In(s) and Out(s)
There was a time, way way back, when I was 100% an outdoor person. One of the questions in the game I designed (titles Perceptions) even asked that question: Would you consider yourself more of an indoor or an outdoor person. Back then, there was no question; my answer was filled with conviction and my actions matched my words, one solo camping trip of mine having me explore the southern parks of Utah (Zion, Bryce, Canyonlands, Arches and Capitol Reef) alone over a period of 12 days. My tent and me, setting up, packing up and making deep new friendships along the way (it would also turn out to be one of my first experiences with deep snow, my waking up chilled and wondering why I had no more warm things to put on in my tent, then peeking out and discovering that I was slowly being buried in fresh snowfall which caused me to quickly dismantle everything and get the heck out of there...I was camping at Bryce Canyon at the time which is nestled at about 8000 feet). I was just entering my 30s, and those feelings of wild abandon and immortality that penetrate so much of youth was still clinging on in pieces inside of me; in my even younger days I had solo jumped a flight to Japan and did much the same thing, browsing books and planning my trip at the last minute...while on the plane; I wound up spending over a week there with just $200, eating at noodle houses and catching all-night trains so that I could save on hotels (the few ryokans I stayed at --similar to pensiones-- were inexpensive and overflowing with culture for such an open and inexperienced mind as my own at the time and provided me with memories still vivid even today). $200...even now I am unable to imagine trying to make it through one day in Japan with that amount, much less over a week (tea at the train station, served at almost all of the vendor wagons, was just five cents back then, a perfect accompaniment for my $2 bento box). I'd mentioned this before but if you want to get a small feel of what those back streets of Japan were like to a youthful adventurer, take a quick peek at the delightful series Samurai Gourmet.
So this question emerges because my wife regularly tells me that I don't seem to have the urge to go hiking quite as much as I used to, I'm the one that has to initiate, she tells me. She calls these "home truths," a term from her childhood, stinging words said that you may deny over and over on hearing them but deep inside, recognize that they are true. You're a user, a manipulator, you're lazy, you watch tv too much, whatever the words; they sting like semi-poison darts and stick with you, even as you try to deny them with every excuse possible...that's not true, you say, I don't do that, I love visiting your relatives, whatever. Her words to me weren't any of those things but instead were about my seeming loss for the outdoors. And like a bad mosquito bite, I realized that something had indeed shifted inside of me over the years. Once you got me out on the trail I was a semi-new person, suddenly back to my old self slipping into the hermit-like being that once warmed my heart. I love such outings and discovering new things, exploring away and asking all sorts of questions and freely taking pictures...the old me.
It's said that if we were given a graph of our patterns most of us would find that we deviate very little. A pencil drawing tracking our travels would show a clover-leaf swirl of places we go over and over and over (although most psychologists say that it's healthy to deviate from regular patterns such as driving home a different way or brushing your teeth with your opposite hand, all of which stimulates your brain into making new pathways). But for most of us, it's the same stores, the same coffee shops, the same trails. And somehow this sameness pattern came back to slap me as I listened to my wife's mum. With her own bit of dementia arriving, her mum feels comfortable in her place even as we try to get her to move to a community that offers regular meals and more people her age (but is still an independent apartment). She won't budge. With dementia (and perhaps with all of us) the sized bubble of one's comfortable world progressively becomes smaller and smaller and anything outside of that world feels almost threatening and scary. The old days of mental patients curled into a fetal position is the extreme of that; for them, the world beyond that curled position itself is terrifying. For my wife's mum, despite the logic being there (similar pricing, more people to talk to, more scheduled activities and drives, regular meals, terrific views outside her windows) there was little to discuss. She was comfortable and she was happy where she was, she said. But she wasn't happy, and everyone could see that...except her. Then I realized that I wasn't much different. My own world had closed quite a bit, even as I heard similar and convincing arguments. Try this new restaurant. Check out this new club. What about a trail we've never tried? Dinner next door on Tuesday? But there were the dogs and moms to take care of, and our errands and cleaning the house, and the leaves were falling like crazy so those had to be mulched, I muttered. Stepping back a bit, I could hear my wife's mother's arguments in my own head for my comfort bubble had shrunk to the point where I couldn't hear the logic of it all...get out, or back outdoors, it said. Where are you, my old creaky voice screamed, what happened to you?
