Friday, December 7, 2018

Fog City

Doing Nothing

Doing nothing is nearly oxymoronic, because it implies the absence of action. Here in lies the conundrum. There is a great deal of activity, mostly mental, involved in doing nothing. Don’t you love the sound of doing nothing, quite melodious. Actually that statement is the first of many thoughtful diversions in the art of doing nothing. Just imagine the time spent comfortably applying musical references, sounds, songs, rhymes, even visualizing dance routines, to the fluid, “ing” “ing” of doing nothing. I think you’re getting the gist, or at least this simple example may set the tone for my explanation.
I’ve had just cause to try however ineptly to define doing nothing. The notion began harmlessly after I retired from regular, daily employment. Friends, relatives, acquaintances and strangers on the street, would ask, somewhat bewildered, what do you do now. What do I do now? Well my first reaction, being of a slightly confrontational nature, was to reply, whatever I damn well please, thank you very much! But I realized those good folks asking were generally curious, as most were of my age, and retirement loomed near and they were confused. I’d observed over time, work colleagues, as well as the average Joe, whether a bank executive or a lineman for the county, all stigmatized themselves, who they were, with the work they did. Their self-induced identity was job related, and hence their consciousness was burdened, chained unrealistically.
I first and foremost realized separation from the mental identity, the working you, was crucial in the transition to a new and better you, where anxiety plays a lesser role. But I found people’s habits aren’t easily changed or discarded. All I can say at this juncture is the more nothing you do, the easier it becomes. Doing nothing can take all day if you don’t try too hard. There’s another rather pertinent aspect to doing nothing, which ties into the work related identity crisis, and that is guilt. Our Judeo-Christian culture is steeped in guilt. There’s guilt for most everything we do, guilt for not coming to a complete stop, guilt for not saying I love you, guilt for calling in sick, guilt for ogling that beautiful woman, and the guilt goes on. Hence when you have nothing to do you feel guilty for not producing. But why?
I believe people wake up and think to themselves, if I don’t do something my day is wasted. They feel guilty. Here’s where I differ. In my long and happy journey to achieve nothing, or at least doing nothing, I’ve eliminated guilt. Some days it takes a good long while disassociating guilt with anything I’m not doing. Here we go, the art of doing nothing. My days are never wasted because what I do or don’t do is guilt free. This concept allows a certain freedom – a freedom to open your mind and absorb. If you’re letting the world in, through your silence, through your solitude, through your doing nothing, your senses are alive. The “ings” of living, seeing, listening, feeling, yes loving, these actions are the essence of doing nothing.
 My point of course is doing nothing is full of action. The key then is learning, acknowledging, accepting the reality of the moment, then doing it, being it, enjoying it. When I make coffee in the morning I recognize it’s only the beginning of my doing nothing. I have the good fortune, knock on wood, to live on a corner, with floor to ceiling windows. This particular environment is invaluable to doing nothing. I can spend an entire morning, and afternoon if I so choose, staring at a moveable feast, to use another author’s fine line, out the window. Watching parents walking their children to school, staring at the regular dog walkers, and making sure their dogs don’t poop on my stretch of sidewalk, checking out the senior ladies marching back and forth on their exercise walk, or and the most befuddling, watching the car parkers trying again and again to properly fit in a space too small. The thing about thinking is after a good long sample of all these endeavors, my mind searches the vault of memory for corresponding experiences. I can relive walking to school, the proverbial mile in the snow, I can remember the wild Weimaraner we had, who strew the neighbors garbage all over the alley, I relive parallel parking with ease, to the astonishment of the officer monitoring the driving exam, all this and doing nothing. I say time well spent.
If thinking guilt free still seems less than adequate for doing nothing, there’s the act of walking, which I consider doing nothing in motion. I will meander to the bank, well not really for there’s no need anymore, to the deli, or to the post office. I always carry my IPhone that I admit is addicting. I especially use the camera to record and share interesting and unique visuals of our beautiful city. These meanderings can zig and zag leading me nowhere in particular, but when I return home I’m full of wonder – the wonder of doing nothing. And as the day wanes like the winter moon, I’m aware I haven’t even read the next chapter of the more than a few novels I have at arm’s length, or tuned into the intriguing detective series I love on cable tv. You see there is more of nothing I can save for tomorrow and the tomorrows after that. Doing nothing is time consuming and endless if you only embrace it.
I found as I age and my world shrinks, doing nothing can actually expand the world, the world that matters most to me, the world in my head, my mind.

Living
learn-ing
stand-ing
stare-ing
listen-ing
laugh-ing
sing-ing
touch-ing
love-ing
think-ing
walk-ing
feel-ing deeply

You get the picture, doing nothing is not doing nothing!

As Sam Wainwright said “See ya in the funny papers!”






