Sixty Years Old and Just Beginning

At a conference last Saturday, I saw my friend, John standing at a booth talking with one of the conference sponsors. After we greeted one another, he turned to the woman at the booth, "Jim and I have been friends for forty-three years," he announced proudly. And a forty-three year friendship is something for us both to be proud of.

John lives in New England, but I see him here in Washington with some regularity. In this case, he was attending a conference at a hotel down the street and just dropped in to see what ours was about.

Usually we talk shop, but this time we had the opportunity to be more personal. He's about to turn sixty and feels as though he has finally, over the past thirty years, learned enough to make a meaningful mark on the way we do politics in this country--looking for common ground combined with having and showing genuine love and care for others. His experience indicates that it's a great way to turn adversaries into friends--friends with whom you may disagree on just about everything, but friends nonetheless.

The intriguing thing for this blog is that he's been experimenting and tinkering with his approach for thirty years. Now, confident in what he has learned, he's ready to expand his work in new ways. Trips to Europe, Africa, and Asia are already on his calendar and he anticipates that this phase of his career will be the most fruitful.

Oh, and he has no intention of ending that phase with retirement at age sixty-two or sixty-five or seventy or any other year in the near future. While he didn't say it, it's clear that he intends to die with his boots on.

And why not? Why waste all he's learned? Why quit when he's finally getting ready to peak? Why cut short sharing his discoveries with others, particularly those younger than he is?

Not all of us have jobs that can go on forever. Not all of us have jobs we wish would go on forever. But all of us have wisdom that it would be a shame to waste. All of us (with the exception of the professional athletes, circus performers, and dancers I suppose) still have the opportunity to peak.

The world around us has needs. We have skills. It's a perfect combination.

He Stopped Loving Her Today

Country music legend George Jones died today at age 81. Jones was hard living, hard drinking, and sufficiently unreliable that he earned the name “No Show Jones” for his habit of skipping concerts. According to Associate Press, Jones wrote in his memoir, “In the 1970s, I was drunk the majority of the time. If you saw me sober, chances are you saw me asleep.”

Jones will be remembered for songs such as “No Show Jones,” the heartbreaker “She Thinks I Still Care,” and for his duets with his third (of four) wife, country singer Tammy Wynette.

But by far his biggest hit was the tearjerker ballad, “He Stopped Loving Her Today.” The song is the story about a man who, after a breakup still loved the same woman. In fact, he never got over her, never stopped loving her until he died. The song is set at his funeral. The AP story says:

In 1980, a 3-minute song changed his life. His longtime producer, Billy Sherrill, recommended he record “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” a ballad by Curly Putnam and Bobby Braddock. …Jones was convinced the song was too “morbid” to catch on. But “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” featuring a string section that hummed, then soared, became an instant standard and virtually canonized him. His concert fee jumped from $2,500 a show to $25,000.
 “There is a God,” he recalled.

The success of “He Stopped Loving Her Today” should probably not be added to the classic arguments for the existence of God alongside the ontological and cosmological arguments. Nonetheless, the song makes me ask a troubling question: When is it best to “just get over it” (whatever “it” is) and when is something so valuable that it shouldn’t be gotten over regardless of the price of hanging on?

I’ve always been inclined to view the man in the song as obsessive compulsive, sort of a male, benign, and generally harmless version of Miss Havisham from Great Expectations. On the other hand, perhaps even unrequited love is love worth treasuring.

As we age it’s time to rummage through our literal attic and basement as well as our emotional attic and basement asking, “Trash or treasure?” Bitterness, fears, and resentments are clearly trash. Throw them out; they’re poisoning your system. But love? That’s not quite so simple, is it?

Staying Close to Home

This morning the Washington Post reported:

An AARP analysis of census data showed that nine in 10 older adults nationally were living in the same communities where they raised their children and built their lives. Proximity to children, grandchildren and friends is key. 

“Folks who have been living and working here for a number of years may find themselves surprised at the roots they've developed,” said Amy Levner, who specializes in housing and family issues for the AARP. “The lure of moving out fades over time.”

 It makes me think of the sad dirge the villagers sing at the end of "Fiddler on the Roof" about their little town, Anatevka. Yes, they admit, it's kind of a dump with rickety homes, little economic opportunities, and uneasy relationships with the neighbors. Yet at the same time, it's home.

Anatevka, Anatevka.
Underfed, overworked Anatevka.
Where else could Sabbath be so sweet?

Anatevka, Anatevka.
Intimate, obstinant Anatevka
Where I know Everyone I meet.