Age often does that to us, our adventurous spirit seemingly diminishing as we discover our mortality. We begin to treasure life and want to extend it, even as we shirk away from experiencing life by busying ourselves with patterns we deem necessary. The voices and excuses echo in our heads. Once the kids leave I'll be free. Once I retire I'll change. Once I find time I'll get my office in order. But life sends out more chains and anchors to weigh us down (if we let it). And for many of us, it is our choice to let those weights keep piling on or to toss them off and let them fall away. But it takes effort. My mother, after falling several times, is now quite content to just remain in a wheelchair. Her first fall (which broke a femur bone) was a scare and made her realize that living alone far away was probably not the best idea; her next two falls (low sodium) she attributed to her new surroundings and still maintained the attitude of keep on keeping on; but her next fall (dehydration) landed the defeating blow. Her arms now shake if she stands, her mind telling her to desperately find a handhold somewhere; best to just stay in the chair. And my brother and I are okay with all that for who knows if another fall might occur and if so, how serious it might be. As it turns out, "falls are the second-leading cause of death by injury, after car accidents," according to an article in Mosaic Science. Adds the piece: In the United States, falls cause 32,000 fatalities a year (more than four times the number caused by drowning or fires combined). Nearly three times as many people die in the US after falling as are murdered by firearms...Falls are one of life’s great overlooked perils. We fear terror attacks, shark bites, Ebola outbreaks and other minutely remote dangers, yet over 420,000 people die worldwide each year after falling...Fall injuries are the leading cause of death by injury in people over 60, says Horak (Fay Horak, professor of neurology at Oregon Health & Science University). Every year, about 30 per cent of those 65 and older living in senior residences have a fall, and when they get older than 80, that number rises to 50 per cent.
There's a balance between learning about life and living life. The colors of fall remind us of this, the leaves showing us life lived through all sorts of weather then giving way to a hidden beauty in its senescence. My dogs also show me this, my one dog's paralysis not proving the most ideal life for her but with her support wheels moving her around she joyously looks forward to each and every morning with tail wagging and nose ready for new scents, barking away as if to announce her no-big-deal attitude to other dogs. And several of my friends are in their 80s and 90s, still hiking and exploring (one couple just left for yet another river cruise, the nightly martinis being an extra bonus). And as if to add to all of this a day later, my wife's mother is reconsidering her moving. She had lunch with 2 young ladies, their spirits and faces far belying their 95 years (one was quite proud of her handshake which I must admit was pretty darn firm). And sometimes that's all it takes to snap us out of our bubble, to cast aside that warm blanket and say to heck with this, I'm going out. Sometimes it is that easy...and that difficult. But if we look more closely, most of us would likely discover that our youthful vitality never really faded but rather was just waiting for someone to open the door and say almost excitedly, "I've been looking for you."
So this question emerges because my wife regularly tells me that I don't seem to have the urge to go hiking quite as much as I used to, I'm the one that has to initiate, she tells me. She calls these "home truths," a term from her childhood, stinging words said that you may deny over and over on hearing them but deep inside, recognize that they are true. You're a user, a manipulator, you're lazy, you watch tv too much, whatever the words; they sting like semi-poison darts and stick with you, even as you try to deny them with every excuse possible...that's not true, you say, I don't do that, I love visiting your relatives, whatever. Her words to me weren't any of those things but instead were about my seeming loss for the outdoors. And like a bad mosquito bite, I realized that something had indeed shifted inside of me over the years. Once you got me out on the trail I was a semi-new person, suddenly back to my old self slipping into the hermit-like being that once warmed my heart. I love such outings and discovering new things, exploring away and asking all sorts of questions and freely taking pictures...the old me.