Monday, October 15, 2018

Fog City

I saw a photo posted on Facebook yesterday by a friend. She was at the super market and couldn't believe eggnog was already shelved in the refrigerator section. My anxiety level involuntarily spiked. The holiday season is truly upon us. It just means my tranquility, my solitude, my sugar levels are all being upset, altered, adjusted, compromised and I have to refocus.
     Actually I had a preview of things to come the past two weeks. Fleet week roared into town, quite literally with the Blue Angels displaying their aerial delights. Also and at the same time, the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival rocked Golden Gate Park. I'm sure if you could view the city from high above it would appear overrun by ants. People everywhere! There were obvious obstacles to overcome, but each extravaganza was free and more than worthy. Excitement and enthusiasm was the general mood of all who came to share the wondrous entertainment. Multiple stages provided diverse musical talents and wandering from stage to stage, to hear your group of choice was the norm. The weather complied with the good attitudes, providing sparkling blue skies and comfortably warm temperatures. The clear skies was a blessing for the air show on the bay. Many years our normal fog pattern obscures any chance for the Blue Angels to perform their aerial acrobatics. Not this year, it was actually hot. For the extra million souls who descended on our fair city the weekend was satisfyingly spectacular. Since everyone was in such fine form and happy the inability to get anywhere without significant delays was a mute point. Thank goodness!
     Following such an energy draining weekend, the next one was a combo plate. Remember at seventy going all day takes an inordinate amount of effort. But October marks special events in Raher history. My brother Casey's birthday begins the focus, albeit he handles activities from his end, and our involvement is nil. Our anniversary follows the next day. Then Ramsey's birthday concludes the three days of remembrance. Cassidy and Lauren treated us to dinner, celebrating our forty third wedding anniversary. We enjoyed casual and humorous conversation, which tends to be lacking in most family encounters, simply because the children demand so much attention. And rightly so. But it's always nice to ask questions and receive explanations without interruptions. I left pleased. Ramsey's simple birthday gathering was quite similar in the level of pleasure derived. Being with his son Rowan and basking in our blood linkage has a very life affirming element. Again the conversation over delicious pizza was easy, enlightening and needed. Lovely Reina educated me about ideas, I previously hadn't thought to delve into. For that I'm grateful. Of course being with family, sharing joy, absent of rancor, reinforces emotions and philosophies which guide our journey.
     Although all of these events and encounters were rewarding, they were just a prelude to the onslaught yet to come. To clarify somewhat, all these heavy duty activities were semi spontaneous. Meaning they were sparked by a phone call, a time on a schedule or a notification. They weren't planned well in advance, so I couldn't dwell on the pros and cons, and incite my anxiety meter. Now the next couple months, populated with a string of holidays, raises the annual problems. Who, What, When, and Where. Yikes! Well maybe a cold eggnog will help!

Monday, July 30, 2018

Fog City

Life expectancy, now there's a thought. I just turned 70 and what makes that number significantly different from other ages marked by birthdays, is the national average of the male's life expectancy doesn't extend beyond the 70's. Sobering indeed. Meaning what exactly, well, I won't see my grandchildren graduate high school, or marry. But that's alright. My three sons have accomplished enough to accentuate my existence with meaning and for that I'm at peace. One goal I'm striving to achieve is fifty years of marriage, and that is a joint effort, which pushes the boundary of that life expectancy number. You never know!
I spend time now remembering, comparing experiences, placing significance, and analyzing, applying regret or not, wondering how things might have been different, and do I really care. Second guessing is futile. Then there's perspective, how I view my life from this vantage point, looking back. I cringe at some of my youthful indiscretions. At the time they didn't seem significant, just thoughtless acts of expression, usually misguided. Experiences I hope to share by writing a small memoir, but I hesitate because time dilutes our ego driven self importance, and in the end my life like most all of us, is irrelevant in the grand cosmic chaos.
But getting old has its trials. First it doesn't help to spend much time looking in the mirror, because the person you see and the person you thought you knew can be radically different. The process of aging is so slow, well it does seem to accelerate the older I get, but the ideals, the ethics, the etiquette, the foundation for a persona, were built long ago. As I age and my perspective and tolerances change the foundation remains pretty much intact. Therefore when I'm bombarded by changes from the youth culture, I naturally resist for a time, until I compare my past to their present, and realize it's just the cycle of life. Perspective. Go with the flow, or drown!
The physical aspect of getting old is probably the most difficult aspect to reckon with. Activity use to be a defining characteristic, and to accept the erosion of that definition can be depressing. Playing, working, being extremely mobile become more difficult, even painful. Adapting without prejudice or bitterness, are key to remaining optimistic and hopeful, when all you really want to do is fall down a well of cynicism. Balance. Physical balance and mental balance, daily exercises which provide needed awareness. Walking and reading help.
Still playing at 70!
Thanks Ashby
Oh to be 8 again!
I'm 70, I like to be quiet, and yell. I like to laugh, and cry. I like to listen to my heart strings, and watch the world go by. My grandkids remind me the children are worthy!

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Fog City

I've been in a slump. A reading slump to be exact. Once I read everyday, but my habits have changed due in part to a cultural shift. At my age, old, I viewed technology, especially social media, inundate society like a tsunami. I lamented the loss of my comfort zone. What to do? I decided to embrace the change and the speed it was happening. My sons aided my immersion into the world of devices. I remember a time, which seems surreal, when a transistor radio was the only device necessary. The fear and trepidation facing me, while learning and navigating constant obstacles, took awhile to overcome. I encountered a random voice with a certain explanation, which helped immeasurably. I learned intuition was the key. Intuition: instinctive knowing (without the use of rational processes). Here lies the poetic nature of interacting more comfortably in the digital world. Now when I get stuck, I don't cry for help. Usually no one is there anyway. I resort to intuition. I click icons backward and forward until the desired result is achieved. Risk and reward. The affect is tangible. Spontaneous, abstract, a degree of stream of consciousness are components I find in both poetry and the digital world. Surprisingly the time I once spent reading novels of choice, I'm now reading all sorts of random writing on line. I've adjusted. I think I read as much, but the source, the authorship, comes in waves and of varied lengths. Writing can be as short as a significant comment on a Facebook post, or as long as a featured article in the Atlantic Monthly. My effort is sporadic and the impact seems less. Albeit I've become more comfortable scrolling and navigating a tremendous range of sources, there is still a disconnect. Hence my slump.
So I take time to read novels, this is my current choice. Life is learning lessons. When you want to maintain a certain weight you push away from the table, or you stay out of the refrigerator. If you want to remain debt free you budget your money wisely. If you want to read and write you must portion your time accordingly. Easier said than done, right?