If I Don’t See You Again

The power of music, whether joyous or cathartic, must steal on one unawares, come spontaneously as a blessing or a grace… 

(Oliver Sacks, p. 299, Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain)

I have satellite radio in my car.

Siriusly.

When I purchased my new Subaru last summer, the availability of this add-on was just too enticing to pass up. So, now, I almost always have my radio tuned to satellite rather than listening to FM, AM, CD or my iPod. Sirius Channel 6, devoted to tunes of the 60s, is where my dial is typically set.

Last week, while driving off-campus for lunch one day, the DJ on Channel 6 announced that Channel 3 is currently (and temporarily) assigned entirely, 24/7, to Neil Diamond music. Now I’m aware that Elvis (Channel 13), Jimmy Buffet (Channel 31), and the Grateful Dead (Channel 32), all have their own exclusive Sirius channels, but I thought to myself: Neil Diamond? Really? (Why not the Beatles!?)

Well, anyway, I was intrigued. Neil Diamond has always pretty much been a favorite of mine. I still remember quite vividly seeing him in concert on February 27, 1971, at Gill Coliseum in Corvallis, Oregon. At the time, I was a long-haired, bearded lad of 23, in my first year of grad school at Oregon State University. (And Neil Diamond had just turned 30 the month before…it’s amazing what you can find out on the internet if you just poke around a little.) Margaret and I had great seats, somewhere in the first ten rows, if I recall correctly. Toward the end of the concert he introduced and sang a new song that he said was going to be released soon: I Am … I Said.

I am, I said
To no one there
And no one heard at all
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost, and I can’t even say why
Leavin’ me lonely still…

It was released exactly a month later, on March 27, and of course, was a huge hit. I swear: I have always loved that song from the moment I first heard it.

But, I digress.

I immediately tuned into Channel 3, and yes, there he was, Neil himself, talking about the writing of one of his songs. I caught the narrative mid-stream, so I wasn’t sure which song. He was rambling on about this particular piece, and he claimed he didn’t know what it was really about during the time period he was writing it. It was a rather long intro, and then the song played. I had never heard it before, and I remember thinking: how can I not be familiar with this (a Neil Diamond) song?!

Well, as it turns out, he has a new album out called Home Before Dark. Amazon.com informs me that it was just released on April 29, and his website lets us know that this is his 46th album and the only one to debut at Number 1.

The song that I first listened to in the car that noon hour is entitled “If I Don’t See You Again.” It so moved me that it’s the inspiration for this little essay here today.

I don’t know what your experience will be when you hear this song (or what your experience might already have been), but my reaction was (and still is) highly emotional. Quite literally, from the simple opening chords, right until the end, this song seemed to touch me to the core. I can barely remember my drive that lunch hour as I was transported to some other dimension for those seven and a quarter minutes. And, after it played, I could barely remember any of the words…I just had this feeling…

What is the song about? Well, for me, the kicked-in-the-gut reaction it produced suggested it was entirely about loss. While listening I was awash in a huge, familiar physical-emotional response: familiar because of its association with times in my life when things have changed dramatically…when I’ve had to leave people or places behind. Of course, the last four years of my life have been almost entirely about change and loss, so I’ve come to view myself as somewhat of an expert in these areas.

I guess there might be other interpretations, but I’d say this song is about losing a love. And what life brings on when that happens. A tear came to my eye as I listened…the words and the melody poking through an emotional wall I seem to have built up in myself in recent months: a barrier that has apparently prevented me from completely dealing with the depths of the sadness brought on by the loss of a love, and a familiar life, in Oregon.

I can’t seem to get enough of this tune. While it caught me unawares last week, I was immediately hooked. I downloaded it from iTunes that same night, and have been playing it ever since. Exactly what’s going on here, I’m not sure. I just know that my attraction to this song is a powerful one.

And how coincidental that it comes along at this particular time. It was also last week that I was talking to some former colleagues in Oregon, mentioning both my blessings of a new life now made in California, as well as still carrying an overarching belief that Oregon is where I belong.

I suppose this is not very complicated at all. This tune is one that, for whatever reason, touches my soul, and speaks to me about the people and places I no longer have around.

And reminds me of the question that all-too-frequently pops into my mind during unguarded moments: what if I don’t see you again?

