SHOWER THE PEOPLE

Shower the people you love with love

Show them the way you feel

Things are gonna work out fine

If you only will.

        -  James Taylor**

Last week, I spoke on the phone with an old friend who lives about as far from me as it’s possible to get without falling into an ocean.  We don't talk very often, but she is dear to me.  When we signed off, she said, "I love you."  "Me, too, you," I replied.  Today, I had lunch with another friend, who, talking about the difficulty of finding time for friends amidst the fullness of our lives, said, "I only see you about every six months and I love you."  “And I, you,” I responded.

Simple words, yet often left unsaid.

Which brings me to the James Taylor song quoted above.  This song absolutely shreds me every time I listen to it.  His soulful voice admonishing us to “shower the people you love with love” yanks my heart right out of my chest.

Yesterday, I spoke with a family member who told me he has been risking vulnerability by telling friends and family what they mean to him.  Why, I wonder, is it risky to tell people that we care, that we love them, that they are an important part of our lives?  Why should this make us feel vulnerable?

Why do we hold back?  Is it because we believe the important people in our lives will always be there?  Here is a cautionary tale.  I had a friend with whom I shared a love of writing.  We would meet for lunch from time-to-time and talk about our kids.  We would exchange drafts of writing projects.  There came a few months during which we didn’t have any contact.  We were both busy. He was in a new relationship.  I kept thinking that I needed to call him, that I would call him.  

And then, quite suddenly, he died.  I never got to have lunch with him again or to tell him that his friendship was important to me. 

Dear reader, if there is someone you are thinking about calling, please do it.  Don’t wait. 

It's not difficult for me to tell some people how I feel. I almost never leave either of my daughters without saying "I love you."  This comes as naturally as breathing.  It was not so with my parents, who, like many in their generation, did not make these declarations of love.  Toward the end of her life, I would tell my mother that I loved her.  She seemed surprised, then pleased.  She was ultimately able to tell me that she loved me.  It felt important to share these words before she left this life. 

I find it easy to tell some friends what they mean to me, and with others. I hesitate.  Will I make them uncomfortable?  Is this their way of relating?  With these friends, I can call.  I can check in. There are ways of showing love without words.

So, let’s do it.  Let’s let our love shine.  

And let me say to my friends and family, right here and now, in writing, I love you.  Thank you for seeing me through.  Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.  You mean the world to me.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

**  This is not the first time I have quoted James Taylor in a blog post. I come back to him again and again.  He seems to be providing the soundtrack for my life.  For those who don't know the song, here he is singing Shower the People. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfJWqjoekow

MIGHT AS WELL ENJOY THE RIDE: SOME THOUGHTS ON TURNING 70

Tomorrow is my 70^th birthday.  This is a serious number, daunting even, yet it is possible that I have never felt less serious or daunted than I do today.  Instead, I feel almost giddy to find myself here, intact and thriving.  I am so very grateful. 

Here is some of what I have been reflecting on as this milestone approaches. 

How I thought about age over the years:

When I was 16, 24 was ancient, and, frankly, too distant to contemplate.

          When I was 24, I was entirely grown up, and wise enough to see that I had been but a child at 16.

When I was 28, I saw that I had been very young and quite unformed at 24.  (Are you seeing a pattern here?).  40 was the far side of forever, and frankly, too stodgily middle-aged to be on my radar.

When I had my first child at 35, and then my second at 38, and right up until the day each of them left home, I was too engaged with the eternal present to think much about getting older.  40 and 50 were in there somewhere. I sort of remember celebrating each.

When I was 56, my second daughter left for college, and I looked up to find 20 years had passed since my first daughter came into the world.  I was surprised to find 60 looming ahead like an iceberg.  

           By the time I turned 60, the iceberg had mostly melted in the face of my very full life.  That life was good, if a bit overwhelming, what with work, graduate school, and an ailing mother.  I was aware of the speed with which time was passing by.  I was not pleased to think that 70 would be the next milestone; 70 looked like the beginning of the end.  

Things I could not have imagined on the road to 70:

At 70, I do not feel old.

At 70, I feel good, often great.  

          My life continues to be rich and full.

I look ahead with pleasure, curiosity, and eager anticipation.

Things I know:

80 will come.  

It will come quickly.  

There is a decent chance that I will still feel good at 80.  There is, however, no arguing with the fact that my wave is cresting.  I am sitting atop the crest.  The wave will fall, sooner or later, quickly or slowly.  In the meantime, to quote James Taylor, “Might as well enjoy the ride." 

The question I have been asking myself:  

         What do I want to do with the time, however short or long, that I have left?  

         I want to stop putting the things I should do (says who?) ahead of the things I want to do, the things I came here to do.  This is exciting.  And difficult – I have, after all, 70 years behind me of doing what I’m supposed to do. 

