So Tired

    John Lennon wrote: I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink.  And hats have to be taken off for the countless firefighters throughout the West who are indeed "so tired" and yet keep on going.  Out here in Utah and "our" portion of the West we faced a strange meeting of a cold front hitting our ridge of high pressure, resulting in a 50-degree change in temperature and a fury of winds.  Over a thousand trees, many a hundred-years old, were toppled by the winds in our forests, and another thousand fell on both public and private lands such as local parks, church yards and even at our Capitol.  Semi trucks were littered across our highways, also knocked onto their sides, and by the next day the sound of chain saws didn't seem to end...our neighboring streets alone saw 14 trees blocking driveways and even traffic (most were trees too large to fully wrap your arms around the trunks).  For those who live in hurricane- or tornado-prone areas, this scattering of uprooted trees was likely no big deal.  But out here, the term "strong winds" will now likely emerge with a new definition.  Our own house and trees somehow survived, leaving us feeling both thankful and a bit guilty as we walked by those neighbors who were now facing paying an average of $2000 to have tree trimmers clear the debris, a necessary job but likely not something in their budget, and especially now.  But admittedly, I was tired; our fence was wobbly in several spots but still standing, the wind having exposed what portions had weakened and rotted over the decades, all of which meant me having to dig post holes and add supports and drill and cut and level in order to stabilize it all.  At times I felt that the fence reflected my own torn body, my estimated time allotment now way over budget for what I thought would take an hour for each section took nearly four and again reminded me that I was no longer the agile handyman I thought I was (or had been).  But through it all, my aches and pains were nothing --absolutely nothing-- compared to those who were (and still are) fighting fires or those who had lost their homes or a majority of their possessions in a fire, and not only here in the West but across the seas in Lesbos and Beirut...and back here, another hurricane was bearing down on the South.

   For some people, whether it's because they've lost everything or lost a little, it's a time to start over, something which is far easier to say than to do.  Looking at all the damage down our street, and how my wife and I had somehow emerged relatively unscathed, I began to look at things in another way.  Both of us could truthfully repeat that Beatles line, "what have I done to deserve such a fate?"  It was said that Benjamin Franklin began each day by asking himself, "What good can I do today?," and ended each day in asking himself, "What good have I done today?"  Children's author, Oliver Jeffers, wrote an essay in TIME that asked about our role in explaining this shift of climatic events to our children: What, then, can we, as the village it takes to raise them, do to help prepare these kids for the unfinished task at hand?  Holding up our hands and painting the extent of the problem with total transparency is a good first step.  We can encourage them by example to make the sacrifices that have until now proved too difficult for ourselves–cutting ourselves off from fossil fuels, redistributing wealth, returning our waste to the earth as food rather than as poison.  We should also shut up and listen to them rather than feeding them our broken stories.  Most important, we should shift our thinking from “me” to “we.”  Whatever threats loom over us in the future, be they rising seas or global pandemics, one thing is certain: they will affect us.  One can almost hear that echo of "we are not alone," even if we sometimes feel that way.  

   So I jump back to that question of why me?  This came up not only because of the grumbling I did about all the cleanup in our yard, something that was a real emotion even as I remembered just how lucky my wife and I were with so little damage.  And it got me to wonder (again) about summing up a life.  How would one go about it?  Think about what your obituary would say, especially if you could write it.  Okay,  small catch is that you'd be limited to only a few lines...no lengthy memoirs or biographies here but rather, a review of sorts.  It's an art to be sure, whether you're trying to talk a friend into seeing that certain movie or series, ("you have to go see this...") or listen to that new song, or watch that interesting TED talk,* or read that fascinating book.  Take Karen Renaldi who was summed up in this manner: Karen Rinaldi is a published novelist, a mediocre surfer, and the founder of Harper Wave, a HarperCollins imprint.  Her new book, It’s Great to Suck at Something, advocates pursuing new interests without fear of failure.  But that wasn't what caught my eye as much as her as her list of the six books she would recommend "to help you understand yourself" (as featured in an issue of The Week): 1) Taking the Leap by Pema Chödrön (2009).  Shenpa is the Tibetan word for attachment, which American Buddhist nun Chödrön explains as being “hooked.”  When we are hooked by something unpleasant—some discomfort or pain—we tend to tighten our resistance to it.  Instead, she teaches, we should open ourselves up to discomfort without attaching a value to it.  Therein lies the pathway out of it.  Truth: It ain’t easy.  2)  Gratitude by Oliver Sacks (2015).  Sacks wrote this book when he knew he was dying, and it is a brief but moving, honest, and beautiful meditation on his soon-to-end life.  Gratitude is a powerful way to shift our perspective on any situation, even—or especially—the most difficult ones.  Sacks gracefully captures this conundrum in four unexpected but pitch-perfect essays.  3) What if This Were Enough? by Heather Havrilesky (2018).  Havrilesky doesn’t suck at being Havrilesky.  An essayist who goes where many writers wouldn’t dare, she has the courage to dig deep into her psyche and expose it to us—and in doing so, throws a klieg light into our own dark corners.  She’s working on gratitude practice as well. “That’s my territory,” she writes. “Gratitude and anger, anger and gratitude.”  4) The Origins of Cool in Postwar America by Joel Dinerstein (2017).  Dinerstein, who curated “American Cool” at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, explores how the concept of cool both occludes and elucidates.  His deep dive into cool and its relevance in jazz, existentialism, literature, and pop music seems at first glance academic, but it is a riveting read, giving brilliant insight and context to one of the most elusive and misunderstood cultural concepts.  It’s totally cool.  5) The Unknown Craftsman by Soetsu Yanagi (1972).  A classic on craft and its unsung heroes, Yanagi’s book argues that we should reject perfection in favor of the imperfect. “Beauty must have room, must be associated with freedom,” he writes.  It’s an unlikely self-help tome, but there’s plenty here to help us embrace our imperfections and to celebrate diligent efforts of many kinds.  And 6) The Confidence Code by Katty Kay and Claire Shipman (2014).  The subtitle, “The Science and Art of Self-Assurance—What Women Should Know,” says it all.  Women need to read this book.

