Age and Wisdom
March 24, 2010
I’ve always liked to think that as I grow older, I will learn important truths about how best to live, about what’s truly valuable, beautiful, worthy to pursue, etc . . . Unfortunately, though, while aging is a given, my hopeful equation, years = wisdom and altruism, is not.
A recent online news story about two sisters who haven’t spoken for over five years because of a squabble over lottery winnings proves my point.
Apparently, one sister won ½ a million dollars. The other claimed she was “owed” half. Now they’re finally in court and their petty bickering is big news splayed all over the Internet. It seems the sister insisting the winnings be split has a legal argument.
The two women gambled together regularly for years, always split their winnings, and even went so far as having a contract drawn up stating that they would divide all winnings.
Seems clear cut, except that it’s not—or so the winning sister argues. She claims that they fought and severed all communication a year prior to the big win and that severing included an end to any co-operative gambling.
I’m not curious about how it turns out. I was completely mouth-hanging-open baffled by them. These two very elderly women have not spoken to each other in five years. Because of greed. How much longer can they spend money anyway? And on what?
It doesn’t matter who “wins.” Both women are impoverished and saddest of all, they don’t even see how.
Then another Internet kafuffle caught my eye. Miley Cyrus, a teen star with hit TV series, movies, and a pop music career to her credit, is scheduled to be a mentor on the next season’s American Idol. The controversy? Her youth. Apparently a lot of people think she’s too young to have any advice of value.
That attitude baffles me. Who hasn’t learned from their children? Or figured out something of life long importance in their youth? Miley Cyrus fan or not, anyone wanting to be an entertainer could do a lot worse than listen to the advice of a teenager with her experience.
Those stories struck me as especially tragic and ludicrous, because they contrasted so dramatically with an event I got to take in last week: our local 4H club’s speech arts competition.
Youth of all ages presented speeches they’d written. With humour, great descriptions and thoughtful construction, they showed that you’re never too young to work on your ability to communicate, to celebrate your relationships, or share your passion—whether that be operating heavy machinery, raising floppy eared goats, writing stories, skiing or snowboarding, learning about animals and insects, studying Egypt, or so much more.
The young presenters showed that knowing what’s important and valuable in life—wisdom—turns out not to be about age at all. It’s about attitude. Experience can and should lend to wisdom, but you have to want it to. Thankfully that desire is something we can cultivate now, whether we’re 6, 16, or 79!
And if we take wrong turns, value the wrong things at times in our lives? Well, we don’t run out of chances. I wish those sad sisters luck—and not the kind that comes with a string of zeros, the kind that shows them they’re missing the point of living.
Originally published in The Terrace Standard, March 23, 2010
A New Year . . . At Last
January 28, 2010
The just-finished first month of 2010 was weird for me. Usually I’m the kind of person who, while excited to ring in a new year, feels nostalgic for the year past and laments the fast passage of time. This year I wished I was sad to see 2009 go, but I wasn’t. I was (am!) happy to have it behind me.
There were some good times and some important, lovely moments, but bigger parts of the year were, for a variety of reasons, really difficult—for me and for my family. And when I thought about potential goals for 2010, I wondered whether I should even “do” resolutions this year.
But since I always have things that I want to accomplish/change/try, I decided I would—but I didn’t put them into words until after a visit at friend’s house.
A bunch of us were discussing whether we were going to do resolutions and why or why not. The pervasive sentiment was “No . . . they just fail anyway.”
My husband, who doesn’t usually bother with resolutions, mentioned that one year he’d resolved to catch a Steelhead and a Spring.
Someone laughed. “That’s not a resolution. Resolutions are supposed to bring pain, be horrible—you’re supposed to change something about yourself that you don’t like—like quitting smoking, or stopping drinking, or losing weight.”
The conversation moved on, but I was still thinking. Is that right? Is that what a resolution is—a vow to change whatever we hate most about ourselves and/or our habits, even (or especially!) if the attempt makes us miserable?
Why should it be like that? Why not resolve to let ourselves do the things that bring us joy, cause pleasure, and create mental and emotional energy? Why not spend more time fishing?
A theme for my year was born: 2010 – My Year of More. Here are just a few of the things I’m looking forward to doing more of:
More Wii video games. More gallivanting to interesting, out of the way spots. More talking with husband and kids—in a “go for coffee” meandering-conversation way, not just to relay information, get information.
