Happy Birthday, Susie!

While I’ve been known have a need to stop and think when asked my wife’s birthday, I can tell you in a second when my friend Susie was born. Yesterday, February 25, the day before mine.

Susie and I met in 1971 when we were paired up on the tennis court for an informal mixed-doubles round robin. And while we don’t see each other or talk very often, she is one of my most long standing (he said avoiding the word “oldest”) friends. And there’s something very comforting about that.

Facebook has connected me with others from my teens, but with most there are big gaps. Yes, it’s nice to remember friends from high school, but thirty-five or more of those years are empty--no contact, no connection. By contrast, Susie and her husband worked for years with my wife and me. Our sons were playmates and we've spent hours with old pictures of “the good old days” telling stories, remembering, and giving thanks.

Of course, I have many more friends than Susie. Her husband, I’m quick to add, is also a very good friend from the same era. It’s just that every year on my birthday, I remember that for years and years I have been friends with someone who has been breathing only a few more hours than I have. And somehow that makes me that much more grateful for all of the friends who have and who continue to enrich my life and whose lives I hope I've enrich at least a little in return.

“Friendship,” wrote C. S. Lewis, “is the greatest of worldly goods. Certainly to me it is the chief happiness of life.” It has been for me as well.

Schralping the Gnar

Next Tuesday is my birthday and to celebrate I’m going skiing on Wednesday. Liberty in Pennsylvania will be a warm up for skiing with my son next month at Winter Park in the Rockies.

Speaking of the Rockies, three years ago while skiing at Vail, a group of us—all guys—watched a skiing video that showed us the truth about our identities. As it turns out March, Dave, and I are actually 23-year-old extreme skiers trapped in the bodies of middle-aged men. Who would have guessed?

Since none of us is adept at skiing off cliffs or doing back flips in order to get a read on the avalanche just behind us, we decided to live out our identities as best we could by adopting the one thing we could adopt without serious injury: the vocabulary.

Great skiing was no longer "Far out," or  “Really cool,” or “Totally awesome,” or even “Totally rad.” Great skiing is “Totally sick!” as in, “Dude, those freshies back there are totally sick!”

Freshies are areas of new, untracked show where, if it’s deep and powdery, that is, if it’s deep pow-pow, you get facies—snow flying up into your face. Freshies are one of skiing’s greatest experiences even if you have to go timber bashing to get them.

Skiing untracked snow or snow that hasn’t been mechanically groomed is “Schralping the gnar” as in "gnarly." Skiing groomed snow is “Schralping the cord” as in corduroy, the pattern left by the groomers as they drive up and down the slope.

Did talking like 23-year-old extreme skiers help middle-aged bodies ski better? Maybe it did. While I’m not encouraging anyone of any age to adopt the attenuated language skills of too many young people, it’s still true that if you talk like an old person—complaining, rehearsing doctors appointments, discussing ailments, remembering the good old days that never were, pointing out things you can't do—it will only encourage you to feel like an old person. If, on the other hand, you put a youthful spin on things, it can only help you to schralp whatever trail is in front of you with greater aplomb and élan. 

And if you’re going to Liberty next Wednesday, let me know. We'll schralp with the best of them.

What Did You Want to Be When You Grew Up?

At a birthday party for a child of the ‘60s who was turning 60, the question came up, “What did you think your life was going to be like at this age?”

One person out of nine said his life was exactly what he thought it would be when he was in his twenties (Really?). For the rest of us it was not even close—not even sort of close.

Successful professional women thought they’d be Mrs. Walton, at home with multiple children. Men, who drew a bead on one career early on, find themselves in circumstances that they could never have imagined. Some felt disappointed; others were shocked at the unanticipated good things that have happened.

On the one hand, our conversation at the birthday dinner made me think of the words of St. Teresa of Avila (1515-1582). The story goes that the nun was headed off to do some wonderful work of devotion and service when the cart she was riding tipped over and flung her into a stream. Wet, bruised, cold, and spluttering, Teresa shook her fist at Heaven and exclaimed, “God, if this is how you treat your friends, it’s small wonder you have so few of them.”

