A friend told me last week that she dislikes Autumn because it means vegetation is dying and 'Winter's coming on'. We were talking about my annual mountain vacation to admire the wide-pallette display of leaf colors. Instead, she said, she sees 'rotting leaves', bespeaking the transitory nature of things. An imprecisely remembered snippet from a Shel Silverstein poem catches her sentiment: "Must we always have Winter; can't Springtime just last".
Well, this season certainly evokes awareness of change. "It seems like only yesterday" that we were in the mountains of Virginia watching the hills become green again. And, actually, it was as recently as April . . . only 6 months ago.
[ A side-bar of free association: Writing sometimes takes an unanticipated direction of its own . . . I began this musing with the intended theme of Change. Then, having noted the contrast of Spring and Autumn in 'the hills', I began reflecting on how mountains seem to be a magnet, particularly at this time in my life. Perhaps the thematic difference is not so great . . . to me, this terrain bespeaks Durability akin to near-permanence. Aware that a move to another location is improbable, my wife and I have occasionally compared the allure of the beach or the mountains were we to relocate. (We currently live about equidistant to each.) We have concurred that while we enjoy occasional trips to the coast, the mountains are our preference.]
The pace of life in the Western world can leave us breathless and out of step with the latest ... news, fad, technological gadget, fashion, . . . just 'the latest'. Designed obsolescence someone called it. And, even these beloved mountains have not escaped "Development" and "Modernization".
'What, then, endures ?' seems a legitimate enquiry in the face of sic transit gloria mundi . . . "thus passes the glory of the world" --- or, as my friend might express it, "Rotting leaves". The always changing world of external phenomena provokes cynicism for some persons . . . "Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you may die". For others, there is a tugging toward an interior world . . . dare I call it a Spiritual Life . . . that can broaden our horizon beyond the transitory events of 'now'. Someone called this the "eternity factor", not as a form of Escape, but for a 'panoramic view of time' that can enhance both personal growth and a grateful giving back to future generations on Planet Earth.
Accessing and living from this perspective can get us closer to the fundamental question of MEANING. This week I read a book that has been on my shelf for several years. While I found some of the visionary viewpoints utopian, there is much in From Age-ing to Sage-ing: A Profound New Vision of Growing Older that can point to deeper ways to live life. I anticipate re-reading with benefit several portions of the book. But for now, there are beautiful leaves to admire !
Satchel
A 48 year old client, Phillip, (he asked that his real name not be used and I am HIPPA compliant) has been struggling with 'mid-life transitions'. Recently he has been doing a lot of 'soul searching', attempting to sort through the rubble . . . professional as well as personal . . . in his life. Being something of an introspective, poetic bent, he recently attempted (to use his words) "to get a handle on where I am and where I am going". He showed me the following 'essay' and consented to my request to use it in a blog. Without editing, here are his 'ponderings' :
" 'Once upon a time . . .'
'once upon a time . . .'
'once upon a time . . .'
Good Lord, how many times had he heard 'once upon a time' ?! Well, 'once upon a time' was here. And there was no Fairy God Mother anywhere around. Plenty of toads though. 'So much for ^Happy Ever After^', he complained to himself. 'It's more like
^Huff and puff and blow your house down^.'
And what made the situation more galling was the recollection of how he had (he thought) been so precise in putting that dream house into position. Sitting amid the rubble now, it felt more like a jerry-built lean-to. Wrong floor plan? Probably. Faulty materials? Maybe. Better yet, improperly chosen, arid location? Even more likely.
The metaphors kept rolling even after he had scolded himself that 'enough of this tripe is just enough'. Then the zinger came slipping into his consciousness, 'When had the fault-line in the foundation become apparent? What caused the shift and why had he not spotted and corrected it earlier?'
Over-confident early adulthood? More likely it was seeing the turkies get the raises, recognition and promotions and realizing that competence wasn't its own best defense after all.
'Some gonna win, some gonna lose . . .' came from the softly playing radio. Even the appliances seemed to remind him. A quarter turn of the wrist choked the old Zenith radio in mid-syllable. He wishfully thought how perfect it would be if all the problems and confusions could be solved that summarily. Feeling the irresponsibility wrapped in that impulse, he backed off pdq.
Then here came 'Once upon a time' again. Unlike in the fairy tale, the shoe did not fit Cinderella and too many years of short-sightedness and wrong-turns and bad calls reminded him that he wasn't exactly the handsome prince either. More like Grumpy or Dopey all too often.
Stirring the stuff of the past and a looking for the 'might have beens' held all the promise and allure of a one-way ticket to the boonies on a World War II vintage Greyhound. Maybe the better route lay in the implications of what his just graduated 18 year old child told a mutual friend when he had cooly met a challenging crisis: 'Welcome to the grown-up world!' Then he felt the defenses to up almost on their own and the immediate rejoinder, 'Back off; nobody's implying you've acted less than as a responsible adult.'
'Grin and bear it'; 'This, too, shall pass'; 'every cloud has its silver lining'; 'where there's a will, there's a way' . . . now the cliches started. Who turned those on? Where did they come from? He recalled once hearing someone say that there had to be some truth in all these aphorisms for them to have endured. Shallow-thinking band-aids when he had just been through major emotional surgery was closer to his own evaluation.
Look ahead, set goals, lay out game plans . . . that was what the self-appointed gurus of positive thinking and get control of your rainbow 'experts' were always hyping. And he had tried it . . . more than once. Even bought a book about beating procrastination. 'Never got around to reading it,' he joked, feeling somehow that the joke was on him.
Maybe the experience was still too fresh. 'Naw', he decided. He'd made his peace with all that. What he couldn't seem to get the handle on was 'What comes next ?'
'Tomorrow', he decided. "
Any wise words of counsel that I can pass on in our next session ?
Satchel