Soundtrack Suggestion

Who am I kidding I’m going nowhere
I can’t even get through an hour without you
Should be ashamed
Just want to hear you calling my name
Two of us missed connections
Guess we must have somehow missed
          something more
’Cause we’re here alone
I know we’re together
But too far apart to know how to get back home…

If I don’t see you again
Somehow we both made it through
I woulda gave up on life
Before I gave up on you
You went and turned me around
Could be was something you said
I couldn’t make out the sound
I didn’t care what it meant
If I don’t see you again
If I don’t see you again
If I don’t see you again

(“If I Don’t See You Again” – Neil Diamond)

Baby Boomers: Citizens Not Seniors

Turning 60 is not an insignificant milestone. It sure has me thinking a lot lately, given that I’m now about three months into my seventh decade.

And it appears that I’m not the only one with the implications of baby-boomer aging on my mind.

Last month, in an op-ed piece entitled “Second Acts,” Boston Globe columnist Ellen Goodman told a small part of the Al Gore story…in essence arguing that, in the aftermath of his loss to George W. Bush, Gore was able to rediscover his true calling. Goodman believes that he “found himself by losing himself – literally losing – and being liberated from ambition.”

Further, Goodman suggests that Gore is blazing a new trail for the baby-boomer generation. “Consider the new sixtysomethings,” she says…

…Next Friday, Hillary Clinton turns 60 and her second act is running for president. And when the new Harvard president, Drew Gilpin Faust, 60, met with her Bryn Mawr classmates last summer? Many were talking about leaving their “extreme jobs” just as she was installed in hers.

Baby boomers are the first generation that can look forward to such a lengthy and (fingers crossed) healthy stage of later life. They are as likely to be talking about what they want to do next as about where they want to retire. Never mind all those declarations that 60 is the new 40. In fact, 60 is the new 60.

For me, at age 60, it’s certainly not the case that I’m talking about retirement. As always, in my life, it’s about what to do next.

Not that the question of “what to do next” is, I hope, going to come up very soon (given that I’ve, just recently, totally changed my life yet again). It’s just that, like Gore, in losing, I seem to have found a new direction. Hopefully one that will sustain me for some time to come.

As I’ve written about before, I was forced to reconsider my life almost from the moment the Governor of Oregon dismissed the entire State Board of Higher Education on November 13, 2003. With that single act, after nine years as a policy-wonk type, I needed to find someplace else to land, something else to do. As with our former Vice President, who found a different ladder to climb after some time in the wilderness (how’s that for mixing metaphors?!), I too spent some years out there in the wild, trying to come to grips with the realities of loss and seeking to find a way to let go. Specifically, my path of soul-searching consisted of three years and two temporary jobs at different dysfunctional institutions. Although they took a high personal toll, the growth-providing experiences I had from 2004 to 2007 laid the foundation for finding my version of the “extreme job” …which ultimately came within a month of my 60th birthday.

Not that my current place is the be-all and end-all. Surely it isn’t. When I was recently providing an outline of my non-linear, wayward life to the young woman who now cuts my hair, she seemed genuinely curious about all those twists and turns. At one point, I disclosed that I had very few regrets, but that “if I had it all to do over again,” I might try to focus my life more on writing and photography. When she suggested that “it’s not too late…”, I balked. I indicated that I can write and do photography and pursue my current professional path: that changing directions entirely, at this point, might just take more energy than I have.

But, who knows? I don’t know how long I’ll live. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned thus far, it’s that you can never know what tomorrow will bring. As Ellen Goodman states, “…under the old compact, sixtysomethings were supposed to get out of the way and out of work. They were encouraged by financial incentives and prodded by discrimination. Now we are drawing blueprints for people who see themselves more as citizens than seniors.”

In all honesty, I don’t have any idea when the next fork in the road will present itself to me. For now, though, despite all those aches and pains, I am a citizen, not a senior.

If you come to a fork in the road, take it.

Yogi Berra

Update(s) on November 24, 2007:

I just thought you might like to know…

Shortly after I posted this article, I received an email asking for permission to reprint it. The request came from Frédéric Serrière, editor of theMatureMarket.com website. I gave the green light, and today I discovered that this piece had, indeed, been published. You may find it by clicking here.

Another note…

I have also been mentioned on The Platinum Years Network blog: first here, then here.

Life In Slow Motion

After receiving last week’s bad news, I desperately attempted to keep some semblance of normalcy in my life. For example, last Sunday I drove over to Berkeley to attend the city’s “How Berkeley Can You Be?” parade and festival. It sounded like it could be an afternoon of great fun, and I had expectations of displays of outrageousness from the citizenry there…reminiscent of the annual “out-there” behavior exhibited during the Eugene Celebration.

