Hello from Starbucks,
I have been working on a wedding homily for a former student as well as working to acclimate back to a time zone six zones different than the last month. All in all, the first is completed and the second is in process. While there is certainly an element of being cliché in my title, it is something I am pondering more consciously than I have at other times. As my last post noted, life is something that simply (and it is actually never simple) happens. It matters not how you want to divide it: hours, days, weeks, months, seasons, years, decades . . . it does occur with a certain degree of consistency, and yet always a bit unpredictable. What makes it adventurous or more? I think that is both an issue of our own decision making and the things that are beyond our control. It is both anticipation and expectation. And yet how often do we really focus on either of those adjectives? Too often we go through our days in a rather robotic manner, merely working to get to the next day. Why are we content to do so? Just how did we buy into the process of existence is adequate?
Much of what seems now a daily occurrence, from what we see and hear to what we can do or even say, seems to be moving beyond our control, especially if we do have have the same view, the appropriate influence, or sufficient access to someone with power or resources. And the number of texts, emails, or other items that bombard me hourly are often overwhelming. I am at the point I do not want to hear it, and yet that precisely what many hope. I will simply tune it all out. I will step back and throw up my proverbial hands and stop. Over the last months, since returning to Bloomsburg, elements of my life have felt out of my control; plans made, depending on others, and feeling like I have grasped at branches of a tree in a summer windstorm seem to characterize things since March when I came back at the invitation of my former employer. A lack of process management on the part of all, as alluded to previously, ended up in a cavalcade of misunderstanding and the university owing me (at least to me) a significant amount of money, which 60 days later and now closer to 90, is still owed. What I have realized recently is how difficult the sort of transient existence since I left Bloomsburg last fall has been. It causes me some pause, and while I am committed to finishing the bus and managing that for some time, I am considering the best way to do that. What the past 9-10 months have reminded me of is the need for a sense of place. It is a concept that has affected most of my life. The rhetoric of place has been a significant personal and professional focus for the better part of two decades. Perhaps I still need to compose that scholarly piece, even though retired. Sometimes it is a question of being happy or being right (thank you Alan Jackson). As I prepare to head back to Iowa and focus on the bus again, there are so many things running through my head. Reconsideration of places, people, events, and wondering how I fit into it all.
Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak with one of my favorite people, catching up after too long of messages and texts. The significance of their existence in my life goes beyond what words can adequately portray that is for sure. I had so much to learn when I first met them. I was back home after my discharge from the Marine Corps, and as noted in other posts, that family changed my life, from learning about myself (which was painful at times), appreciating language and culture in ways this NW Iowa boy, who did not know a lot, could have never imagined, and finally and perhaps most importantly, taught me about family, caring, and loving in ways never experienced. That seems so long ago, but yesterday’s conversation made it feel like it was recently. That infectious laugh can transport back to another time. And my recent choices about location and residing are directly connected to what they taught this 20-something. There seems to be an incredible dichotomy in my daily existence at the moment, one that is most times a bit disconcerting as I try to manage what comes next. There are the larger pieces of the bus and then the trying to manage maintaining an address and all the specifics that occur with that as a retired person. It seems that I needed to do a bit better planning. I thought I had it figured out, and to some extent I did, but there are more complications than I imagined. Working through it, and that will be a lot of the details over the next 48-72 hours. Details and process: somehow I think I did them better in my work at the university than I do in my daily life. Everyday, there is something new, something unexpected, from managing Medicare and insurance to figuring out the best manner in which to establish some sense of process. Those who know me know I am a creature of habit, and that is being kind, so trying to create a tiny home while simultaneously existing, developing a long-term plan when it is something I have never done, and establishing a sense of comfort has been a bit of a struggle.
Later today I have a memorial service or gathering to attend for the wife of one of my morning group. She was only a couple of years older than me, and he is perhaps a year or two older than that, but it is serious reality check when people your age have ended their earthly journey. What is old? What do I consider old at this point? I am not sure I think of people as old. What I have found myself saying when someone is in their upper 80s or 90s is they have lived a long life. I remember the words of a great-aunt whose 100th birthday was on the day my elder brother was buried at the age of 26. I remember her saying, somewhat matter-of-factly, but also with some sadness, it should have been me who was buried today. That was a profound statement as she knew she had lived the life she wanted. She would live another three years. In the past hour, speaking with a former student, he noted his father was getting old (which is my age) and I noted that I did not think that was old, but he noted he saw significant aging in his father. What constitutes aging? Is it wrinkles, infirmity, lack of mobility? Is it perception? Certainly it is real; it occurs. Again, considering the previous blog, is it cliche to say “It’s just life?” Another of the things often said at the morning gathering is “growing old is not for sissies!” or some facsimile of that. There seems to be little question that the consequence of aging is profound. And yet how much of it is attitude and how much is physicality? I do not believe there is a recipe card. And as importantly, I do believe we have some degree of agency in spite of genetics or any other predisposed thing.
Certainly time keeps moving, there is no stopping it. I started this blog in mid-July and it is now the first couple days of August. It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks and within the next few days I am headed back to the midwest. Some significant bus things are completed, but there is more to do. The picture above is of the fabricated front door on the bus. It’s been a while coming, b ut I am excited to see it. Monday will be a busy day. Tying up all the loose ends; organizing all the things I want to get completed. And everyone has a schedule. It’s been an incredible six months, with so many unexpected things, but also some amazing things. The meeting of four young people from Ecuador this summer has been such an incredible gift. They give me hope. They are all such stunning and incredible young people: good, smart, kind. Working for a friend and helping them as they move toward more things to do. And yet, it is time to focus on what I need, what I must do. It’s been a dance. If I knew everything I would manage would I have done it? I think so. The intention of coming back to Bloomsburg was to help, while that specific thing did not happen, I would like to believe I did some things to help others. That is what I believe makes the most difference. While I was in Europe, the number of times I was approached about America today was innumerable. We never know what will happen beyond a certain degree, regardless of how carefully we plan. Earlier I noted Alan Jackson in the blog. Now I will note Garth Brooks, and his incredible song, “The Dance.” This version reminds me of a time when we believed so much differently. I was a third grader when this occurred. I am glad I am still dancing.
Thank you as always for reading. Keep dancing!
Dr. Martin
thewritingprofessor55 