Soon I'll be a stranger in a strange new place
Searching for an old familiar face
From Anatevka.

I belong in Anatevka.
Tumble-down, work-a-day Anatevka.
Dear little village, little town of mine.

Dottie and I spent this past weekend away at a lovely resort. I played golf; she had a massage; we both slept in, enjoyed good food, sat in the hot tub, and soaked in the beautiful spring creeping over the mountains and through the valleys of western Virginia.

As we drove home, stopping at the old familiar Giant Supermarket for ingredients for a tried-and-true pasta recipe it was good to be home. And while we may leave someday, nothing grows without strong roots.

A Very, Very, Very Dangerous World

Years ago we were having dinner with friends who we were just getting to know (and with whom we've since lost contact). He shared with me that he worked for the State Department. "Oh," I said, "and what do you do at the State Department?"

A serious look came over his face. "If you told me," I asked, "would you have to kill me?"

"Yes, pretty much," he replied. "But I can tell you this: I work on bio-terrorism and you're very, very, very glad I'm doing my job."

I must have looked stunned since, after all, I was stunned. Seeing my face he added sympathetically, "We live in a very, very, very dangerous world."

The bombings in Boston and the fertilizer plant explosion in West, Texas were this weeks shocking reminders of that truth. While we all long for safety for ourselves and our loved ones, safety is an illusion that can vanish in a flash. Life is fragile and there are no guarantees. Wealth can be an insulator, but bombs, tornadoes, and earthquakes know no socioeconomic limits.

Given that this is true, we have three choices.

First, we can acknowledge its truth and then go our and live as if we don't know it. We can convince ourselves of a pretend world of personal peace and security. It's expensive to do that, but it will probably work for a while as long as we carefully ignore the constant reminders that it's a sham. I think I need more reality than this option offers.

Second, we can despair, collapsing into cynicism. If the world's going to Hell, then why bother? We learn to expect the worst from others (and from ourselves) and trust no one. I've met people like this. Their lives are joyless and they feel compelled to share their wealth of misery with others. That's not the person I want to become.

Third, we can attach ourselves to some higher purpose, something that transcends this dangerous and all too sad world. The goal is not to pretend the dangers and sadness don't exist, but to see beyond them with hope and trust.

As many have observed, one of the most inspiring scenes of the past week was that of men and women in Boston, knowing that there must have been injuries, running toward the explosions in order to help. Neither false optimism nor dark cynicism produces that kind of spontaneous action. It takes hope and trust and the belief that in this sad and dangerous world, I can make a difference.

You Have Ten Minutes and ONLY Ten Minutes

This has been a miserable week. Not that anything bad happened. In fact, quite a few good things happened. But I've been sick and when I'm sick... I'm sick.

My cold and congestion began on Saturday. Sunday it got worse. Monday I was in the office and coughed quite a bit. Tuesday I coughed so hard I threw my back into spasm so that every subsequent coughing fit needed to be braced and standing up became a challenge. Mucinex, naproxin, and a Z-Pack from the doctor and I'm on the mend, but it's been a miserable week.

Which brings me to one of my wife's most important rules: At dinner parties in our home, we aging baby boomers have ten minutes--that's ten minutes total, not ten minutes each--to discuss the random aches and pains that are part of growing older. Big problems, such as helping a friend deal with her breast cancer, can be the topic of the night, but for the regular, run-of-the-mill stuff: You (plural) have ten minutes.

It's a great rule and she enforces it. More than once I've hear her say to a group of our friends, "Enough about our health. Let's change the subject." Not particularly subtle, but quite effective.

Two take aways. First, have more dinner parties. They don't need to be elaborate or large. One or two couples for simple fare and good wine is all that's required.

Second, adopt and enforce the ten minute rule. Get over the fact that coffee suddenly gives you dyspepsia or that your knee hurts when you do this and move on to religion and politics, arts and letters, or just about anything else. There are so many things about us and our fascinating friends that are not falling apart. Why dwell on the things that are?

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

This weekend, Dottie and I watched the film “Anna Karenina,” adapted from Leo Tolstoy’s 19^th century novel. I’m not surprised that the Oscars ignored the movie though I am surprised that Hollywood made the film at all.

After all, it’s the story of how Anna, guided by her feelings, pursues romantic love (Isn’t that what we’re all supposed to do?) until it destroys her. She is married, she has a son, and, at the beginning of the story, is a respectable member of St. Petersburg society.

Then on a trip to Moscow to try to reconcile her sister-in-law to her philandering brother, Anna meets Count Vronsky who begins an aggressive pursuit. At first, she refuses his advances, but slowly he wears her down—not that she appeared to take much wearing down—and their affair begins.