Now, perhaps it was my state-of-mind, but I was pretty disappointed. There were a smattering of laughs and “Berkeley-like” folk around (see the accompanying grandmother-for-peace photo), but my experience of the event was quite different from the all-out kind of effort that Eugene (for example) puts into its identity-defining celebrations. It seems to me that Eugene is more Berkeley-like than Berkeley is these days! Who woulda thunk?

My mood for this last week has been semi-dark. I seem to have been struggling with continuing issues of loss and change…or at least that’s the best explanation I have right now for the cloud I’m living under.

On one of my early-evening walks this week, I was trying to enjoy both the sunshine warming my face and the music coming from my iPod when, all of a sudden, I found both my hands clutching my chest as if I had pain there. But, it wasn’t really pain; actually, just momentarily, I was gasping for breath. I guess, maybe, I’d been forgetting to breathe. How weird.

But given my thoughts, not really too unusual. I had been dwelling on the loss of a friend to cancer; and the losses of jobs, attachments, familiar sights, and highly-significant people in Oregon: in essence, evidence of a total lack of control. While the changes I’ve made have also brought me meaningful gain, it’s the losses that have been my preoccupation. So much is gone. So much different.

This last week, I’ve been in a sleep-walk, a trance, moving in slow motion. As if this life I call mine is only some kind of surreal caricature of another’s.

Soundtrack Suggestion

While I was watching you did a slow dissolve…
Did I imagine they held us hypnotized
Did I imagine or do the walls have eyes…

Life in slow motion somehow it don’t feel real…
Snowflakes are falling I’ll catch them in my hands
Snowflakes are falling now you’re my long lost friend

(“Slow Motion” – David Gray)

Osmosis

Osmosis ( äz-mō'-sĕs ).

Function: noun.

Etymology: New Latin, short for endosmosis.

1: movement of a solvent (as water) through a semipermeable membrane (as of a living cell) into a solution of higher solute concentration that tends to equalize the concentrations of solute on the two sides of the membrane.

2: a process of absorption or diffusion suggestive of the flow of osmotic action; especially : a usually effortless often unconscious assimilation <learned a number of languages by osmosis — Roger Kimball>.

I started out my academic life as a chemist, so the term “osmosis” (defined above) is not entirely unfamiliar to me. I can just bet you’re wondering, though, what it is I’m going to say in a blog entry on this topic!

Well, as you likely surmised, I’m not going to be talking about that kind of osmosis, but rather “Osmosis” as it applies to steps along my path toward personal health and well-being…

This story starts with my search, last winter, for alternative health care in Roseburg, Oregon, as my fibromyalgia symptoms were becoming more and more problematic (and as western medicine continued to come up short in its ability to help me). The miracle-worker medicine woman I found there locally was trained in a variety of traditions, including massage therapy, Traditional Chinese Medicine, and craniosacral therapy. And, as it turned out, her massage therapy education also included time within the Lauren Berry Method of bodywork. Her unique skill set led to a miracle turnaround for me, bringing me “back from the brink” (as we came to characterize it).

When I moved from Roseburg to Larkspur, I needed to find someone else (or, more likely, other people) in the Bay Area to tend to my alternative health-care needs. I immediately sought out such providers after arriving here, and through a series of cross-referrals I was led to a bodywork person in Novato, CA, who is also trained in the Lauren Berry Method; so far I’ve had two sessions with her. During my first visit, she recommended that I seek out a unique enzyme-bath treatment available up in Sonoma County, at the Osmosis Spa.

Now, I had never heard of an enzyme bath, so I was curious to learn more. I found out (from their brochure and web site) that this enzymatic process stems from a centuries-old Japanese tradition of harvesting fruits, vegetables, herbs, mushrooms, seaweed and other life forms when they are at their peak and preserving them with saccharides. Then, during the (what is a dry-) bath experience itself, large wooden bath tubs are filled with finely ground cedar, rice bran, and these plant enzymes. This mixture heats up naturally, by fermentation, creating a biologically-generated warmth. The “bath” is an experience of being entirely (your whole body) covered up with this (slightly moist) mixture, up to the chin…much like being “buried alive” in sand at the beach.

This all sounded pretty mysterious to me, but I also read that the reported benefits of this treatment include: relief from joint and muscle aches and pains; reduced tension and fatigue; cleansing of the skin; stress reduction & calming of the nerves; improved digestion; detoxification; and improved circulation & mobility. Without a doubt, a pretty impressive list of possible outcomes! All of which I could definitely use.

I decided to give this approach a try, and after exploring the Osmosis website thoroughly, I made a reservation online for last Friday (the last day the college was closed on Fridays for the summer).

