Today I celebrate a milestone. It is exactly fifty years since I reached the age of 19, a special number for many reasons, and the last year of one’s teens. This morning I was given a mug bearing the words, “Today is all about YOU … and there couldn’t be a better reason to celebrate!” with a card bearing the words, “Today’s a special day A time for doing all the things you love to do, relax, take it easy …”—and then inside, “… Why Change the Habits of a Lifetime!”—alongside a reclining man surrounded by empty beer-cans, the remnants of a box of pizza, and a TV remote-control—a picture which reminded my beloved of me.
Let me devote my remaining years to learning the art of being elderly. That is the creative task now! You could put it otherwise, if it didn’t sound morbid (though nothing morbid about it to me) and say learning the art of making a graceful exit. So I shall do nothing more than finish what I’ve started in this life, by tying up the loose ends. First I must see just what it is I have started. I shan’t be in a hurry about this process of clearing my desk, for after that, there would be only one thing left to wait for. On the other hand I might be dismissed from this employ called Life tomorrow.
I could consider my past, with all its flagrant mistakes, regrettable if only for their effect on others. Yet a journey is not wasted if you end up exactly where you want to be. Here now, there is nothing I want to change. So perhaps I can say that all along I had a winning strategy, even though it was far from obvious at the time. Of course there are irritations and discomforts aplenty, but I would not wish them away, for such is life; and without life there is only death, which may come in its turn without an invitation.
I could say truthfully that I am 100% content, but to actually realize this takes a catalyst, such as an aimless walk in the sunshine, even when it’s cold with a bitter wind, as it was yesterday. As I walked, the idea of nineteen plus fifty came to me, and filled me with happiness like a magical mantra. For the duration of that aimless stroll, I felt in some mysterious way that I still am nineteen; and that the fifty years have folded like a concertina into a mere membrane, a negligible interval of time, such as when your attention wanders and you miss what the other person has said, so then you concentrate, and wind it back with a kind of instant replay facility. Yes, it’s all there, in a single folder marked “50” into which all the dusty files left over from those years are neatly collected, present in ghostly form, researchable only by the one scholar, because I have better things to do than make those memories public property.
I started to ask myself in what way I feel a continuation of being nineteen, whilst the fifty years in between appear like a digression (the sort you might include in brackets if you were writing on one topic and noted something else in passing). I certainly don’t have the same preoccupations and worries as when I was nineteen, thank goodness for that. It’s more of a physical thing. Within those fifty years, thirty were under the cloud of a chronic illness and another ten at least in undiagnosed acute unhappiness. So there is some logic behind my illusion of having woken up from a bad dream, to discover that I am still in the same (nineteen-year-old) body and seeing through its eyes. It has been said, “Youth is wasted on the young”. And how often do people say, “If only I knew then what I know now!”
It occurs to me that this month of March, in which I was born, is symbolic of youth. In the Northern Hemisphere, the seasons act out a symbolic drama, from January birth to December death, in which March is the teenage time, followed by the Springtime of courting and dalliance. To be really aged nineteen, there are many future uncertainties to face. You have to establish a life for yourself, somewhere to live, a career, a mate. Somewhere within these activities, you have also, and most importantly, to make or discover your identity. Discover as in uncover, like sculpting with marble, by cutting away and discarding what is not you, to discover what is really you, within the expendable dross. So this is what I mean when I feel like nineteen all over again. The previous uncertainties have been resolved. The discovery of identity is still on the agenda, a Grail-quest of no particular urgency but somehow containing everything.
I’ve spent my life getting lost. So intoxicating was the sunshine that I got lost again on my walk yesterday, though as a proverb says, “You ain’t never lost if you don’t care where you are.”
But I found a square tunnel under the motorway, specially built for walkers, and when I got out the other side I was captivated by a landscape, so unfamiliar and magical, that I wondered if I’d gone to another dimension.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU Vincent!
I do believe I have seen a card such as you described your birthday card to be; sometimes the sentiments are deeper in meaning than the composer probably thought about.
“Somewhere within these activities, you have also, and most importantly, to make or discover your identity. Discover as in uncover, like sculpting with marble, by cutting away and discarding what is not you, to discover what is really you, within the expendable dross.”
what a perceptive and gorgeous description!
ahh, Vincent – your writing becomes more luminous with every passing month. A wonderful birthday to you, my friend, for though we know each other only through this medium, I do think of you as a good friend, the rare sort with whom one can debate anything.
may you have just enough challenge in the remaining years to add spice and effervescence to each day, and not a bit more! May joy expand and make you it's own!
