”Well, I’m running down the road”
”Trying to loosen my load” Glenn Frey/Jackson Browne
Recently, I have felt I’ve been taking myself a little bit too seriously, dangerously close to pontification psychosis. With my last story on the election, I grabbed hold of the idea I was right, a danger signal, at least for me. When a feeling starts to smell like arrogance, it is time to take a breath. Arrogance is cool for your posture, if you are a bullfighter, but that’s it. A classic example of arrogance gone wrong is Russell Brand.
I am up to my ass in feelings and opinions, but I claim expertise in absolutely nothing. Over time, I have become more emotionally literate, but no smarter. Years of being around Zen has made me strongly believe in the power of humility and that is what bothered me about some of my recent, less personal stories. I began thinking I knew what I was talking about.
The Eagles sang about “running’ down the road” but I am much more comfortable ‘walking”, although it would have made for a lousy lyric. At least for this one, I want to slow it down a bit. Writing is such an incredibly introspective process, finding the internal voice to put down on the page. You have to listen for it, because it is sometimes hard to hear. Its soft voice can get drowned out by too many thoughts.
When you get to be my age, many things happen that have never happened before. It certainly applies to the entire physical realm. It becomes harder to discern whether something is actually malfunctioning, or just an affliction of a mechanism or an organ, getting tired from the travails of time. When we are young, we take so much for granted when it comes to our bodies and that is fine. It is like the difference between a BMW and an Edsel. The latter ain’t winning any races.
However, no matter what you’re driving, the finish line don’t change, one of the many things your realize hanging around the pit stop for too many races. Keeping with the racing theme, you start thinking about not making a fuss over engine noises, especially when the checkered flag is around the next turn, hopefully not quite in view.
While we are on the subject of vision, it is interesting what happens with age. While it might be harder to see the flag, we see things more clearly inside, at least that’s the idea and my hope for myself every day, You could probably say the same for velocity. You get an equivalent deal when you are forced to decelerate. You can lament the slow down, or you can use the extra time to smell the roses, if you get my drift here.
Many years ago, when I was in my early thirties, living in a basement, walk through in Park Slope, Brooklyn, I took a whack at writing. I honestly never thought about it before. When I was working in the advertising business and writing memos and presentations, I was often told I should write a book. It sounded so foreign to me. The writing I was doing seemed so easy and natural, but I never had that idea. So, there I was, sitting on my bed, with a newly purchased “typewriter” at my feet. I sucked down a couple of cans of Milwaukee’s Best Beer. I burned a joint and started typing. I don’t even remember the one sentence I got down, before I started crying uncontrollably. All I felt was some undefinable pain. I wasn’t ready.
When I actually started writing my memoir for my grandson, I was in my late sixties. That’s how long it took me in my race. I was scribbling copious notes every day during the year and a half it took to write it. I wanted to jam in as much as I could, because there was so much to tell. I didn’t spend that much time writing down my feelings, swamped by all I had done and experienced. It was all about jobs, geography and relationships.
When I was sitting at the machine, my feelings made it on to the page, as I spontaneously reacted to my multi-dimensional resume. Up til that point, I was a really busy guy. There were always stories about the ever present music, my musical carpet ride throughout my life. Keep in mind, I was talking to a kid, who was three years old when I began. Could he possibly know about Ella Fitzgerald or Ry Cooder, when he actually began reading it?
Let me tell you, just because I have this knack for writing, doesn’t mean I am some bastion of intellectually, triggered sanity and/or emotional equilibrium. This last thing I want to do is give you the wrong idea. We all do this dance between happiness and sadness, satisfaction and dissatisfaction, the grand, emotional pendulum. Without these kinds of extremes, where else could compassion possibly come from? In some ways, creativity of all kinds is birthed by looking for ways to express this duality in all our lives.
How we see the world we live in always starts from how we see and understand ourselves. It takes time to get there and that’s no guarantee. Looking at the state of our world is ample proof of humanity’s failure so far. Perfection is for angels and mirages. We are blinded by our frailties. One of my favorite of the Four Vows by the Buddha, “Greed, Hatred and Ignorance rise endlessly, I vow to abandon them.” I try. I try.
Oops, there I go again, going BIG, when I want to keep this one small. I wish it was much easier to look out there and find fault with ourselves, before jumping on others. I sure have a buttload myself. It is certainly easier and more interesting to write about everything outside yourself, which could be one reason why I have done so much of it. These days, what is going on is certainly way more entertaining than me recounting my history and associated feelings. I don’t know if I could ever say I was angry with myself. I am totally responsible for what I do and say and there is no one else to blame or fault, not at my age.
I am trying to think of a good way to end this story, even though there is a tough PS to follow. Walking down the road, you get to see so much of yourself and others if you just look. You learn the best joys are the small ones. A quiet sunrise is filled with promise. Believe me, I understand the challenges for all of us in these times. The promise we can each fulfill for ourselves is in our hearts, not our minds. Before the PS, I want to thank you for taking the time to read this story. I know it’s a long one.
PS: I am sorry to ruin this personal story with the following: Does anybody wonder why the wholesale slaughter of Palestinians goes on and on, with no end in sight? That is not really true. The end is the total elimination of every single person in Gaza, period. I am going to tell you why. Too much money is being made by the global, corporate harbingers of death and destruction. These are the same folks, who underwrite our politicians, regardless of party.The future of this country has been bought and sold to these motherfuckers and the rest of their mega, corporate moguls. I honestly don’t know what you and I can do about it. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.
“Love is the Answer.” No one has come up with another, simple four letters to save our souls. It is hysterically naive, but true. Thank you to our neighbor, Todd Rundgren. A song made famous by his aptly named band, Utopia.
The latest, raucous and irreverent South America, formerly South Park, ends the way this story does. I was shocked and smiling!
Pay the Love forward!
LISTEN TO IT HERE:
https://www.buzzsprout.com/admin/1292459/episodes/20122394-takin-it-easy