         So, what do I want to do?

1.    Play 

2.    Write

3.    Spend time with the people who matter to me

4.    Spend time in my garden

5.    Guard my alone time  (See 2 and 4 above)

6.    Spend less time on social media (because 1-5) 

7.    Say goodbye to perfectionism, impatience, and worry.

          Here’s the tricky part; I don’t want this to be another to-do list.  I want it to be a reminder not to waste my time. (This is not to be confused with whiling away my time.  Scrolling through my phone is mostly wasting; walking in the woods without a thought in my head is whiling). I want to wake up each morning and ask myself, What do I want to do today? Maybe some of you do this every day.  I haven’t been so good at it, even in retirement.  But I’m getting the hang of it. There’s nothing like a milestone birthday to focus the attention.  

           As I have been approaching this birthday, James Taylor’s The Secret ‘O Life has been playing in my mind. I love the image of sliding and gliding down to our finish. You can have a listen by clicking here.  (I think it loses something when it isn't sung, but I've included the lyrics in case you prefer the message in capsule form.*)

May the song speak to you as it has to me.  And 'til next time, try not to try too hard. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Me at 16 - On the road to adulthood

*Secret 'O Life

        - James Taylor

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
Any fool can do it
There ain't nothing to it
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill
But since we're on our way down
We might as well enjoy the ride

The secret of love is in opening up your heart
It's okay to feel afraid
But don't let that stand in your way
'Cause anyone knows that love is the only road
And since we're only here for a while

Might as well show some style

Give us a smile

Isn't it a lovely ride?
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride

Now the thing about time is that time
Isn't really real
It's just your point of view
How does it feel for you
Einstein said he could never understand it all
Planets spinning through space
The smile upon your face
Welcome to the human race

Some kind of lovely ride
I'll be sliding down
I'll be gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
Isn't it a lovely ride?
See me sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time

p.s. - Yes, I have written about a James Taylor song before.  See: Fire and Rain:  On Time Travel and Sombreros. No, I am not on his payroll.         

FIRE AND RAIN; On Time Travel and Sombreros

           So, you’re going about your business, happy or not--thinking of something important or nothing at all.  And then it happens--the chance playing of a song that absolutely shreds you.  If you have been alive for, say, four decades, you have been around for long enough to know what I am talking about--the sudden intrusion of the past into your present.  The unbidden, unexpected injection of a powerful past emotion into your current life, bringing about a moment so charged you can hardly breathe.  

         This is not nostalgia, which my dictionary defines as “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.”  Nor is it to be confused with the purposeful playing of a song to bring back fond memories.  

         No.  There is no longing here.  No volition.  It is not an attempt to bring back the past.  It is the past breaking through—not a wrinkle in time, but the rending of time.        

         Anyone who says there’s no such thing as time travel is simply too young to have experienced this phenomenon.  For me, today, it was James Taylor’s Fire and Rain.   February 1970.  For those too young to remember, you can find it here.  

         I wish I could tell you why this song.  Why today.  I have loved James Taylor since I first heard him, and have loved this song, with its melancholy wistfulness, in particular.  The lyrics have always been evocative, and they mean even more to me now (at an age where the losses are piling up) than they did in 1970.  Still, I would not have predicted that the song would have the effect it had when I chanced to hear it today.  

         This wasn’t a reaction to the lyrics; this was me transported. This, from the first few notes, was me momentarily inhabiting my 20-year-old body and psyche, feeling a set of emotions I haven’t felt with precisely this sharpness in decades.  Of course, I have known fire and rain; there have been plenty of highs and lows.  But there is a quality of emotion that can only be felt by the very young when the world is new and everything is before them.  This was me at 20 again, if only for a moment.

         So, was the moment a blessing or a curse?  Maybe it was neither.  Maybe it was simply a glimpse at the nonlinearity of time; maybe it suggests that time runs in loops, rather than a straight line. 

         I’d like to think so. 

         The older I get, the less interested I am in straight lines and the more open I am to curves and loops and waves.  After all, there are few straight lines in nature; so, why should time hew to the linearity of our calendars?

         The poet Wallace Stevens understood the limitations of right angles and straight lines.  He had this to say:

         Rationalists, wearing square hats,

         Think, in square rooms,

         Looking at the floor,

         Looking at the ceiling.

         They confine themselves

         To right-angled triangles.

         If they tried rhomoids,

         Cones, waving lines, ellipses—

         As for example, the ellipse of the half-moon—

         Rationalists would wear sombreros.

         

         And so I leave you with this wish:  May your sombreros be wide and round, and may your past break through just often enough to work some gentle curves into your straight lines.