Getting Current Again: Take Two

Getting Current Again: December 2005

There's a line in a Talking Heads song that goes, "Well, how did I get here? Letting the days go by..."

I retired at 60, and soon I will be 62. The last years of my employment were chaotic, and the first couple of years of retirement as well, but a different kind of chaos. Needless to say, things were not anything like what I expected, and I think it's about time I tried to get oriented. Actually I have been trying to get oriented for months, now, in one way or another, and it seems the time has to start writing about it.

My re-orientation got seriously under way when I got a therapist. I had not had a reality check with anyone other than my wife for several years, and there were some points of disagreement between us that she didn't feel capable of resolving favorably. We did agree on the therapist, however--a guy who teaches Vipassana and does therapy on the side, or vice versa. Both of us had been to meditation groups of his, we liked him, and there was the obvious advantage of the shared language of Buddhism.

We talked about "issues," of course, for several sessions: communication, relationship, etc., but in the end I sat there telling him stories about things I had done in earlier lives. (I'm not being mystical, here. When you get to your 60's and look back, much of your life seems to have happened in what my dad calls, "That other world.")

I had not spent that much time reminiscing in years, and had lost touch with a lot of the experiences that have brought me to where I am. Afterwards, as I walked down the hill to my car, I couldn't believe how high I was. Curious. Why should telling those old stories make me so happy?

I puzzled about that for several days, reminisced some more, and came to the conclusion that I was happy about who I had been. I had been, by my own appraisal, an interesting fellow: eccentric, independent, in many ways much freer than I had come to be in recent years. I liked that guy, and he had been replaced by someone who was still interesting, perhaps, but in a much more conventional, domesticated kind of way. I didn't like this new guy as well, and I wanted the old one back. At least I wanted to to explore the possibilities of getting him back. I didn't want to go back to the drug-using phase, and certainly age has placed some constraints on my options, but given those realities, what might be salvaged?

When I was working I had spent about two thirds of my time away from home, and while I was away I had had a chance to be fairly independent. Even when I was out of town there were certain mental and moral restraints in being a married man, a coupled person, but certainly there was a greater feeling of freedom than when I was home with my wife. After retirement I was home all the time, and even that limited sense of independence was gone. I missed it.

I talked to my wife about what was going on with me. It wasn't a total surprise to her. In fact I had been trying to move toward greater freedom ever since I had retired--pushing the boundaries. She had tried to be understanding, tried to accept the changes I wanted, and in this latest discussion she told me to just go ahead and be who I wanted to be, but there were difficulties--internal ones.

It was like when one of my earlier wives had yelled at me that I was the most controlled man in bed she had ever met. I answered that I had to be: I had 100 different rules and restrictions to remember and comply with; things she had told me she liked or disliked. She said I should just forget them; just do what I wanted and be spontaneous, but I didn't believe that her saying it really changed anything. I could pretend, perhaps, that she hadn't expressed a liking for this or that, but I didn't believe that her preferences had actually changed or that control was no longer required.

The same was true now, though the subject was broader than sex. How could I behave in ways that she had expressed annoyance with on numerous occasions? I felt that at best I would be grimly tolerated, which is far different than being enjoyed. If I couldn't be enjoyed by someone else, then at least let me be alone to enjoy myself.

And so here I am, settled into my new apartment, feeling so happy that I almost feel guilty about it. How does it happen that I am so lucky as to have things so much to my liking? I don't know, and of course it could change, but for the time being I am gleeful.

Norm being gleeful. For more pictures of the new apartment click here.

For years I had behaved under the principle of being happy wherever I found myself, and it had worked--if you're committed to being there, you might as well be happy. Working for the railroad, being married, had seemed like the right things to do at the time, and I was happy, with minor exceptions. But when the job on the railroad was over, that change altered the matrix within which I lived, and circumstances began moving toward a decision to change my domestic circumstances as well.

The truth of Zen, and of modern science, is that choices emerge out of the matrix of the causes and conditions that make us what we are. There is no "one," no independent entity, making the choices, any more than there is anyone deciding whether it should rain today or not.

In fact it is impossible to consciously understand the mathematics of the choices our brains make. How do they tally up a lifetime of experiences and sort them into columns with pluses and minuses and compute the result? We may get a glimpse of some of the more heavily weighted items, but there are thousands of more subtle events that add shadings of color and feeling, and all are involved in the final analysis.

Earlier in this journal I've given a history of some of what I thought at the time were the big ticket items in shaping my own decision-making processes, but in this more recent assessment I've come across some old writings that seem to have considerable bearing on the choices in this new life that is unfolding. Some cover aspects of who I am that were barely hinted at before, and may offer further insight into how I got to be this peculiar person.

For example, doesn't it seem strange that a guy who has been married four times has never before, on this web site, mentioned (gasp!) sex? Don't you suppose sex has been an issue in some of the choices that have emerged in all those marriages, and in all the relationships that didn't result in marriage? Maybe you should send the kiddies to bed before you go any further.

