was informed that Kazan is the pen name of a former professional colleague and that the novel is autobiographical in nature; of course I was intrigued.
Ten Before Thirty can most appropriately be described as a coming-of-age story. The protagonist is Annie Zechman who we first meet at the age of ten as she mystically encounters her long-dead great-grandmother Flora. Flora warns her that there are ten “really bad” things coming at her and that Annie has the choice of experiencing them early in life - or later. Annie chooses “early,” namely before the age of thirty. Hence the title of the book.
One of the earliest, really bad things to happen is the sudden death of her father at the age of 52. As the narrative unfolds, we learn, in quite some detail, about several of the other traumatic events she encounters; when tallied up they are undoubtedly more than ten in number. We find out, for example, that as a young child, Annie was molested by her grandfather. And early on, Annie’s single-parent mother finds a man, marries, and moves the family to Dallas, Texas. It is the early Sixties and as Annie is finishing high school, President Kennedy is assassinated nearby during her senior year.
We then follow Annie through her undergraduate years at a women’s college in Missouri and to grad school in Wisconsin. And yes, the “really bad” things keep coming. Annie has very few friends during these early years, and her choice of emotionally-unavailable men along the way almost certainly works against her best interest. The list of traumas includes (but is not limited to): the loss of a love; date and stranger rape; being hit by a car; nearly being kidnapped; and being strip-searched in jail. It is an eye-opening account of a somewhat naïve and vulnerable female as she attempts to navigate the rather hostile world of the turbulent Sixties and Seventies.