    It's quite a list, and quite a task to do such a summary**  I was reminded of such simplicity in Heather Lende's book about politics in tiny Haines, Alaska (you can only get there by ferry ot small prop plane) where she lives.  In Of Bears and Ballots, she wrote:  My job writing obituaries at the Chilkat Valley News helps keep politics in perspective.  Some people, my favorite ones often, devote their lives to causes that they care about, that make the world a better place, from parks and pre-schools to mental healthcare and the arts.  Their families proudly note those accomplishments and commitment to them, especially in the face of adversity.  When I write obits, no one has ever asked me to tally Grandpa's wealth, or make sure readers know what presidential candidate he voted for.  A graduation date, the names of their children, or the way the sun caught Aaron's smile when he soared through the air on his snowboard are all more relevant in the end than money and politics.  Issues, maybe.  Such as that they cared about family planning or were instrumental in developing the tourism industry.  But politics, no.

   My sore rarely-used muscles, those few I have left I should say, needed a re-think.  As world traveler and author, Rick Steves, told TIME about his now-limited travels: "If it's not to your liking, change your liking."  That shift in perspective also came to Clint Carter as he wrote about 21-year old Lexie Alford setting a record by being the youngest person to see every country in the world; as he told Men's Journal: As an old millennial, I vaguely recall the revolt that turned my peers and me against the Humvees and McMansions that marked status for our parents’ generation.  We understood that happiness was to be earned through experiences, not possessions.  We didn’t care about keeping up with the Joneses—or we didn’t think we did, anyway.  So, we studied abroad, backpacked through Europe, and nursed our souls with adventure.  But ultimately, it seems we bucked one set of Joneses for another.  Our lives shifted online, and experiences began to look a lot like possessions.  Travel became its own status-seeking behavior.  Did 21-year-old Alford “experience” the world’s 195 countries, or did she “collect” them, like objects?  Until the 1950s, more people traveled by train than plane.  Vacation was a time-consuming ordeal.  But now we’ll airdrop in for a weekend in Berlin or 36 hours in Singapore.  We do it for the ’Gram.  We do it to say we did it.  Between 1998 and 2008, global air travel increased threefold.  

    As I raked and raked, I had to marvel at all that I was missing by grumbling.  Winds had shaken off leaves and branches that I could never have reached; the currents of air had swung and swayed my trees to what seemed their breaking point (such movement actually strengthens them, much as we would by using a muscle); I'd never seen them bend so much, my awe perhaps naïvely camouflaging the danger in me standing under those towering trunks and trusting their durability (if my body is found in the future, crushed under a tree, you'll know what happened).  But let's face it, we're all tired: tired of politics, tired of worrying, tired of wondering if we'll still have a home or a place to live, tired of watching our dreams vanish into smoke, tired of staying inside, tired of wearing masks, tired of the inequity of life.  The Beatles wrote: And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree there will be an answer...let it be.  For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see there will be an answer...let it be.  But when?  We may be getting tired of waiting...grumble, grumble, grumble.

   Patricia Marx and Roz Chast wrote another caustically humorous book on couples getting through life...us.  But in a sense, illustrator Chast summed things up to near perfection: At birth, you --an ox-- are allotted a cart that contains your baggage: your hopes and dreams, but also your phobias, your hang-ups, your obsessions, and whatever mental, physical, and emotional stuff you inherited from your ox parents.  Wherever you go, you must lug your cart behind you.  But someday you might meet a special ox.  If you are "serious" about each other, you will be issued a couples cart into which both of you can now throw all your crap.  The cart is heavy and a little unwieldy.  If you have children, for a stretch you will be lugging them as well.  One day, one of you will want to turn down Old Huckleberry Lane because there's a cute little farmers' market down there, and the other will want to stay on I-95.  You will have a fight, but eventually work it out because (this is important!): no one gets to steer the cart all the time.  On the bright side, if one of you has a sore ankle, the other can work a little harder to pull the cart, and vice versa.  Besides, it's more fun to have another ox with whom to pull the goddamn cart.  You can gossip about other oxen and discuss various ox-centric topics, and if you are lucky, you can make each other laugh.  "Look, there's Farmer Joe.  Why does his head look like a rutabaga?"  The point is that life is a schlep, and it's easier to get through it with another ox.  "Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.,."

*It's tempting to ignore yet another link or talk, but this short summary of life here on Earth by Oliver Jeffers well worth your ten minutes...

**Desert Island Discs is a podcast both my wife and I enjoy which asks people of all stripes and backgrounds for their 8 favorite songs and a favorite book...think of it, sum up in an hour what 8 songs influenced your life, and then you can only choose ONE book; one of our favorite episodes was the very-revealing --and funny-- Dustin Hoffman.  The show has been running for close to 80 years...