Hello on a September afternoon,
It is warm and beautiful, with low humidity and a blue sky that seems even more spectacular after two cataract surgeries. Anyone who has experienced the drastic color difference will know what I mean. The changing of seasons, at least in terms of the calendar, are predictable. While the time of the day might vary a few hours, the 20th-22nd of the month on a quarterly rotation tells us we have once again made it through another quarterly epoch, and the seasons turn into years, decades, and beyond. Few make it to the century mark, though I did have a Great-aunt who lived to be almost 103. I think she is the relativewith the greatest level of longevity in my family. Otherwise, it is certainly all over the board. Without a doubt the interest in seasons, be it metaphorically or artistically, is something we look at and ponder regularly. Thomas Cole, the 19th century painter, created a series of four paintings collectively titled, The Voyage of Life (circa 1840). Perhaps one is the most well-know pieces of music is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, which became the basis for the movie written, directed, and starring the famous M*A*S*H’s Alan Alda. We are somewhat obsessed with the idea of and the circular aspect of our seasonal progression.
What I am more interested in, though I love the change of the seasons, and I am most assuredly a four-season person, is something that some refer to as the seasons of one’s life. There are both philosophical and psychological aspects to our connection with the seasons, and while some might see the easy parallels, perhaps there is more to the analogous connections than meet the eye. Jim Rohan, a well-known business philosopher, who is extensively published, has focused on the cyclical nature of seasons, which pushes one to think more contextually or accept the impermanence of life’s circumstances. And while there are a number of possibilities, what I find is I might dabble in a few different concepts. The idea of something circular is more gracious because it offers a sort of do-over. Additionally, perhaps it provides the chance of something cumulative. Perhaps within the redux one has the capability of reparations.
Yet, wondering about what happens within the seasonal cycle, it creates some blocks that can be analyzed and reflected upon. If Spring focuses on the planting, developing foundations, and it the beginning of learning, there is a great deal that happens without our realization. One of the things I still find most fascinating is how infants absorb through sight. I always wonder just what is being imprinted when they are pre-language. What happens and where does it go? What is learned and absorbed in those first months. For instance, while I have no memory of the time living with my biological parents, and I was born in Texas and with the birth of a sister 14 months later in California, life was transient. Before I was two we would live in Omaha, Nebraska. It was within a short period of time, my sister and I would be relocated again, living with paternal grandparents in Sioux City, Iowa. There are a number of factors where I am compelled to wonder what kind of Spring I had.
The move to Summer, the place of growing, thriving, and learning did not immediately occur for me. If it is to be a time of growth and momentum, to say that mine was one of fits and starts would be an understatement. Throughout high school, there was little consistency, be it academically or personally. In my academics, ironically, I did well in the more rigorous situations and at times down right dreadfully in things that should have been easy. In terms of personally, my home life made feeling any sort of confidence or self worth was nigh impossible. I learned to get along with most everyone, but I felt no worth most of the time. The first time I felt any sense of capability or accomplishment was when I was acing my Communications and Electronics School in the Marine Corps and then found out my GCT scores were high enough to send me to college to become a commissioned officer, which I did not do. In spite of meritorious promotions in the Marine Corps, when I returned to Sioux City, being back around a parent who disliked me, much of the progress I made was thwarted. If not for my pastor’s family, I am not sure what would have happened. During that time, my brother passed away as did my grandmother, and I was reeling. There was little of a summer time of growth, productivity, and the only momentum was the increasing speed of the proverbial top going in circles. Growth would occur, but unexpectedly and more haphazardly than with any sense of structure. An unplanned acceptance as a member of a Lutheran Youth Encounter Team would begin me on at least one area of life that would create a constant progression of success. And what I realize now is I had some innate abilities that I had not tapped into prior to that time, at least not consistently. On the other hand, the focus on what would become an academic life left other parts of me far behind. I would from time to time attempt to attend to the personal side, but with little consistency and with no idea of how. As significantly, soon it seemed there was an increasingly impassable chasm between the two aspects of who I was, and all of me was behind chronologically. Perhaps a good way to explain it was if I were a tomato, it was well past harvest time and I was still green. And to make matters worse, I appeared red. My late 20s and 30s were an academic summer to be certain, and while I thought I had caught up personally in terms of managing life and people (I would date, get engaged, and married), nothing could be further from the truth.
I would do very well in terms of finishing my degrees, managing an internship, and even being certified and ordained, and from the outside it seemed everything was copacetic, but perhaps the real truth was in my GI track. At the age of 28, I was diagnosed with an Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD). I have since learned I was probably born with Crohn’s Disease, but that is something else. Much like the Spring, my Summer was filled with storms, and there was little consistent in my life, but somehow, and to some degree, I managed to move forward.
Perhaps it’s appropriate again because it seems I am halfway through to stop here, and for the second time, to create a two-part post. So as always, thank you for bearing with this. It is more than musing, as it is done with both a personal reflection, but with a sincere hope that another might find it helpful, whomever that might be. As I write this, I have three writing projects I am juggling. Part of this writing is to clear my head for the other two, and I am humbled by your responses and your simply reading along. I’ve been at this now for about 13 years. Almost 100,000 people have crossed the pages. Thank you for that. Much like when I taught, you hope some of it makes a difference.
Have a great day, and thank you as always for reading.
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 