Happy birthday, Vincent. I'm glad you're happy with where your life has brought you. Really, what more can we ask for?
May you have many more “birthdays” ..
love and best wishes,
D
Your writing is captivating, as always. Especially so, for me, as I was born just a day after you (excluding 36 years of your 50-year file folder). While I don't believe much in the “mysteries” of astrology, I do think folks can tend to share somewhat of a similar experience based upon what time of year they are born. Such as, when we celebrate birthdays, in the context of other constants like the changing of seasons, the position of stars, etc. And, as activities like sculpting are essentially a constant, I love your analogy – we all are simply chiseling and casting away those aspects of our existence, which separate us from our purest form… in the pursuit of, as you say, “a graceful exit.” In that light, I consider us brethren, working on separate pieces of the same stone.
What a wonderful birthday, to wake up and find yourself nineteen…
Happy sculpting, Vincent!
So Tim, you are less than half my age, if my arithmetic is correct? I've corrected one error at least and added a link to your blog on my roll of honour.
Separate pieces of the same stone, yes!
Thanks for birthday wishes, dear friends. And this blessing called blogger, which brought us together, though we may love to curse it at times, as I know you have, Davo. And Gentleeye, you chose WordPress, well same difference really. ZACL may you be victor in your own struggles with software and hardware, which in your remote corner of the British Isles constitute a lifeline like gas and electricity, and reduce dependence on carrier pigeons and rumour, for contact with the outside world.
Hayden, I shall treasure the luminosity of your “luminous” epithet, and look forward to more of those debates, which we haven't had for a while, as our activity patterns have diverged: you doing so much more than in SF (judging by your writings of course) and I embracing the luxury of doing less (again judging by the writings, because there is a real Ian hiding behind the literary front of Vincent, who may be up to all sorts of things not written about!)
Bryan, I can always ask for more, and one of those things is to engage in verbal swordplay with you, on either of your duelling grounds. I wish I had the time (being lazy uses up most of it) to embellish my own dreams and publish like you. Have you ever thought of a “guest dream” spot? Last night I was writing out elaborate and long-winded invitations to a party, using my fountain pens in various inks to write on pieces of peeled and chopped fruit. It was very tedious and I wish I hadn't started, as the ink ran and blurred, the fruit turned the wrong way up and got out of order so that the sentences were hard to reconstruct.
Which is why Blogger is so much more of a blessing, because none of these things happens here – not often, anyway.
A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY Vincent with many more ninteen like happy years to follow. Yes 19 is a magical number and fifty is even more so.
Happy Birthday indeed.
I wish i'd seen this on the day (I must set up my subscription) because this posting seems especially powerful. I had to turn the radio off and sit and concentrate! I don't seem to be able to articulate…
I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because life's unfolding, discovering (sculpting), and indeed fruition, is, as you know, a major preoccupation for me just now.
Also – talking of astrological coincidences – it would have been my Dad's birthday too. He would have been 73.
So that's another thing.
Sorry I missed this on the day.
It's exactly right.
Happy Birthday. If there were a Christian God, I would ask that He bless you. In His divine absence, I will just congratulate you on your contentedness with the universe.
Thanks John! I commented on your post and was in the process of a longer more involved comment, but it vanished and I discovered you had pulled the post.
In the debate as to whether there is a Christian God, your pulling a post is neither here nor there, I suppose, but it does seem to be a divine slap on the wrist for me, to stop wasting my time.
Steve, your Fruition theme must have subconsciously inspired mine, for in it you appear to have the idea of reliving the same life, just as Bryan M White, in his writings, uses dreams and time-travel.
In earth-years, I'm a lot closer to your dad's age than to yours. But I think we are dealing in some other dimension than earth-years, here.
Thanks Ashok, for your unfailingly generous wishes.
I could tell you of some of the significant instances of 19, and its multiples, in my life. But one feels the significance personally. One would have to write a lot to try and convey the feeling!
Vincent,
I pulled the post out of technical incompetence, not desire.
I have now restored it.
Belated happy birthday, Vincent!
What an amazing thing this world of blogging is! In some ways it's like the tunnel you mention; one has come to know one blogger a little, read the comments on his/her posts somewhat more carefully, set out to find out something more about those commenting and then …
Come across some wonderful writing and beautifully expressed thoughts. I will certainly be revisiting your “notes.”
