Beautiful Old People

A reporter was interviewing a 104-year-young woman. “And what do you think is the best thing about 104?” the journalist asked.
   
“No peer pressure,” she replied.
   
When I was in college, I worked in an after school daycare center with a marvelous woman in her mid-seventies. One day she was complaining about her age. “All my friends are old and crippled,” she remarked. “They’re either crippled in their legs or crippled in their minds.”
   
I know that growing older is not easy, at any age. Columnist Dave Barry talked about it when he turned 40. “If I don’t warm up before throwing a football,” he said, “I have to wait approximately until the next presidential administration before I attempt to do this again.”
   
But even with its aches and pains and a variety of other problems, aging does have an upside. Sister Mary Gemma Brunke has so beautifully written:
   
“It is the old apple trees that are decked with the loveliest blossoms. It is the ancient redwoods that rise to majestic heights. It is the old violins that produce the richest tones. It is the aged wine that tastes the sweetest. It is ancient coins, stamps and furniture that people seek. It is the old friends that are loved the best. Thank God for the blessings of age and the wisdom, patience and maturity that go with it. Old is wonderful!”
   
“Beautiful people are acts of nature,” it has been said, “but beautiful old people are works of art.”
   
I hope someday to be a work of art.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Marjan Lazarevski

Something Only You Can Do

Image courtesy of Dave Smith

Tallulah Bankhead quipped, "Nobody can be exactly like me. Sometimes even I have trouble doing it." But the truth is...we DO have trouble being ourselves, don't we? Especially in a world that wants us to conform. "To be nobody but yourself in a world that is doing its best day and night into making you like everybody else," said poet e. e. cummings, "is to fight the hardest battle there is and never stop fighting."

One of the deepest cravings of young people, especially teens, is to be liked by their peers. Like all of us, they want to be accepted and they want to be valued. It's during those critical teen-age years that they begin to play a game that is sometimes called "Follow the Follower." The game is not the same as "Follow the Leader." Following the follower is about conforming ... talking, dressing, acting and even thinking like one another. The goal is to fit in.

In adulthood, we are supposed to discover who we really are and do our best to grow into that person. We find our value, not in acceptance by others, but because we believe in our worth. It doesn’t always happen. But it's a wonderful day when we can say in honesty, "I know who I am and I'm glad I am me."

The lovable children's author Dr. Seuss got it right when he wrote, "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." It takes strength to swim against the tide. It takes courage to speak your convictions. And it takes trust to act on your own intuition. It’s hard and rewarding work to grow up and become who you really are. But in the end, whatever real success you find in life will be a result of your being true to yourself rather than an imitation of somebody else.

I'll never have to give an account for not being more like my favorite celebrity, that shining star in my chosen field or anybody else. And at the end of my life, the question I never want to be asked is, "How come you weren't more like YOU? You had such great potential. You were a wholly unique person -- unrepeatable and irreplaceable. Why you weren't more like YOU?"

It took me far too long to realize that, in a world that wants me to conform, my greatest job is to be myself. It's a challenging and rewarding job and nobody can do it as well as me.

-- Steve Goodier

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Resisting the Blame Game

Image courtesy of Kavitha Shivan

A mother heard the family cat yowl in pain. She knew where to look – she looked for her son, Mike. “Stop pulling the cat’s tail, Michael!” she chided.

“I’m not pulling his tail,” the boy retorted. “I’m just standing on it. He’s doing the pulling.”

He, of course, is no different than any of us. Often, our first impulse is to blame someone or something else for problems. It’s the cat’s fault. Or the school’s fault. Or my parents’ fault.

I once heard a story of a 40-year-old woman who was jogging in a U. S. state park when she was attacked and killed by a mountain lion. Her family immediately filed suit against the state because of its “failure to manage the mountain lion population” and because it didn’t “react to reports of cougar activity in the area by posting warning signs.”

But an interesting thing happened. Her distraught husband felt it was wrong to blame the state or anyone else for his wife’s death, even though he stood to possibly win a small fortune. Against her family’s wishes, he dropped the law suit. “Barbara and I have always taken responsibility for our own actions,” he explained. “Barbara chose to run in the wild and, on a very long shot, she did not come back. This is not the fault of the state, and people should take responsibility for themselves.”

