The countdown to unending youth.
Well guys, I turned 50 today. Thanks to all of you who wished me well, esp. Marylou who made my birthday post complete with a birthday cake and Elmo (Florie’s contribution :)
For all who think 30 looks ancient, who think it seems impossible to make it through the school year, or through the recession, with your mind, finances, body and family in tact, here is my reply.
I made it through (so far so good) and so can you. I knew many days in my childhood, in my teen years, and again in each decade, discouragement, heartbreak, loneliness and sometimes depression. I won’t lie to you. Life sucks sometimes for years.
But if you don’t give up, or at least if you hold on, things get better. Good times, happiness, friendships, love.. they come around as surely as the sun rises each morning. The cliche’ of the dawn returning after the nighttime IS a cliche’ because we scurrying ant-like creatures follow the template of the planet we call home. Night and day, hurt and joy, seasons of cold and warmth, hibernation and rebirth. One writer postulated that the earth itself is an organism. And recently images of the universe have echoed the form of our own brains. Why should we be surprised that we pass through times of doubt, followed by bursts of energy and confidence? The earth sleeps each night, each winter. Our hearts grow callous, angry, indifferent when broken. The light breaches the horizon, the frost vanishes in the warmth. A flower, a weed, a blade of grass split the ground and reach for the sky. We dream, we hope, we love. We feel our pulses quicken with the glance of our lover’s eyes.
For fifty, my health is better than most. I stay active; I do martial arts. But my health is not the basis of my hope.
I was raised in religion. Having been through a variety of “faith traditions” I am blessed with a skeptic’s faith. But religion is not my hope.
I have read (thought not extensively) about the exponential curve of scientific advancement that should catapult our species if not our world into a time of indeterminate longevity (approaching immortality), but endless years are not my hope.
My children are smart, amazing really. They can be frustrating, but they are sponges of knowledge, and hopefully sponges of understanding. I expect them to accomplish great things, greater than I. They fill me with immense hope. But even they alone, their works, their future families, are not my hope.
That which causes you to do good to strangers, that which makes you think twice when you can choose to be selfish, that which brings enemies together in peace, which inspires artists to create music, dance, visual arts and story, that which compels moons to orbit planets, planets suns, suns galaxies and galaxies universes, that which draws an infant to its mother, lovers to one another, which creates friendships through trials, and selfless devotion in old age. That which finds you helping when you need help, bringing a laugh when you needed one yourself, enduring pain with patience. In the smallest microbial clockworks, in the grandest of galactic dances, that which produces such prodigious beauty in light, sound and hearts, will eventually bring forth ((I believe)) in every mind, in every species, every life, in every scrap of matter through all dimensions, not only sentience, intelligence, but the sense of goodness and purpose that each of us reaches for, so often in futility, as a hand passing through smoke. That thing, that force, that rush of unimpeded optimistic genius, that quality that renews, reinvigorates, like the chorus of a song that makes you cry without shame, whether you call it multiple dimensions of a quantum multi-verse or the spirit of God.. that is my hope.
Three years ago a neighbor of mine, when she turned fifty, began counting her years backwards. She is now 47 in her countdown to 100. I like that.
Today was my birthday. One of modest yet appreciated celebration. I spent time with my kids and animals, my neighbors, my online nutty friends. I drove to the beach this morning and watched the sun overwhelm some fearful clouds and shatter on the sea. I bought a book. I built a fire. I completed the “nest” for my dog, who is due to have puppies in a week. I thought, I wrote.
Keep moving. Time cannot hold you. There is nothing to fear.
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The countdown to unending youth.
Well guys, I turned 50 today. Thanks to all of you who wished me well, esp. Marylou who made my birthday post complete with a birthday cake and Elmo (Florie’s contribution :)
For all who think 30 looks ancient, who think it seems impossible to make it through the school year, or through the recession, with your mind, finances, body and family in tact, here is my reply.
I made it through (so far so good) and so can you. I knew many days in my childhood, in my teen years, and again in each decade, discouragement, heartbreak, loneliness and sometimes depression. I won’t lie to you. Life sucks sometimes for years.
But if you don’t give up, or at least if you hold on, things get better. Good times, happiness, friendships, love.. they come around as surely as the sun rises each morning. The cliche’ of the dawn returning after the nighttime IS a cliche’ because we scurrying ant-like creatures follow the template of the planet we call home. Night and day, hurt and joy, seasons of cold and warmth, hibernation and rebirth. One writer postulated that the earth itself is an organism. And recently images of the universe have echoed the form of our own brains. Why should we be surprised that we pass through times of doubt, followed by bursts of energy and confidence? The earth sleeps each night, each winter. Our hearts grow callous, angry, indifferent when broken. The light breaches the horizon, the frost vanishes in the warmth. A flower, a weed, a blade of grass split the ground and reach for the sky. We dream, we hope, we love. We feel our pulses quicken with the glance of our lover’s eyes.
For fifty, my health is better than most. I stay active; I do martial arts. But my health is not the basis of my hope.
I was raised in religion. Having been through a variety of “faith traditions” I am blessed with a skeptic’s faith. But religion is not my hope.
I have read (thought not extensively) about the exponential curve of scientific advancement that should catapult our species if not our world into a time of indeterminate longevity (approaching immortality), but endless years are not my hope.
My children are smart, amazing really. They can be frustrating, but they are sponges of knowledge, and hopefully sponges of understanding. I expect them to accomplish great things, greater than I. They fill me with immense hope. But even they alone, their works, their future families, are not my hope.
That which causes you to do good to strangers, that which makes you think twice when you can choose to be selfish, that which brings enemies together in peace, which inspires artists to create music, dance, visual arts and story, that which compels moons to orbit planets, planets suns, suns galaxies and galaxies universes, that which draws an infant to its mother, lovers to one another, which creates friendships through trials, and selfless devotion in old age. That which finds you helping when you need help, bringing a laugh when you needed one yourself, enduring pain with patience. In the smallest microbial clockworks, in the grandest of galactic dances, that which produces such prodigious beauty in light, sound and hearts, will eventually bring forth ((I believe)) in ever mind, in every species, every life, in every scrap of matter through all dimensions, not only sentience, intelligence, but the sense of goodness and purpose that each of us reaches for, so often in futility, as a hand passing through smoke. That thing, that force, that rush of unimpeded optimistic genius, that quality that renews, reinvigorates, like the chorus of a song that makes you cry without shame, whether you call it multiple dimensions of a quantum multi-verse or the spirit of God.. that is my hope.
Three years ago a neighbor of mine, when she turned fifty, began counting her years backwards. She is now 47 in her countdown to 100. I like that.
Today was my birthday. One of modest yet appreciated celebration. I spent time with my kids and animals, my neighbors, my online nutty friends. I drove to the beach this morning and watched the sun overwhelm some fearful clouds and shatter on the sea. I bought a book. I built a fire. I completed the “nest” for my dog, who is due to have puppies in a week. I thought, I wrote.
Keep moving. Time cannot hold you. There is nothing to fear.
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