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	Getting Current Again: December 2005 There's a line in a Talking Heads song that goes, "Well, how did I get here? Letting the days go by..." I retired at 60, and soon I will be 62. The last years of my employment were chaotic, and the first couple of years of retirement as well, but a different kind of chaos. Needless to say, things were not anything like what I expected, and I think it's about time I tried to get oriented. Actually I have been trying to get oriented for months, now, in one way or another, and it seems the time has to start writing about it. My re-orientation got seriously under way when I got a therapist. I had not had a reality check with anyone other than my wife for several years, and there were some points of disagreement between us that she didn't feel capable of resolving favorably. We did agree on the therapist, however--a guy who teaches Vipassana and does therapy on the side, or vice versa. Both of us had been to meditation groups of his, we liked him, and there was the obvious advantage of the shared language of Buddhism. We talked about "issues," of course, for several sessions: communication, relationship, etc., but in the end I sat there telling him stories about things I had done in earlier lives. (I'm not being mystical, here. When you get to your 60's and look back, much of your life seems to have happened in what my dad calls, "That other world.") I had not spent that much time reminiscing in years, and had lost touch with a lot of the experiences that have brought me to where I am. Afterwards, as I walked down the hill to my car, I couldn't believe how high I was. Curious. Why should telling those old stories make me so happy? I puzzled about that for several days, reminisced some more, and came to the conclusion that I was happy about who I had been. I had been, by my own appraisal, an interesting fellow: eccentric, independent, in many ways much freer than I had come to be in recent years. I liked that guy, and he had been replaced by someone who was still interesting, perhaps, but in a much more conventional, domesticated kind of way. I didn't like this new guy as well, and I wanted the old one back. At least I wanted to to explore the possibilities of getting him back. I didn't want to go back to the drug-using phase, and certainly age has placed some constraints on my options, but given those realities, what might be salvaged? When I was working I had spent about two thirds of my time away from home, and while I was away I had had a chance to be fairly independent. Even when I was out of town there were certain mental and moral restraints in being a married man, a coupled person, but certainly there was a greater feeling of freedom than when I was home with my wife. After retirement I was home all the time, and even that limited sense of independence was gone. I missed it. I talked to my wife about what was going on with me. It wasn't a total surprise to her. In fact I had been trying to move toward greater freedom ever since I had retired--pushing the boundaries. She had tried to be understanding, tried to accept the changes I wanted, and in this latest discussion she told me to just go ahead and be who I wanted to be, but there were difficulties--internal ones. It was like when one of my earlier wives had yelled at me that I was the most controlled man in bed she had ever met. I answered that I had to be: I had 100 different rules and restrictions to remember and comply with; things she had told me she liked or disliked. She said I should just forget them; just do what I wanted and be spontaneous, but I didn't believe that her saying it really changed anything. I could pretend, perhaps, that she hadn't expressed a liking for this or that, but I didn't believe that her preferences had actually changed or that control was no longer required. The same was true now, though the subject was broader than sex. How could I behave in ways that she had expressed annoyance with on numerous occasions? I felt that at best I would be grimly tolerated, which is far different than being enjoyed. If I couldn't be enjoyed by someone else, then at least let me be alone to enjoy myself. And so here I am, settled into my new apartment, feeling so happy that I almost feel guilty about it. How does it happen that I am so lucky as to have things so much to my liking? I don't know, and of course it could change, but for the time being I am gleeful. Norm being gleeful. For more pictures of the new apartment click here. For years I had behaved under the principle of being happy wherever I found myself, and it had worked--if you're committed to being there, you might as well be happy. Working for the railroad, being married, had seemed like the right things to do at the time, and I was happy, with minor exceptions. But when the job on the railroad was over, that change altered the matrix within which I lived, and circumstances began moving toward a decision to change my domestic circumstances as well. The truth of Zen, and of modern science, is that choices emerge out of the matrix of the causes and conditions that make us what we are. There is no "one," no independent entity, making the choices, any more than there is anyone deciding whether it should rain today or not. In fact it is impossible to consciously understand the mathematics of the choices our brains make. How do they tally up a lifetime of experiences and sort them into columns with pluses and minuses and compute the result? We may get a glimpse of some of the more heavily weighted items, but there are thousands of more subtle events that add shadings of color and feeling, and all are involved in the final analysis. Earlier in this journal I've given a history of some of what I thought at the time were the big ticket items in shaping my own decision-making processes, but in this more recent assessment I've come across some old writings that seem to have considerable bearing on the choices in this new life that is unfolding. Some cover aspects of who I am that were barely hinted at before, and may offer further insight into how I got to be this peculiar person. For example, doesn't it seem strange that a guy who has been married four times has never before, on this web site, mentioned (gasp!) sex? Don't you suppose sex has been an issue in some of the choices that have emerged in all those marriages, and in all the relationships that didn't result in marriage? Maybe you should send the kiddies to bed before you go any further.
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