Another New Year

I LIKE TO JOKE that I view this stage of life, the 60-somethings, as a kind of second-coming-of-age. In the first coming of age (moving into and through adolescence), some faith traditions talk about an “age of accountability”. The age of accountability begins when a child matures to the point of being able to think abstractly and to understand right from wrong. The thought being that now they are at the point of becoming accountable for their own thoughts, deeds, decisions, etc.

WHAT IF, in the second-coming-of-age, we entered an age of non-accountabilty? Oh wait. Maybe we do. We can pretty much eat what we want when we want. We go to bed when we want, and get up when we want (with the exception of those mandatory times in the middle of the night.)

So, for those of us living in the age of non-accountability, can we forget about the annual New Years Resolutions charade or at least call it something else?

Exactly one week after New Years Day, on January 8th, I will turn 60-something-else, and Elvis, with whom I share this birth-day, will still no longer be with us. While I don’t claim to speak for all 60-somethings, I can say that for me, significant life change predicated on personal effort is unlikely. Not that I’ve completely quit growing as a human, spiritually and emotionally (well, maybe emotionally. I probably quit growing emotionally at age 14 or so), it’s just that there is a lot of evidence to support the case for my inability to sustain resolve-driven behavior.

Regardless of how hard I resolve; I’m probably not going to eat better, exercise more diligently, behave better, floss daily, or watch less TV. So why set myself up for another dose of annual disappointment and dashing the hopes of my loved ones and dentist by pretending I might.

HERE’S AN IDEA: A LIFE THEME
I have a dear friend who told me of a psychiatrist friend of his who doesn’t make resolutions, but he has an annual “life theme”. One year, for example, his theme was, “I’m not going to give a s#%t this year.” The next year his theme was, “I’m going to give a s#%t, I’m just not going to do anything about it.” He even looked to the next year when he planned to “Celebrate his apathy, if he ever got around to it.”

MAYBE A LIFE PLAN WOULD HELP
I used to give a little sermonette to young teens who sat and stared at me with glazed over eyes, and mouths hanging half open. I would explain that when it comes to being an adolescent the Bible leaves us in the dark a bit about answering the important question “WWJD?” (What Would Jesus Do?). Scripture pretty much skips Jesus life from 12 to 30. It would have been really cool (and helpful) to know what he did do as a teen and young adult. But, no. Luke, in his gospel gives us a hint (Luke 2:52), writing of the tween-age Jesus: “And He grew in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man.” That’s all we get.

Then I would explain this to them: taking our cues from this small verse our ambition should be to grow: A.) mentally, B.) physically, C.) spiritually and D.) socially.

Using that outline for looking back and looking forward to a new day, a new year, I can see myself:
A.) Reading more and deeper, journaling more, not watching Fox News, CNN or MSNBC.
B.) Taking advantage of our travel to walk more, hike challenging trails, eat smarter.
C.) Read again the likes of Chesterton, Lewis, Rohr, etc. Take advantage of the solitude that age affords to meditate and pray more.
D.) Quit using my introversion as an excuse, meet people as we travel, party more, be bolder.

All of these sound practical and mostly enjoyable to me—like things I should be able to do without the hard work that discipline implies. But I still can’t bear to call them resolutions knowing that to do so would mean the main motivation for doing them would be the heavy cloud of guilt that would come from breaking the resolve.

I have the answer and a decree! They shall not be called “resolutions”. This will be The Grand Experiment of 2017. As one of my very favorite authors says:

“Calling it an experiment gives you permission to fail.” —A.J. Jacobs

Anyone up for an experiment?

from the internet. used w/o permission.

P.S.: If 2016 has seemed longer for “some reason” than other years, that may be because it is; longer by one second.

“On December 31, the world’s timekeepers will add in a “leap second” to keep all our clocks in sync with the Earth’s rotation. They do this because the Earth technically takes a bit longer than 24 hours to complete a full rotation (86,400.002 seconds, to be exact). So a “leap second” gets added every few years.” Read more from VOX here.

WHAT WILL YOU DO with your extra second? I might suggest using it to get a head start on your 2017 Resolutions, or your 2017 Life Theme, or your 2017 Life Plan, or your 2017 Grand Experiment. Whichever you choose—Cheers and best wishes to you and yours from Pops, his Amazing-Missus, and the Grand-Girls (and their parents).

