On the occasion of my 72nd birthday
Shall I make an outward observation or inward reflection... or may a little bit of both?
On the occasion of my 72nd birthday, I debate whether to make an outward observation or inward reflection… or maybe a little bit of both would be the best course.
The ambition is to say something profound at such times, albeit with the realization that this is not exactly a milestone event in the affairs of mankind or even in my own progression through life.
“One more day more, one day more” to borrow a line from the musical Les Miserables.
But then profound is a judgment made by others as opposed to any outcome you (as a writer) can conjure up by will. And even if judged favorably by readers, if generally not a unanimous verdict.
The wider course of action is to say what you have to say, do the best you can and (above all else) try to make the message understandable, and let the chips fall where they may.
And do so in as an ethical a manner as possible.
Last week another of my classmates passed away. From our start in kindergarten through graduation, there were probably 150 or so students who attended Fowlerville Community Schools in my grade level—part of what finally became the Class of 1969. Some of them moved away during the 13 years I attended classes, others arrived and joined the crowd, a few dropped out of school after turning 16, and one girl died during our junior-high years.
Over the past 54 years the number of dearly departed has grown—as was certainly destined to happen—with a sudden acceleration after the class had gathered for our 50th reunion.
I mention this, not to be morbid, but to acknowledge my regret at their passing, whether destined or not—one of them being my cousin Londa and others who were close friends—and my realization that reaching another birthday is a matter of good fortune, but also continued responsibility.
Coupled with my thoughts on mortality is the question I get more and more of when I plan to retire. I guess I’m looking my age as no one asked that a few years back.
“As long as the body is willing and my mind doesn’t go south I’ll keep going” is my usual reply. Then I make some joke like “I’m a newspaperman, I can’t afford to retire” to get off the topic.
But seriously, that’s my plan. To write articles, including these commentaries and personal essays, as long as able and as long as I’m not embarrassing myself with a noticeable decline in skills.
The plan or lack thereof, I should add, includes the larger proposition of putting out a weekly newspaper which requires other tasks than composing stories.
How much longer? Time will tell.
Most of the classmates who have passed away succumbed to an illness; a fatal disease like cancer or an affliction that wore down their body. Going forward, this could easily be my fate, in which case the question of retirement would be quickly resolved.
I haven’t heard of any of them suffering from dementia, nevertheless it’s right around the corner for a few of them and perhaps me. Losing the memory would pretty well put the brakes on the writing career as well an an active involvement in the newspaper.
When I eat my birthday cake later today, it’s not those scenarios that will occupy my mind—which I think is still in pretty good shape. Rather it’ll be with the tasks just completed and those awaiting the next day or next few days. Publishing a weekly newspaper is a series of steps that need to be taken within the parameter of a deadline, while composing a commentary or essay is mainly sitting down and ‘just doing it.’ Did I mention I have a tendency to procrastinate?
That said, I’m sure there’ll be a few more new adventures as well as unforeseen trials and tribulations awaiting on what’s left of my journey, the former adding spice to the daily diet and the latter causing heartburn. The certainty of established routine coupled with the uncertainty inherent in life and living will be—as they ‘ve always been—part of the path forward and what helps h and keeps us on toes.
I’ve used this line before, one I recall from a long-ago movie. . . “All we’re given is a time and place. A time to live and a place to die.”
What we do with the ‘time’ given us—as individuals or collectively—is a matter of both happenstance and choice; a direction guided by expected outcome and the unanticipated obstacle.
As a writer of commentary, there are all manner of issues and events that can occupy the outward observation. Too much, if truth be told. So much turmoil, tragedy, violence, and “greed beating on neighbor near” that I’m reminded of that line from Ecclesiastes “All things are wearisome: Man is not able to tell it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, Nor is the ear filled with hearing.”
But weary or not, the effort must be made…to bear witness to the world around you and what’s taking place. To use your time as well as possible.
And when the outward views become overwhelming… when the injustices and travesties seem insurmountable…when the reform efforts seem akin to a knight-errant tilting windmills rather than slaying those social ills…you turn inward. Not hopefully as a retreat or even contemplation of surrender. But rather as a means of rekindling the energy and resolve.
A time and place may be all we’re given, but also choices of what to do with the time left before we reach the place.
So there you are… both an observation and reflection offered on the occasion of my 72nd birthday.
Steve Horton is a mid-Michigan journalist and editor-publisher of the Fowlerville News & Views—a weekly newspaper.
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I’m sure you think I’m much older than you, and, it is hard work to use our time efficiently and with grace.
Enjoyed this Steve.
Lovely reflection for us oldsters. Happy Birthday and Thank You!