The novel makes it clearer than the movie that not only were the two having an affair, they were flaunting their affair, cohabitating, entertaining guests in the summer house they rent together, and even having a child.

Anna’s husband, a senior government bureaucrat (and something of a stiff) at first refuses to believe there’s anything going on. Then he asks Anna to discontinue the affair. Finally, pushed to the limit with Anna’s and Vronsky’s  indiscretions, he files for divorce.

As a result, Anna can no longer go out into polite society. Having a tryst was marginally acceptable, but to act like… well, to act like most Hollywood actors and actresses was beyond the pale. Isolated from friends, treating her insomnia with morphine leading to an addiction, Anna even begins to push Vronsky away. She’s like a desperate animal trapped against a cliff with nowhere to go.

The movie ends with her suicide (sorry for the spoiler if you didn’t know the story), something that didn’t surprise me in the book or the movie. She had put herself in a position where there were only two choices. She needed to repent of her bad choices, quit Vronsky and return to her husband in an attempt to pick up the pieces or she needed to end it all. Incapable of the first, she chooses the second, whispering, “Forgive me,” to it’s not clear who just before the end.

Tolstoy knew that there is right and wrong and little decisions add up to a destiny. When doing wrong, the sooner we can make course corrections, the better. The older and the farther down a chosen path we get, the harder it is to change our ways. “Anna Karenina” serves as a harsh reminder of what can happen if we don’t. Which is why it seems a very un-Hollywood movie to make.

Good Decisions

Recently this old story came to mind. You may have heard it, but it's worth a knowing smile if not some serious reflection.

The story goes that a skilled executive had become CEO of a bank years earlier. When he began, the bank was small, but after years--decades really--he had expanded that small bank into a financial powerhouse. And now, in his late seventies, it was time to hand the reins over to a new, younger CEO, a bright and talented man the board had already selected. 

"Sir," said the younger man, "the story of how you built this bank is legendary. As I take over from you, what do I most need to remember in order to continue to grow this business." 

"Young man," the retiring CEO replied, "two words: Good Decisions." 

"That's fine, sir, but how do I go about making good decisions?" 

"Young man, one word: Wisdom." 

"Sir, I couldn't agree more. I need to make good decisions that come as a result of wisdom. But how do I get the wisdom I need." 

"Young man," the older gentleman replied with a steely look in his eyes, "two words: Bad Decisions."

Yup, it's like that, but only if we admit our bad decisions and learn from them. And that, of course, is the hard part.

Neither Pride Nor Despair

In The Ballad of the White Horse, G. K. Chesterton imaginatively retells the story of King Alfred the Great (849-899). The ballad, a poem, opens with Alfred in hiding.

Vikings have overrun his kingdom, most of his knights are dead in battle, and his life is threatened.

Then he receives a heavenly vision in which he is instructed to gather whatever army he can muster and attack in order to drive the Vikings out of his kingdom and back to Denmark. You’d think that given a heavenly vision that success would be assured, but that’s not the case. The vision guarantees Alfred nothing. Instead he is told to rid himself of the twin sins: pride and despair.

He is not to presume on the heavenly vision for victory nor is he to fall into hopelessness a he considers the greatness and strength of the Viking hoard. The vision is as realistic as it is inscrutable:

“I tell you naught for your comfort,

Yea, naught for your desire,

Save that the sky grows darker yet

And the sea rises higher.

“Night shall be thrice night over you,

And heaven an iron cope.

Do you have joy without a cause,

Yea, faith without a hope?”

None of us knows the future except that the older we get “the sky grows darker yet and the sea rises higher.” And in light of that, neither pride nor despair will do.

Pride is an illusion: “I’m prepared, healthy, and rich. All will go well and I will live a long, long life full of happiness.” We can hope so, but we can’t know that and it’s foolish to bank on it. Life is far too uncertain.

At the same time despair is an illusion: “My life will move from one failing to the next, nothing is certain about the future except future misery, sickness, and death.” We can’t know that either and it’s foolish to pretend we do. Again, life is far too uncertain.

Instead of pride or despair, we, like King Alfred, need faith. It’s only faith that enables us to rejoice without pride and to mourn without despair. It’s faith that enables us to rid the land of the Viking invaders knowing full well that sooner or later they will be back and the next time they may win. Faith makes us happy pilgrims in the valley of tears.

And there is no time like the present for cultivating our spiritual lives in order to grow in that gift of faith. In fact, it’s now or never.