Thanks, Francis, it has been a joy discovering your own corner of the Web, too! I shall lurk and occasionally make my presence known there.
Vincent,
You may have already read this, but as it is older, you may not. It is his best work:
Thoughts on Evil
It starts off slow, but will wow you in the end.
Oddly enough, John, I am resistant to speaking of evil as if it is some actual essence. I see evil not as a thing in itself, but the human reaction (of disgust, fear etc) to certain behaviours and their results. I have every sympathy with the expression of such reaction, the enactment of laws to prevent the behaviours and deal with the miscreants. It’s just the sermonizing I’m resistant to.
PS You may think I am being unfair to Francis when his tone is very measured in comparison to the possibility of a “diabolical explanation; satanic power overwhelming basic humanity, dehumanised, possessed beings raging through the world perpetrating unspeakable horrors”. Yes, but I don’t acknowledge such an explanation in the first place, and am not in the least surprised by Hitler’s kindness to animals etc. I just see that things happen because they can, and that as persons and as a society we have to protect ourselves against them.
Ironically, I find your response to be very wise. I had a discussion last night with someone about what is socially fair. I decided that fairness outside the concept of equality is nothing more than an opinion on which we could never agree; and equality among people is impossible, because we don’t start out equal and nothing can undo that fact. Enforcing equality is beyond the capacity of humankind, and so, therefore, is coming to a lasting consensus about fairness.
You now argue that evil is a reaction. I have argued that that is no such thing outside the label we use to describe things we don’t like. It is a similar argument. If there is no God to define evil, then we define it and claim we own its definition, which seems arrogant, except for the fact that we do own its definition. Believing in God does not solve the problem, but that is fodder for a future discussion. Each person uses the terms “sin, wrong, evil,” to mean anything that challenges his sense of morality. Morality, however, is just a sense, and nothing more. It is a feeling and we generally agree that most sane people have this emotional sense; and when we violate it, we call the violation bad (or evil).
Mr. Hunt’s article then questions how one loses his commitment to a moral sense that he perceives and to which he once submitted.
Yes, as I was writing earlier comments I was aware that we do own the definition: and that every word, well anyway one like ‘evil’, is given meaning not by one person, but a crowd, because language is a social thing. It is possible for well-organized groups to seize a word and attempt to impose their meaning.
I discover to my own surprise that almost my entire “conservatism”, of which we have spoken elsewhere, is resistance to the hijacking of the meaning of certain words for ‘political’ purposes, where political embraces any kind of pressure group or organized campaign. Freedom, evil, marriage, good. One could make a list.
Congratulations indeed! I'm a little late to the party, but it's good to hear what you have made of these years, and what they mean to you now.
Off topic, but some time ago you recommended I read 'Coming up for Air', because of something I'd written. Finally, I have, and thank you for the advice. I'm just a year younger than George Bowling, not fat and not disillusioned with my life, and I still visit my home town from time to time. Even so, I am old enough to feel a powerful, even debilitating, nostalgia about certain things. George's final acceptance of the end of his dreams is quite tragic.
Vincent, Happy belated day to you! It’s nice to read and feel the equanimity that comes through your pores onto the page. Life is a great mystery to me—and I like it that way. It’s a comfort also to read your words because when I was in my later teens, a seed was planted, and as I walked along my road and opened certain doors, I made a note to myself that I would try to live in such a way that my exit would be without the heaviness of decisions made with negative intentions. Even though I’m not pleased with how some of my choices have come out, I at least can be at peace with knowing that they were made to the best of my ability.
When I first came to know you, I always sensed a youthful, vibrant spirit in you!
Happy Birthday a week ago, Vicente!
Vincent,
Please allow me to wish you a happy birthday.I followed John Myste over from his blog to see what all the fuss was about-and this is a very interesting place you have here, which I would enjoy visiting again.
I'm glad you enjoyed your walk, and the picture captured the beauty quite well.
I never thought to receive so many birthday greetings, never really thought of it as a public birthday at all, just a very personal fiftieth anniversary. But thanks all & welcome to the party, especially to rarer commenters.
CIngram, glad that a book recommendation worked for you. I've received them too from other bloggers.
Rebb, I wonder what that seed was. Not asking you to tell. Wondering is enough!
Happy belated birthday, Vincent! 🙂
Vincent,
Question: do you laugh?
Yes, John, you may imagine me as a miserable curmudgeon who never laughs.
Unknowingly, like the self-important Malvolio of Twelfth Night, I may be the cause of laughter in others, but I despise their sinful fun and games.