School's Out

ONE OF THE THINGS I MISS MOST about being a schoolboy is getting out of school for the summer.

dragging main somewhere

To quote Mr. Alice Cooper (“Is he still alive?” you might be asking. Yes, yes he is. In fact you can catch him in concert August 19 in Oklahoma City.):

No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks

Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not go back at all

School’s out forever
School’s out for summer
School’s out with fever
School’s out completely

The summer of 1969 was a long time ago, but still I remember the end of my senior year. I remember prom, baccalaureate, graduation and the summer. I remember feeling like the king of the world in a Donald Trump sort of arrogant way. I remember getting out of high school as having a certain finality to it, even though I would be starting college classes in the fall.

I’m a firm believer in the idea of the rhythms of life. Maybe it comes from marching miles and miles of parade routes playing in a drumline. The drumline plays what is called a cadence. It serves as the clock that keeps the band marching with order and as a unit. Without a cadence there would be chaos.

So it’s been a few decades now since I last walked out of a classroom for the summer. But still I seem to hear a distant drum signaling a change in the air. Just to restore the rhythm, maybe I’ll take a vacation day next Monday and sleep in. I won’t worry about homework or grades. I won’t diagram any sentences or dissect any frogs. I certainly won’t be wearing shoes or tucking in my shirttail. And I’ll chew gum anywhere and any time I want to.

In a few days, me and my Amazing-Missus will be going to a Beach Boys concert. Maybe they’ll do their happy little school’s out song, Dance Dance Dance:

After six hours of school I’ve had enough for the day
I hit the radio dial and turn it up all the way

I gotta dance (dance dance dance now the beat’s really hot) right on the spot
(Dance dance dance right there on the spot)
The beat’s really hot

When I feel put down I try to shake it off quick
With my chick by my side the radio does the trick

I gotta dance (dance dance dance now the beat’s really hot)

No question, if there is a soundtrack for summer fun it would be written by the Beach Boys. Maybe after the concert we’ll go out for a milkshake, maybe we’ll drag a Main street somewhere, maybe we’ll even go parking, and maybe we’ll stay out past midnight—probably not, but we could if we wanted to; because school’s out for summer.

Stuck in Lodi

IS ADVENTURE ONLY FOR THE YOUNG? Is it important to be on some sort of quest no matter our age?

Harper, Stuck. A few years back.

Stuck in Lodi again?

In my last post I started with a quote from Tom Sawyer: “There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy’s life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.” But what about grown men? Should we metaphorically “play in the street” from time to time?

Stuck in Lodi again?

Guys are pretty good at seeking adventure vicariously. Show me a little league ball team, soccer team or Pop Warner football team and I’ll show you at least one guy living the athetic dream through his kid. Not to cast stones though; every time one of my two sons would sit down at a set of drums I was sitting there too somehow. Is there an age limit on picking up a pair of sticks?

Stuck in Lodi again?

I don’t know about you, but I find it easier and easier to create lists of excuses: I’m not as young as I once was. Too busy. Don’t have the money. Prudence is a virtue too. (Isn’t it?). Folly is for fools. And on, ad nauseum.

Stuck in Lodi again.

I hear old guys talking about having earned the right to “coast” for awhile as if that were virtuous. To state the obvious: if you’re coasting, you’re going downhill. It can all start with just coasting. Then before you know it we’re:

Stuck in Lodi again.

But being stuck isn’t just for old guys. Amen?! There is an abundance of young people glued to impractical worldviews, bad relationships, unfulfilling jobs, distorted self images and unrealistic expectations. Not all, but some, at least some of the time are:

Stuck in Lodi again.

There I go again, throwing rocks without proper credentials (as in, “let him who is without sin cast the first rock”). Recently I went to my doctor for something called a “Welcome to Medicare Wellness Visit.” Sort of like an annual physical. I was poked proded and interrogated. One of the questions was, “Are you having feelings of depression?” My response: “I wasn’t until this all started.” Nothing quite says “you’re stuck in the senior spiral” like a mandatory “Welcome to Medicare Visit”.

Oh Lord, I’m stuck in Lodi again.

Maybe the thing that most keeps us stuck is fear. “Stay in the harbor where it’s safe.” “You go ahead. I’ll watch from here.” A few words on the subject from Seth Godin:

I’m listening to a speech from ten years ago, twenty years ago, forty years ago… “During these tough times… these tenuous times… these uncertain times…” And we hear about the urgency of the day, the bomb shelters, the preppers with their water tanks, the hand wringing about the next threat to civilization.