On the other hand, it’s clear throughout history and in my own experience that God does indeed work “in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.” Life is either one surprise after another given by the good hand of Providence or it’s somewhere between a comedy of errors and a tragedy of errors depending on how you feel about the ending. I’ll go with the providential surprises.

That doesn’t mean that life won’t disappoint and even depress. It has, it does, and it will. It does mean, however, that we can and should look for meaning, purpose, and direction beyond the bruises and disappointments, no matter how severe.

As another nun, Juliana of Norwich (1342-1416), famously said in the light of God’s providence, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” It’s this trust, not having life exactly as I designed it, that is the route to peace with God, ourselves, our spouses, our children, and our lives.

Dust to Dust

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. The bright green fronds from Palm Sunday 2012, dried and brittle with age, were burned and at Mass, instead of the usual confession of sins, the faithful came forward to have their foreheads marked with the ashes. “Remember,” the priests told everyone as his blackened thumb drew a smudgy cross, “you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

The message of Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, isn’t complicated. You’ve heard it from your financial advisor: Make sure you have enough life insurance to care for your family when you’re gone. You’ve heard it from your lawyer: Keep you will or living trust up to date to avoid problems for those left behind. (N.B.: If you don’t have a will, what in the wide, wide world of sports are you waiting for? Call a lawyer today.) Funeral parlors remind us to plan ahead, buy a burial plot, prepay the expenses.

On Ash Wednesday we hear it in church: “You are dust and to dust you shall return.” “Memento mori,” “Remember, you are going to die.”

Depressing? Well, I suppose on some level it is, but pretending you’re not going to die is, from my point of view, far more depressing. As Dean Wormer said to Flounder, “Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son.” Besides, you’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself. That we will die is one of those things we can’t not know.

So we prepare. We buy life insurance, draft a will, prepay the funeral expenses. And we observe Lent. Lent is a forty-day season of stepping away from the ordinary routine (hence, “giving something up for Lent”) to read, pray, and reflect on life—physical life and spiritual life.

I’m convinced that the older I get, the more I need Lent. Memento mori brings me up short. My time is limited. So who am I really? What matters most? What doesn't matter at all? What should stay the same? What needs to change? Knowing I won’t live forever and will one day give an account of my life, how do I move forward with greater resolve, clearer vision, and greater love?

These are Lenten questions. The answer to all of them is, of course, found in Easter, but that will have to wait another forty days.

Stepping Forward By Stepping Aside

Yesterday morning on her drive to work, my wife called me to tell me that she heard some sort of news about Pope Benedict XVI. The story began as she drove into a tunnel and was over by the time she drove out and had radio reception again.

I dashed to my computer and read her the news that he is resigning as of February 28. The pope stated:

I am well aware that this ministry, due to its essential spiritual nature, must be carried out not only with words and deeds, but no less with prayer and suffering. However, in today’s world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the barque of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me.  

 It’s not clear what has been going on in the pope’s mind and body over the past few months that have weakened him to the point where he believes this step is necessary, but God bless him for doing what needs to be done.

Catholic scholar George Weigel has said that Joseph Ratzinger (who Benedict XVI will again be once he is no longer pope) is, with enormous humility, doing "his last great service to the Church." How? By being realistic about the needs of the Church, the good of the world, and his own frailty.

Pope John Paul II, it has been said, taught us how to die. Pope Benedict is teaching us how to live—specifically how to live in old age.

Time prunes us just as a vinedresser prunes back grapevines. We have less energy and more health concerns. We have to be careful what we eat and our reflexes are not what they once were. Our attention span shrinks and our ability to understand slows.

We can pretend it isn’t so and thus live in denial. Or we can live humbly and act appropriately. Sooner or later that will mean changing our diet, surrendering our driver’s licenses, and laying down the responsibilities we can no longer fulfill in order to look for new ways to be fruitful.

And it seems to me that this is the point we need to remember. Pope Benedict will retire to a monastery to pursue a life of prayer and devotion and, given the power of prayer, may well be stepping into his most fruitful season of life, doing even greater service than he has done as pope.

Benedict XVI through his writings, sermons, and speeches has taught me a great deal for which I am truly grateful. But I pray that this lesson, the lesson of realism and humility, will be the one that I most clearly remember and most faithfully emulate.