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| A young highliner crossing a valley in Moab, UT...Photo: National Geographic |
It's said that if we were given a graph of our patterns most of us would find that we deviate very little. A pencil drawing tracking our travels would show a clover-leaf swirl of places we go over and over and over (although most psychologists say that it's healthy to deviate from regular patterns such as driving home a different way or brushing your teeth with your opposite hand, all of which stimulates your brain into making new pathways). But for most of us, it's the same stores, the same coffee shops, the same trails. And somehow this sameness pattern came back to slap me as I listened to my wife's mum. With her own bit of dementia arriving, her mum feels comfortable in her place even as we try to get her to move to a community that offers regular meals and more people her age (but is still an independent apartment). She won't budge. With dementia (and perhaps with all of us) the sized bubble of one's comfortable world progressively becomes smaller and smaller and anything outside of that world feels almost threatening and scary. The old days of mental patients curled into a fetal position is the extreme of that; for them, the world beyond that curled position itself is terrifying. For my wife's mum, despite the logic being there (similar pricing, more people to talk to, more scheduled activities and drives, regular meals, terrific views outside her windows) there was little to discuss. She was comfortable and she was happy where she was, she said. But she wasn't happy, and everyone could see that...except her. Then I realized that I wasn't much different. My own world had closed quite a bit, even as I heard similar and convincing arguments. Try this new restaurant. Check out this new club. What about a trail we've never tried? Dinner next door on Tuesday? But there were the dogs and moms to take care of, and our errands and cleaning the house, and the leaves were falling like crazy so those had to be mulched, I muttered. Stepping back a bit, I could hear my wife's mother's arguments in my own head for my comfort bubble had shrunk to the point where I couldn't hear the logic of it all...get out, or back outdoors, it said. Where are you, my old creaky voice screamed, what happened to you?
Age often does that to us, our adventurous spirit seemingly diminishing as we discover our mortality. We begin to treasure life and want to extend it, even as we shirk away from experiencing life by busying ourselves with patterns we deem necessary. The voices and excuses echo in our heads. Once the kids leave I'll be free. Once I retire I'll change. Once I find time I'll get my office in order. But life sends out more chains and anchors to weigh us down (if we let it). And for many of us, it is our choice to let those weights keep piling on or to toss them off and let them fall away. But it takes effort. My mother, after falling several times, is now quite content to just remain in a wheelchair. Her first fall (which broke a femur bone) was a scare and made her realize that living alone far away was probably not the best idea; her next two falls (low sodium) she attributed to her new surroundings and still maintained the attitude of keep on keeping on; but her next fall (dehydration) landed the defeating blow. Her arms now shake if she stands, her mind telling her to desperately find a handhold somewhere; best to just stay in the chair. And my brother and I are okay with all that for who knows if another fall might occur and if so, how serious it might be. As it turns out, "falls are the second-leading cause of death by injury, after car accidents," according to an article in Mosaic Science. Adds the piece: In the United States, falls cause 32,000 fatalities a year (more than four times the number caused by drowning or fires combined). Nearly three times as many people die in the US after falling as are murdered by firearms...Falls are one of life’s great overlooked perils. We fear terror attacks, shark bites, Ebola outbreaks and other minutely remote dangers, yet over 420,000 people die worldwide each year after falling...Fall injuries are the leading cause of death by injury in people over 60, says Horak (Fay Horak, professor of neurology at Oregon Health & Science University). Every year, about 30 per cent of those 65 and older living in senior residences have a fall, and when they get older than 80, that number rises to 50 per cent.
There's a balance between learning about life and living life. The colors of fall remind us of this, the leaves showing us life lived through all sorts of weather then giving way to a hidden beauty in its senescence. My dogs also show me this, my one dog's paralysis not proving the most ideal life for her but with her support wheels moving her around she joyously looks forward to each and every morning with tail wagging and nose ready for new scents, barking away as if to announce her no-big-deal attitude to other dogs. And several of my friends are in their 80s and 90s, still hiking and exploring (one couple just left for yet another river cruise, the nightly martinis being an extra bonus). And as if to add to all of this a day later, my wife's mother is reconsidering her moving. She had lunch with 2 young ladies, their spirits and faces far belying their 95 years (one was quite proud of her handshake which I must admit was pretty darn firm). And sometimes that's all it takes to snap us out of our bubble, to cast aside that warm blanket and say to heck with this, I'm going out. Sometimes it is that easy...and that difficult. But if we look more closely, most of us would likely discover that our youthful vitality never really faded but rather was just waiting for someone to open the door and say almost excitedly, "I've been looking for you."
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