So, mid-morning I drove the hour or so up to Freestone, California, my trusty GPS guiding me all the way. I arrived a little early (of course!), and was greeted courteously at the front desk with a cup of tea and the information that I had about 12 minutes to wait before I started the process. A little bit later an attractive, smiling young woman called my name and led me through the sliding doors, while commenting favorably on the John Lennon t-shirt I had worn for the occasion.

I was shown to the men’s dressing room, relayed instructions about finding a robe, and told where to meet my personal bath attendant when I was ready. After changing and being seated in (what they call) the Japanese tea garden for a few minutes, “V” (my personal attendant, a very pleasant, articulate and well-informed young woman) arrived and we exchanged first names. First, she served me a tea mixed with enzymes made from more than 25 different organically grown plants. As she explained, the tea is a digestive aid, and works in conjunction the metabolic processes that occur during the bath. V then outlined the entire bathing process for me so that I would know what to expect. I had informed her that this was my first visit and that I was totally clueless!

Now, the literature about the bath process indicates that the bath may be done with, or without, a bathing suit (that is, nude. Yikes!). I had changed into a swim suit and was so attired underneath my robe. Of course, my in-bred Midwest Modesty was obviously in play here, and believed I might be a little hesitant to do the bath Full Monty in the presence of a young, female, total stranger. When she asked if I had any questions, I brought up this topic, wondering if I should do this with or without the suit. She very tactfully handled the topic, and explained that the more surface area of skin exposed to the enzymes, likely the greater the benefit. She then entirely left the decision to me, depending on my comfort level.

Well, I decided that it was rather ridiculous to let my old-guy conservative-Midwest reservations get in the way, especially after paying all this much money for a new adventure; after I was led into the (private) bath room, I shed both my robe and bathing suit and entered the scooped-out place in the center of the tub totally stitchless. (And totally California, don’t you think?!)

After getting situated and comfortable in the bed of organic materials, V covered me up with huge handfuls of the mixture from the sides of the tub. As it turned out, the nudity thing turned out to be a total non-issue. I was mildly warm right at the beginning, but quickly became more heated as the minutes ticked by. V left the room for a bit, then re-entered with cold towels for my face and neck, as well as water to sip (through a straw). The twenty minutes went by incredibly quickly, and I suspect I entered some type of mildly-altered state for a portion of the time. At any rate, V took excellent care of me, leaving and then re-entering a couple of times, and before I knew it, the time was up and I was out of the tub, outside the room (outdoors), having my back brushed off (of the moist sawdust-like mixture) by V. I brushed off my front and then entered my private shower where a towel and my robe were waiting for me on the other side.

I perspired a lot during my time in the tub, but the warmth felt totally wonderful. If it would have been allowable, I could have stayed in that environment much longer (I thought). But, with heat treatments, 20 minutes is the suggested max, and I held to it. As it turns out, even that may have been overdoing it for me, since that night I discovered that I had a significant rash on my backside. The rash is precisely where I have most of my chronic lower-back pain, so that seemed rather coincidental. However, it is probably less so when you take into account the fact that that is the area where I apply various lotions and creams to help ease the spasms in that region. Although I did not apply anything to my body that day, likely there was some kind of enzymatic (or merely heat) reaction with some residual lotion on my skin.

After the bath, I continued on with another option they offer in conjunction with the bath; I had a massage. V left me at the bottom of the stairs, and I ascended to the second floor waiting area until “J” came to fetch me. Now, I’ve had many massages before in my life, so finally I was back on familiar ground. J was very talented – she had very good hands.

After the massage, I changed back into my street clothes and checked out at the front desk. (After waiting for two women who were, for some reason, giving the attendant a difficult time about their scheduled massage appointment…they were very abrupt and rude – quite in contrast to the serene nature of the place.) I was treated very nicely at checkout, though, and offered a cup of tea, with the suggestion I visit the meditation garden (which I did for about 15 minutes or so).

It was a little difficult to face the prospect of driving the hour back home and facing the “real world” again, but here I am. I made it. I’m back at it.

I’m not sure yet what this experience has actually done for me: how much benefit it has actually provided. What I do know is that I have not worn my back brace for the last two days (mostly to avoid the possibility of aggravating the rash), with my lower back feeling quite a bit better than it has in recent times. I would very much like this to continue!

After I recover from the rash, I’m pretty sure I’ll be thinking about how soon I can do the whole thing all over again.

If you’re ever in my neighborhood, for now I’m suggesting you just might want to take in this little bit of California while you’re here.

I Just Don’t Think

It seems I’ve gotten myself into a bit of an emotional predicament again. And even though the situation is entirely of my own making, I’m trying not to be too down on myself. I’m trying to breathe in and out, in and out. I’m seeking to live in the present moment. And to make it through this. One breath at a time.