In My Own Backyard, Continued

My friend David Kong, on break from college, spent part of last summer in Macerata, Italy. Being an outstanding young filmmaker, he made this beautiful short film celebrating the town that he had come to love.

I shot this film of a small hill-town in Italy in order to give the rest of the world a taste of its enthralling natural and anthropological beauty, a simple exercise in non-narrative video technique. 
The current city is over a thousand years old, built on the ruins of an ancient one, and home to one of the oldest universities in Italy.

Take a few moments to soak in this marvelous 6 minute film.

David was, of course, a stranger to Macerata and so appreciated it as something exotic and different. That makes sense. What fascinated me was the responses he received from the people who live in Macerata. The film reminded many that their hometown, the place they take for granted, is very beautiful.

Familiarity, they say, breeds contempt. Well, maybe not always contempt, but certainly a kind of blindness to the wonders we pass by every day. When we see these through the eyes of a stranger looking at them for the first time, they can come to life again as they did for people in Macerata.

We can also put ourselves in the mindset of a stranger, of a tourist seeking to discover the wonders in our own backyards for the first time. If we do, we will, I’m certain, find wonders and find ourselves strangely refreshed.

In My Own Backyard

Last Friday while blogging about “bucket lists” I wrote, “I’d love to fly fish for trout in Patagonia, ski with our son and his family at Vail and Telluride, climb the Grand Teton, and improve my guitar playing. And with practice one day I’ll consistently make a proper beurre blanc.”

That’s all well and good, but these things can become pie in the sky quicker than you can say, “Bob’s your uncle.” Patagonia is a long way off and fishing there is at least $3,000 per week per angler plus travel. Vail is notoriously expensive, Telluride a travel challenge, and the top of the Grand Teton requires ropes and other rock climbing gear.

On the other hand, I live a short drive from the Potomac River. Believe it or not, the Potomac through Washington, DC is an outstanding fishery. A DC fishing license costs $13 and I own most of the necessary gear. I’ve been fly fishing there once.

While Vail and Telluride are in Colorado, I live about 90 minutes from Liberty Mountain Resort in Pennsylvania. And while Liberty and the other local ski areas are hardly Vail and Telluride, they have chair lifts, snow, and elevation. What more do I need? I haven’t been in 13+ years of living here.

We do hike in the Blue Ridge, but we don’t do it nearly often enough. My guitars are sitting downstairs just waiting for me and I have friends who can help me perfect buerre blanc.

So what am I waiting for? And what are you waiting for? 

Bucket list or no bucket list, there are worlds to see in our own neighborhoods if we have the will to walk out our front doors ready to explore, eager to learn, and enthusiastic about life.

Something to Look Forward To

Last night we had dinner with a recently widowed friend and began talking about our “bucket lists.” What do we want to do before we kick the bucket?

Our friend wants to see Rome and Budapest, cruise the Danube, and visit Australia and New Zealand. My wife and I have been to Rome, but not the Catacombs, the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall, the Scavi (St. Peter’s basement), and assorted museums. Plus we need another dose of Caravaggios and carbonara so Rome is on our list as well along with Portugal's Douro Valley (It's where, among other things, they make Port).

I’d love to fly fish for trout in Patagonia, ski with our son and his family at Vail and Telluride, climb the Grand Teton, and improve my guitar playing. And with practice one day I’ll consistently make a proper beurre blanc.

We humans need goals, direction, and hope to survive, a fact that has been proved over and over. Bucket lists give us things to look forward to. 

Our lists should probably be more than just travel and experiences. Learning goals, writing goals, reading goals, spiritual goals, volunteer goals, new skills goals, and more all go into a full life.

There are two corporate mottos that I love and have made my own. The first is from North Face, the outdoor gear and clothing manufacturer: “Never Stop Exploring.” The second is from the John Templeton Foundation: “How little we know; how eager to learn.”

Ruts are… well, they’re ruts and shortcuts to a mediocre (at best) life after midlife. Breaking out of the ruts through goals, aspirations, and curiosity about what's around the next corner is one vital element in a good one.