Hello on a Sunday Afternoon,
It’s been a sort of meandering, albeit significant past two weeks. Since meeting with doctors on a variety of appointments, there have been some important things managed, other important things to ponder, and, as is normal with our health system, issues to figure out. I remember when I turned 60, there were significant issues, and I wondered if it were merely entering that new decade. I am contemplating the same as I make it to yet another title. As I have noted in some of my social media, I am beyond grateful for the thoughtful, thorough, and personal care I have received from my various doctors and specialists. I do not take any of that for granted, let me assure you, and there is not a single moment I am not appreciative.
Unless you’ve been under a rock since late last week, I am sure you are aware of the passing Diane Keaton, the incredible actress, producer, thespian, and force of nature both in Hollywood and beyond. While I do not often put famous people on a pedestal, nor am I akin to so kind of hero worship, she is one of the couple people to whom I might be inclined to make an exception. The first movie I remember seeing her in was Baby Boom. I was in seminary and many of my feminist-leaning seminary class mates were encouraging their male class mates to see it. I found it both endearing and groundbreaking and Keaton’s portrayal of the protagonist that saves the movie. Certainly, it is a series of expected RomCom events, but the humor and her acting make the movie more than an “oh-yes, I-saw-it” experience. And I am certainly no movie aficionado, nor am I capable critic, but I believe she could carry any movie she appeared in. My favorite movie of her is the title of this post. Both she and Jack Nicholson are exceptional, and her beauty and elegance in that movie as well as her humanity made her one of my favorite actresses. I watched the movie again out of reverence for the profound body of work she has provided us. I laughed and cried as I watched, both because the movie evoked such emotion, but also out of sadness of a life ended and graciousness that her talent was shared with the world.
As I pondered the reality of the movie (we all wanted to be loved, and we are also so fragile when it comes to accepting it), the title seemed to be indicative of how my life has unfolded. From birth to retirement, it seems like figuring out how to proceed was merely making a decision, realizing “something’s gotta give” if the next step, the next piece, the next chapter was to occur. None of this is meant to be hyperbolic, but there have been situations from the outset until even as recently as a week ago that have me somewhat pinned into a corner, and there is the reality that you have to do something and move forward. The choices might be stark; perhaps they are difficult, but nonetheless, there are choices to make. In truth, something’s gotta give. There is a certain substantiality to daily life; there is no escape, and while doing nothing might seem like an option, it is a choice, and it is doing something. As I pondered life, there are three areas I have always struggled to make choices, perhaps because of fear. Those areas are (and not necessarily in order of importance or concern) relationships, finances, and health. While it is easy to assert health is most significant, and something that has been central to my daily life, at least since I was in my 20s and diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, it is perhaps the easiest of the three to face head on for me. Of course, I do not remember my birth, but the profundity of my prematurity caused immediate response for those charged with my very existence. Certainly, ending up in a Pediatric’s Ward in first grade, still struggling with under-development, and having all three childhood diseases back-to-back was a difficult time for doctors and my parents. Some decades later from once being told without surgery I had about 72 hours to live, when receiving another diagnosis and told once in 6 months certain options would be off the table or when various people came to visit when I received news that I had months or weeks, each time decisions were made, not always because I knew the best decision, but sometimes because I had to make a decision. Plain and straightforward – something’s gotta give. Generally, I must say things have worked out. Twelve abdominal surgeries, drug therapies, homeopathy, and a number of amazing medical people, I have managed well. Perhaps, the reason it is the easiest of the three to manage is because it is just me. It’s what happens to me.
On the other hand, relationships . . . oh my. Again while I have examined this often, and intently, have done extensive long-term counseling, and, yes, failed in two marriages, I am still a hopeless (hopeful) romantic. Then again, I am unsure how to get beyond the idea of hopelessly in love, which actually is fleeting. I understand the idea of loving someone, liking and not liking them, or realizing the tremendous effort necessary to sustain a profound and intimate relationship, but it seems I do not know how to do it. That is both tough and a bit embarrassing to admit. This is something I have attempted to understand for years. It is because I did not grow up with a model? Is it because the words of disapproval still ring in my ears too loudly? It is the incredible wounding that occurred when a person who promised to love through all called me wimp when she left because of my Crohn’s? As I reach an age where I am both independent, but simultaneously lonely at moments, I have little sense of what I really want and need. Indecision can create paralysis or it can establish the need to examine and ponder the possibilities. Momentary paralysis can serve as a breathing space, but again, soon after, something’s gotta give.
Looking thoughtfully at my upbringing, both the area I have just considered and the third area previously mentioned were nothing ever discussed in my childhood. Relationships, something I have addressed throughout my posts, are learned mostly through observation. My father worked away from home through most of my elementary and junior high years. He and my mother were not often home together. There was never any sort of hostility, but there was not really any affection either. Shortly after my divorce from my first wife, he plainly stated, “I am not surprised you are divorced.” That statement stunned me and then he explained. My initial response to his summation was rejection. However, further examination proved him spot on. In the area of finances, I knew nothing, and I had little idea of how poor or solvent we were, nor did it ever feel appropriate to ask. My life was a rollercoaster early on, even through a marriage. If I have a malady in that area at this point, I was too generous. This is not an exaggeration. If everyone paid back what they owed me, it would be into 6 figures. And that is not the only area of generosity, footing the bill or giving things to others has always been who I am. It has pushed me into the corner more than once. Somehow, I managed, figuring it out, working harder or more.
Life is choices and consequences. It is both a cliché statement and a truism. It is something I face at the moment in all three areas, not all to the same degree, but certainly simultaneously. Something’s gotta give, and at the moment, perhaps because of age, it seems more imperative. Yet, what sort of power, what amount of agency do I have? I am not sure, but I hope I might figure it out with the sort of class and elegance, the amazing goodness, that it seems Diane Keaton exuded in everything she did. And ironically, my father’s name was Harry.
Thank you for reaching,
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 