I would like to meet that man. He no doubt believes that the Blame Game is a no-win in the long run. He seems like a person who would rather spend time fixing what’s broken than fixing the blame for it on someone else.

This isn’t about law suits – it’s more about whether we are essentially victims of life or whether we are powerful and responsible people. An important step in gaining mastery over your life is to resist the urge to make something or someone else responsible. Like novelist J. K. Rowling (of Harry Potter fame) said to graduating Harvard students, “There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you.” Certainly background and circumstances have influenced who we are, but who is responsible for the person we become?

An important decision I made was to resist playing the Blame Game. The day I realized that I am in charge of how I will approach problems in my life, that things will turn out better or worse because of me and nobody else, that was the day I knew I would be a happier and healthier person. And that was the day I knew I could truly build a life that matters.

-- Steve Goodier


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A Better Way to Live

Did you know...?

That Joan of Arc was only seventeen when she was riding at the head of the army that liberated France from the English?

That church reformer John Calvin was twenty-six when he published his "Institutes"?

That poet John Keats died when he was twenty-six?

That Shelley was thirty when he was drowned, but not before he left English literature his classic "Odes"?

That Sir Isaac Newton had largely discovered the working of the law of gravitation when he was twenty-three?

That Henry Clay, the "great compromiser," was sent to the United States Senate at twenty-nine and was Speaker of the House of Representatives at thirty-four?

That Raphael painted his most important pictures between twenty-five and thirty?

That Mozart only lived to be thirty-five years old?

Maybe I’m just a late bloomer.

When I was a young man I wanted to make things happen. After a few years I realized I would have to content myself with watching most things happen.

Unfortunately, these days I usually have no idea what is happening.

Of course, most of us will never paint a masterpiece, write a classic or discover an important scientific principle. But why should we? We’re each cut from a unique pattern.

Dick Van Dyke once told the story of a woman taking her nephew to her Catholic church. She whispered to him as they approached the pew: "Can you genuflect?"

"No," he said, "but I can somersault!"

I wonder if he showed her…right then and there. I can almost see him rolling down the aisle in a joyous celebration of the thing he CAN do, with no regard for genuflecting… the thing he cannot do.

Some people waste lives obsessing on that thing they cannot do, wishing they were more competent. And some measure the value of their abilities against those of others, wishing they could contribute in a bigger and better way.

You and I may never be a Mozart, a Raphael or a John Keats. But there are things you CAN do to bring beauty or joy or happiness to your world. Find them. Do them. Celebrate them. Rejoice in them.

I can hardly think of a more significant way to live.

-- Steve Goodier

When You Say, "I Love You"

Just as the delivery van pulled away from the florist, the manager came running out. There was a cancellation on one of the orders, and he needed it back.

"Which one?" asked the driver.

"The one that reads 'Darling, I will love you forever.'"

They wanted it back? What happened to I'll love you forever?

When we “fall in love,” who doesn’t feel that it will last forever? But we change. And as we do, our love changes, too.

Do you remember the touching interchange between Tevye and Golde in the musical “Fiddler on the Roof”?

“Do you love me?” Tevye asked his wife.

“Do I what?” Golde responded.

“Do you love me?”

“Do I love you? With our daughters getting married and this trouble in the town, you are upset, you are worn out, go inside, go lie down, maybe its indigestion.”

“Golde, I’m asking you a question. Do you love me?”

“You’re a fool.”

“I know, but do you love me?”

“For twenty-five years I’ve washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house, given you children, milked the cow. After twenty-five years, why speak of love right now? I’m your wife,” she said.

“But do you love me?”

Now Golde becomes reflective. “For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him, fought with him, starved with him. Twenty-five years my bed is his. If that’s not love, what is?”

“Then you love me?”

“I suppose I do.”

“It’s nice to know.”

And it IS nice to know, for twenty five years is a long time. Time enough for things to change. Time enough to quit.

My wife and I were married when we were young. And I have to say, I don’t love her like I used to. I’ve changed, and so has she. Enough years will do that. We’ve been through ups and downs. We grew older. And I my feelings for her grew older, too.

The relationship feels more secure now. I think it is a better love than years ago – more enduring. More solid. Like the two of us, our love grew up.

And maybe she could live the rest of her life without saying, “I love you.” I know how she feels. But she says it anyway.

And it’s nice to know.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Sh4rp_i