“…now that he had entered into the final active stages of his life, he was beginning to understand that, barring accidents, life did not change.

He had been deluded.  He had always assumed that a time would come in adulthood, a kind of plateau, when he would have learned all the tricks of managing, of simply being.  All mails and e-mails answered, all papers in order, books alphabetically on the shelves, clothes and shoes in good repair in the wardrobes, and all his stuff where he could find it, with the past, including its letters and photographs, sorted into boxes and files. The private life settled and serene.  Accommodation and finances likewise. In all these years, this settlement, the calm plateau, had never appeared.  And yet, he had continued to assume, without reflecting on the matter, that it was just around the next turn, when he would exert himself and reach it, that moment when his life became clear, his mind free, when his grown-up existence would properly begin.” from Ian McEwen’s 2010 book Solar.

I love this passage.  It speaks to the implicit mindset of so many of us, including me.  I have had conversations with my daughter along these lines.  I remember when she was in college “waiting to start her life,” as if her day-to-day student existence didn’t qualify as “real” life.  Well.  Given the squalor and debauchery of college campuses, I can see her point.  But that just highlights the fallacy of our assumption that “this doesn’t count,” or, “when this or that happens, then I will be okay.”  The choices we make, regardless of age or station in life, matter.  You can’t just abdicate because you are young, or overweight, or pregnant, or old. 

It’s tough, because if you can’t give yourself a break because of certain conditions, the alternative is to say that this is as good as it gets, or, this ineptitude or dissatisfaction against which you fight with your denial and wishful thinking, this is your life – own it.  This is hard on some people.

The rest of my McKewan litany of assumptions would be that someday I would finally have a decluttered home, keeping only what I need, or what I preserve to pass down to next generations.  I would have very manageable debt so that I may have more freedom in my lifestyle decisions. I would eat healthfully out of instinct, because it is what my body craved and so never have to diet or deny myself any culinary treat. I would be naturally active enough through gardening and other activities I enjoy to keep a healthy heart and set of lungs going. I would write and publish things that people enjoy.  I would keep in touch with my friends so that we were a delight and comfort to each other instead of missing the opportunity to enrich our later years with the golden thread of friendship and shared experience.  

There’s probably more.  But, unlike McKewan, I feel hopeful. I do think I have finally gotten the hang of “simply being.”  Here’s his character’s conclusion:

“But not long after … , he thought he saw for the first time:  on the day he died, he would be wearing un-matching socks, there would be unanswered e-mails, and in the hovel he called home, there would still be shirts missing cuff buttons, a malfunctioning light in the hall, and unpaid bills, un-cleared attics, dead flies, friends waiting for a reply and lovers he had not owned up to. Oblivion, the last word in organization, would be his only consolation.”

See, with all this I am fine.  I already know this, and its acceptance is part of the gift of my already getting the hang of “simply being.”  But “oblivion” would not be my only consolation - far from it.  My consolation would be that I loved.  I loved deeply.  I may die overweight, with bills to pay and a yard-sale’s worth of junk in my garage, but I don’t care.  The key to “simply being” is to recognize myself as a blessed being, a holy being.  This may sound arrogant, given that I am only human, after all.  But, that’s just the point:  my being is holy, and it inhabits this body, which was good enough for Jesus, for Siddhartha, for the Dalai Lama.  Humanity, in all its ruddy contradictions and spice, is the vehicle for the communication of love and kindness in the world.  When you carry that around inside you as your animating energy, then “simply being” is enough.

I remember kneeling at my dad’s coffin, and touching his cold, hard hands, as I whispered a last good-bye.  I pondered the meaning and mark of his life – he was not wealthy, nor renown; he was man of few words spoken, even fewer written; he worked in the mines or a factory all his life to provide for 5 kids with whom he had varying depths of relationship – he wasn’t the kind of dad you’d go to and cry on his shoulder or look to for words of approval.  So, what was his accomplishment?  The answer whispered back to me:  he lived his life, he loved you all, and that was enough.   Did he know he was “holy?” He’d never say that. Does it matter? No. 

This human condition, this hand of cards we are dealt, this body and mind and set of choices we make, it’s all good, and good enough. 

One last thing: choice. I think we always have choice.  No matter what our station or lot in life, if nothing else, we have a choice about how we will look at it, what attitude we will hold.  Winston Churchill said, “For myself, I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else.”  I agree.

 
Copyright (c) 2010