More time praying, reading my bible, thinking, stretching . . . More hanging out with my friends. More camping . . .
I don’t know how your 2009 went, but even if it was great in every way (and I hope it was), I’m sure you wouldn’t mind more good things in 2010. And I don’t know how your resolutions are coming along either, but I suspect, seeing as it’s February, some have fallen by the wayside and you’re beating yourself up.
Give yourself a break and go do something just because you like to do it—then repeat, repeat, repeat. I suspect that when we do more of what we enjoy, hard things don’t have the same power to pull us down and vices lose their grip . . . All the best in 2010. When the time comes, may we be sad to see it go.
First published in The Terrace Standard, January 27, 2010
August Already
August 26, 2009
Evening at Rathtrevor
Aw, 10:00 p.m. and it’s dark. Already. At the end of June, July and August stretch out like suntanned limbs and the days ahead feel like they’ll never fade. But they always do—and so quickly. Like dark chocolate, summer is bittersweet: delicious, then gone.
Right now my house is full of kids ranging 8 – 13. My son is finally home from all his summer gallivanting and is celebrating his visiting cousins by having a movie-candy-pizza-trampoline fest. I’ve been to Vancouver and back, to Fort St. James and back, and houseguests during my at-home-times. In just two more sleeps, my sister Laura will be married, and then after one more sleep, I leave to drive to the Island to meet up with my daughter and husband who have been away all summer.
All the chaos is what I love best about the sunny season—and it’s what feels normal to me. This year, however, I’m actually conflicted about its coming to an end. I want to prolong beach days, camping trips, family and friend visits, overflowing flowerbeds, the Farmer’s Market, and long drives across the province—but the approach of September means my husband and daughter will both be home once more and I’ll finally get to see them again.
People who know about my quasi-bachelor state keep asking if I’m missing them. The answer in a word is, Yes. In two words, Absolutely yes. But there’s more than just the mushy-loneliness factor for me to contend with. There’s the weird factor.
I’ve lived with other people my whole life. Growing up, I had a large immediate family and a huge extended family. I moved out of the house when I was very young, but I roomed with my best friend. Then I met my husband. Then I had children—children who were often accompanied by other people’s children. By nature I need a lot of alone time, but it has always been something I have to schedule in or arrange.
Hours with no demands on my time by someone else, no schedules to try to synchronize, no need to consult with anyone about his/her plans before I make mine—it’s all very bizarre for me. There’s a whole world of single-people that is alien to me. Perhaps the novelty is best shown in this strange oddity: until this summer I had never, ever ordered pizza for one. Did you know that restaurants make small pizzas—ones with only six pieces? A perfect for dinner for one: inexpensive and so cute!
Cooking in general was different, actually. I love to cook, for two, for three, for a crowd . . . On my own, I found myself indifferent to meal preparation. I didn’t need to prepare regular meals or normal ones. I did things like eat miscellaneous tinned and frozen foods for a meal—sardines and green beans, for example. I was particularly awed by how food didn’t disappear from the refrigerator and when I did buy groceries, even splurging, it would cost a measly fifty bucks!
It was also slightly surreal to have a good friend come to visit and not have to share her with anyone—we watched chick flicks with no complaints from the peanut gallery (well, until the last night of her visit when my son returned home anyway), held to absolutely no schedule, and got to go rock collecting and garden-plant perusing for way longer than my family would have had patience for.
The biggest surprise of the weeks alone was that I didn’t get more work done. I find having to do things amidst a busy schedule is actually, dare I say it, better for my productivity. The hardest thing, initially anyway, was sleeping in an empty house for such a long stretch. The only thing I’ll miss is the reduced cost of living.
I’m happy, as fast as it’s going, that there’s time for one more (or even a couple more) summer-hurrahs. The car is ready to be packed. The audio books are chosen. The pets and house have kindly friends to take care of them. I am more than ready for less carefree hours and more convolution. It will take all my willpower not to speed down the highway. However sad I am to see summer go, I’ll be pleased to see autumn’s crisp leaves—and my dining room table set for four. In fact, with it still a few weeks away, I can enjoy the delusion that this time the upcoming season will linger and give me all the time I want to savour it.
First published in The Terrace Standard, Aug. 19, 2009