At the same time that we live in the safest world that mankind has ever experienced. Fewer deaths per capita from all the things that we worry about.

Risky? Sure it is. Every moment for the last million years has been risky. The risk has moved from Og with a rock to the chronic degeneration of our climate, but it’s clear that rehearsing and fretting and worrying about the issue of the day hasn’t done a thing to actually make it go away. Instead, we amplify the fear, market the fear and spread the fear as a form of solace, of hiding from taking action, of sharing our fear in a vain attempt to ameliorate it.

Stuck in Lodi again.

If you’re old enough and/or if you have refined musical tastes in southern rock, you know of Creedence Clearwater Revival, the epitome of the genre. And probably by now the tune of the CCR song, “Lodi” is running through your head. It is a song about a musician, one of the struggling, starving kind, trying to get unstuck, but clearly it’s about way more than that, that Lodi is more than a town on a map. Like Fogarty says in the first verse: 

“I guess you know the tune.
Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again.”

Lodi

By John Fogarty
Creedence Clearwater Revival

Just about a year ago
I set out on the road
Seekin’ my fame and fortune
Lookin’ for a pot of gold
Thing got bad and things got worse
I guess you know the tune
Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again

Rode in on the Greyhound
I’ll be walkin’ out if I go
I was just passin’ through
Must be seven months or more
Ran out of time and money
Looks like they took my friends
Oh Lord, I’m stuck in Lodi again

A man from the magazine
Said I was on my way
Somewhere I lost connections
Ran out of songs to play
I came into town, a one night stand
Looks like my plans fell through
Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again

If I only had a dollar
For every song I’ve sung
Every time I had to play
While people sat there drunk
You know, I’d catch the next train
Back to where I live
Oh Lord, stuck in a Lodi again
Oh Lord, I’m stuck in a Lodi again

How do we get STUCK? Maybe it starts with just settling; as in: settle for less than what we might have hoped for; and, as in: settle down—become comfortable, secure, boring even. I really like the ad series that’s playing right now about the Settlers: “We’re settlers, that’s what we do, we settle.”

If you haven’t seen it, click and watch.

So what’s the answer to not getting stuck or getting unstuck? It’s not a simple formula that’s for sure. You can’t read a book and solve it. A large donation to a TV evangelist won’t do it. A political messiah is useless.

The answer is a paradox: to find yourself, you have to lose yourself. And as far as I can tell you have to actually live it out; experience it, to even begin to understand it.

“Those who try to gain their own life will lose it; but those who lose their life for my sake will gain it.” —Jesus. (Matthew 10:39)

I’m sure sometimes, maybe, “Lodi” or the Wilderness can be a nice place; for a time, but I wouldn’t want to get stuck there

Playing in the Street

“There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy’s life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.” The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

I feel sorry for so many children today. Maybe they don’t sense the oppression that I believe they live under, especially now as the days begin to warm and grow longer.

One of the privileges of senior adulthood is that you get to talk about the good old days whether anyone cares or not, listens or not, believes you or not. Let’s start this way: back when I was a boy…

We played in the street. We crawled through broken windows exploring empty buildings. We waded the banks of the Arkansas river. We rode our bikes to the little gas station on 71st street to reach into the icy water of the pop box for a bottle of Grapette. The days were full and lasted until after dark when we could hear someone’s parent summoning him home.

This photo of our Grand-Girls and some of their friends reminded me of those times. I am so glad they live in a town, among great friends where they can play in the street, where they are not limited to living adventures only through TV shows and a game on an iPad.

I do not claim to be a poet, but I like to dabble. A while back I took a challenge to write a poem about the street where I grew up. Here it is:

ON QUINCY STREET

On Quincy Street south of seventy-first
A portal stood seen just by boys and girls
The lack of dreams by which adults are cursed
Vice versa saved the wonder of this world.
Quincy to kids as an oyster to pearl
A treasure trove and innocent eyes to see
Princess, Prince or King; not a one a churl
Creating as those who are completely free.
In the venues diverse like the old oak trees
The rock path that leads to the river’s edge
Where grade and pace caused many a skinned knee
But some shed blood strengthens the secret pledge.
The sign at the head of Quincy reads, “Dead End”
It should have said, “Path that adventure tends.”