Thoughts on a Monday Afternoon

[loracs]

The theory goes that young people are fearless because they think they are invulnerable.  I remember that time in my life.  The before time, when I couldn’t conceive of anything bad happening to me . . . to other people, sure.  I’d see it on the news all the time, but that would never be me.  There is no one moment when my identity switched from invulnerable to vulnerable.  I can trace the gradual process back to starting in my mid-thirties and becoming more solid by my mid-forties.  Even now, I have a trace of the invulnerable, but it is only a whisper.  The louder voice tells me bad things not only might happen, but WILL happen to me. 

 

Where once wishing parting friends or family a safe trip home was a formality, now those words carry the weight of a prayer.

 

Where once I had little fear of falling, knowing I’d get up with maybe a scrap, or sprain, now I fear the more serious aspect of falling and breaking a bone.  I even fear I might not be able to get up at all without help.

 

Where once I thought having a cell phone was just a cool toy, now I see it as a lifeline and I panic when I’ve left it at home.

 

Where once a cold meant a few annoying days of coughing and sneezing, now I listen intently to my body for signs of an MS flare-up. 

 

Where once I had little fear coming home late at night by myself, now I proceed with caution, checking the area before I get out of the car. 

 

Where once I only sporadically wore my seatbelt, now I use it 99.99% of the time. 

 

Where once I feared verbal taunts by young men on the street for being fat and female, now I fear physical violence just for being in that place at that time. 

 

Have I really become that much more physically weak and defenseless?  Has the world really become a much more dangerous place?  Aging accounts for some of it.  The barrage of media reports of violence has a cumulous effect, I suppose. 

 

My spiritual well is shallow, so thinking about death, specifically my death, does not lend itself to volumes of word.  When I was younger, my death was unthinkable.  I had always been and could not truly understand a time of not being.  Now this amorphous image of my death is taking on a greater firmness of shape.  I cannot see it, but I can smell it.  It may be years or decades away, but it has a measure of time I can comprehend.  “Tomorrow or next week” was forever as a child.  Now tomorrow too quickly becomes last month. 

Comments

[serenejournal.livejournal.com]

You're such a good writer.

I became a little less afraid of the dying part of death when I had my near-death experience, but I still have trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that I will actually die and not exist any more.

(Fortunately, I'm more afraid of living an unfulfilled life than I am of the injuries and dangers involved in living a fulfilled one, but I experience a lot of those same fears.)

*hugs*

[loracs.livejournal.com]

Thank you.
When I was in my twenties I use to worry about missed opportunities. Somewhere along the line I developed a "que sera, sera" attitude - I was where I should be. This is often confused with lack of ambition. I had a friend who was a photographer and she really couldn't understand why I wasn't chasing the next showcase for my work. Am I lazy? Maybe. Have I been happy? Yes. Am I happy? All things considered, yes I am happy. If I died tomorrow, would I feel I have lived a fulfilled life? By my very flexible yardstick, in the tradition of the "half full vs. half empty" glass, I think my glass is completely full, 1/2 with living and 1/2 with the emptiness of future potential.
Well, now I'm just rambling. 8-)
Thanks for the compliment and thanks for another jumping off point for another conversation with myself that might end up in a post.

*HUGS*

[tracytreefrog.livejournal.com]

WOW you are one hell of a writer, that touched me!

Re: *HUGS*

[loracs.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much.

[merujo.livejournal.com]

This was so beautifully written, I had to read it a second time this morning. I have been feeling fragile lately, myself, and have been pondering a lot of big questions. And I've marveled at crazy things I did in my younger life that I would never possibly consider doing now.

I share serenejournal's fear of living an unfulfilled life, and I'm trying to figure out how to do it from where I am right now.

BTW, I may have to come out to Cali. late this year or early next to see an exhibition at the Asian Art museum that was secured with funding from a proposal I wrote. If I make it out there, I'm taking you out for a helluva dinner!

[loracs.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the compliment. And if you get so close, you bet we need to get together. It would be great to see you again!

[wild-irises.livejournal.com]

Interesting.

Count me out of the people who believe that your spiritual well is shallow. It may not be articulate, but that is very different.

I have not actually gotten much more fearful as I have gotten older (so far), though I am more careful in some contexts than I used to be. On the other hand, I don't have your array of illnesses and disabilities either in my body or in my household, and I haven't had some of the close encounters with violence that you've had.

I think that to some extent, to paraphrase Le Guin, age is a different country, and all of the landscapes are different here.

[loracs.livejournal.com]

I like the Le Guin paraphrase. Each of our landscapes are so very different, formed by the internal and external forces of our life. And like countries over time, the borders and boundaries can shift. It's that shifting that throws me off balance and makes me redefine my relationship to the world. This has always happened (from child to teen to adult, it all changes), but now these changes come more frequently and are often less desired. I looked forward to adulthood; I don't look forward to crone-hood. Yes, I celebrate still being alive and kicking, but losing the ability to kick as high or for as long; that is something I mourn and the progressiveness of it creates the fear. More to ponder . . .

[wordweaverlynn.livejournal.com]

I never used to worry when my friends traveled.

Thanks for saying these things.