So, I guess I’m going to tell you this tale (or at least the surface part — the portion I can admit to in public). The deal is: when it comes to the story of my life, I really can’t not write about this. Because as much as the theme of change has dominated my existence recently (what with a new job, living in a new state, and such things as the California driver’s-license test), this latest development overshadows everything else I’ve discussed so far. This is about one more major event in my life, happening synchronously with everything else.

Here goes…

Ten years ago, in the fall of 1997, I met someone. I thought (actually very early on I felt certain) that she was “the one.” It had been about a decade since I’d felt anything quite like this, and, oh was I really feeling excited about life and the prospects to come.

However, C (she is the one who originally dubbed me with the “TechnoMonk” moniker) and I spent a good portion of the next two years in one of the most horrendously-tumultuous relationships imaginable, as her ambivalence about “us” absolutely dominated our couple dynamics. We were together; then we were not. Over and over this happened. Together, separated; together, separated. Ultimately, in the fall of 1999, after too many partings and subsequent reconciliations to count, and as she was in recovery from breast-cancer surgery, we wisely ceased trying to be a couple. It was a relief for me, because the emotional roller-coaster ride that was this relationship had totally drained me. By that point, I was emotionally, physically, and spiritually spent. I was at a true low point in my life.

A lot of people had observed me over this two-year span and knew what a toll it had taken on my psyche. So, one thing I have kept hidden from many is that I have allowed, over the subsequent eight years, this dynamic to continue to play out, although, arguably, with slightly less drama.

For, you see, C and I remained “friends” — which was her idea, her agenda. (Really, I viewed myself totally committed to a “whole” relationship from the start.) This was probably foolishness, but I allowed it to happen. For one thing, I could never, really, imagine my life without her in it. So, I was a participant in (for what was for me) a half-relationship. However, this kind of arrangement  was not without its pitfalls, since I was the one (this time) always ambivalent about trying to be “just friends” with a former lover. It had happened only once in my life prior to this, and, as I think most folks will attest, it just doesn’t tend to work out that well.

As it turned out, even as friends, we had our comings and goings. We had some periods when we were in close contact (sometimes daily, primarily by phone and email) and other times when we (mostly I) decided that this “friendship” scenario was just not working.

There were several points during these friendship years when I brought up the topic of getting together again: that I had never given up on that idea, and was waiting for her “to come to her senses.” Typically, it was shortly after I brought this topic up that we took a break from our friendship for weeks or even months. The separations were always painful for me, but because I missed her (and “the kids”), and the pain always seemed to subside, I would ultimately agree to give the friendship thing yet one more try.

Up until last weekend, the friendship had been on (as I calculate and recollect) its longest continuous run…over a year and a half of frequent contact and friendship-kind-of-closeness (although I had lived in Portland, Roseburg and Larkspur and she in Eugene). It was C who called together the family for a farewell dinner for me. It was at C’s house that I spent my last two nights in Oregon. It was C who made me tuna fish sandwiches for my first afternoon of driving to California. It was C who saw me break down into tears as I took leave of the part of the country I had called home for 37 years. It was to C that I made my first phone call after arriving in my new living space here in the Bay Area. And it was C who sent me a gift certificate so that I might furnish the outside patio of my new living quarters with a reclining lounge chair.

Then, out of the blue, an email arrived last weekend that she was going to go camping with her granddaughter, her granddaughter’s friend, and that friend’s Dad.

When I wrote seeking clarification of what that meant, and after waiting three days for a reply, I finally got the word that there was someone else.

Frankly, I was stunned; there had been nothing to prepare me for this. All of a sudden, with absolutely no warning (especially given my final days in Oregon with her, just within the last month), she is moving on.

C: I wish you well and all health and happiness. And a relationship free of ambivalence.

In the meantime, I’m dealing with changing my entire life around — including, now, the added dimension of needing to heal a hole in my heart.

I am needing to find a way, at this point, to fill this very large void in my entire existence. I just lost my best friend. Yet one more time.

Soundtrack Suggestion

I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that’s far away
And when I’m done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say
I don’t want you thinking I’m unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was 102
I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you
I’m no longer moved to drink strong whisky
’Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew
That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs
I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you
Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter’s still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years
But I don’t want you thinking I don’t get asked to dinner
’Cause I’m here to say that I sometimes do
Even though I may soon feel the touch of love
I just don't think I’ll ever get over you
If I lived till I was 102
I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you

(“ I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You” — Colin Hay)