In, But Not, Of

There is a way, in the latter part of life, we humans are utterly transformed, and become more and less than we have ever been. I’m aware that what I’m about to describe doesn’t happen for everyone. This is only a human potential. That is, only some humans achieve this kind of experience.

Some folks combine the quintessential elder experience, that is, of not being who they used to be, with a sense that they are becoming more. They are somewhere in between, they are not who they were, and they are not yet who they will be. In my way of saying it, they are between the worlds. They go beyond themselves, but not entirely. They are a lot more than they used to be, but not entirely. For some reason, known only to The Great Mystery, they are suspended — not here and not there. They embody a very paradoxical status, not dead to who they were, and not yet fully alive to who they are becoming.

This phenomenon, of being in between, isn’t a new one. Many people have experienced a version of it at other times in life. I went through a period of not knowing myself when my first marriage ended. Things like accidents, moves, illnesses, joblessness, relationship changes, retirement, and near-death experiences trigger these occurrences. These events are often seen as tragic, and at least, disturbing. They all seem to be associated with changes of status.

At the later part of life, a variation of this experience is often the source of a lot of painful uncertainty. Old people have the experience of losing the status they once enjoyed. They are changing in a way that is semi-expected — the calendar doesn’t lie — but the how and when one goes beyond oneself, is almost always a surprise. Changing status, mainly enduring the loss of status, is a predictable challenge. Being constantly in this state is what is typical and unusual about the elder stage of life.

 A lot of folks bemoan this aspect of aging. Many try to avoid it, some lean into it. Later on in elderhood, a very few, that have adjusted to being without status, enter the realm of being in between. These folks are in the world, they have a life, are located within the parameters of normalcy, and as a result of their lost status, are living outside the realm of normalcy. They have a unique viewpoint, by virtue of being subject to a shifting perspective. They are in the world, but not of it.

Through the many years I have been exploring elderhood, I haven’t been able to pinpoint what I thought was unusual, or unique about this phase of human life. Many old people have suffered because there was nothing about this phase of life that was considered uplifting, inspiring, or otherwise good. One just got ill, lived a while with limitations, and died. There isn’t anything to look forward to.

Until now.

Instead, I think this aspect of human potential, which is entirely elder, has a lot to offer individuals, and human community. Elder wisdom doesn’t just come from experience, it also comes from perspective. Being between the worlds, not dead to this one, and not yet fully alive to the next one. There exists a view that isn’t defined by cultural consensus, and is instead influenced by a more natural and cosmic view. For a while some old people dwell there, and bring back to us, a clearer picture of our place in the great scheme of things.

Generally, it is people in their eighties, nineties and occasionally their seventies who provide the rest of us with a   different and broader take on human existence. They are here in the world, waiting for death to send them to some other orbit, feeling the proximity of what comes next, and altered by it, but still here. They provide us, if we pay attention to them, with a glimpse of the future, with a new, perhaps a fuller picture of human possibility. This is a natural phenomenon, a kind of rare human beauty, that is available now.

Tweeners, as I now think of them, have a rarefied sensitivity. They know what it means to be somebody, and then to become nobody — to have a view of the world, only to see it dissolve into something else. They know both the ardor of loss and the unexpected delight of gain. They have been hammered into shape by the exquisite hardships of a good life and then set lose in a more enchanted world. They provide us with precious insight, especially into what it really means to be human.

The challenges of being old in this world are great. It is no wonder there is so much fear and misperception. This social reality isn’t helped by the lack of supports, external, and especially internal, that make ageing look so bad. Fortunately, Life hasn’t waited around for us to grow up, and make the human condition more congruent with who we are. In the later phases of life, a natural force alters us, allowing more of our humanity to show through the conditioning that once defined us. And revealing the natural beauty of our kind.

Being in between, waiting to die, while being infused with a new way of being, makes the possibilities more evident, and offers all of us, the incentive to actualize ourselves while we still can. Being suspended is hard, it isn’t bad or defective, and it is a lonely experience, but it sheds light in all the important places. Being between the worlds is a gift that can grow on us, and that reveals what is truest about who we are. Being in between is a miraculous hardship composed of compassion and difficult beauty. It is Life’s way of transforming us naturally.

 

 

 

  

Service

There is a way to perform that isn’t about impressing. One can rise above the natural urge to fit in — the need to adhere to loved one’s expectations can become secondary. The project of making a name for yourself, or becoming somebody by virtue of what you do, can give way. With diligence one can free themselves of such selfish and immature impulses — as natural as they may be — by performing a real service. The act of placing someone else’s needs in front of your own is a sure way of discovering new and possible yous.

Service is overlooked as a real way to discover one’s self, and to mature into somebody. We have what are called the ‘armed services’ which are ostensibly about serving our country, but that form of service ignores the fact that maturity and presence are essential in all of our important relationships. Serving an other, particularly someone who isn’t easy to serve, does more to grow character than anything else. When service becomes something that is both an inside and outside activity, instead of just a way of focusing on another, then the benefit is universal – it helps everyone.

Service is often seen as heroic, like going out of one’s way to help someone. In this way it is optional. Instead, real service is a more complex story. In early life it is a way to show goodness and tame the desire to fit in, to be somebody. Later, toward middle age, it is a way of being masterful, and benefiting a loved one. But, late in life, it can become something far more precious, and beneficial to all. It reflects a general consciousness of connection — of being part of something larger. Service then is being armed with compassion and the sure knowledge of relatedness.

Service is one of those phenomena, like love, that grows as one ages. It becomes something else. Awareness and experience carry it into more nuanced realms. The love of self and the love of the other begin to merge. After decades, suddenly becoming fully human looks and feels different! Now the equation isn’t complete without boundaries becoming connections!

As a radically disabled person, I have been forced into an intimate relationship with service. I’ve known the bane of being thought of as a thing that needed attention, like a plant, and the ecstasy of serving by being myself. I don’t think I have to tell you which is preferable. However, the objectification of the needy is far more prevalent. Being served prejudicially, is like being treated to a de-humanizing bath. Ageing, and experience, have shown me that apologizing for being a wreck, and needing help, isn’t enough.

All of that humiliation, all of that being treated like a defect, brought out of me an awareness that I think is quite rare. I serve because I do ask for help, and I think it builds community. I serve by virtue of knowing that being broken is a valuable aspect of being human. I serve by being unexpected, by being proud of being educated by darkness, by not wanting anything different, by being of service to those who do not know the privilege of being disabled. I serve because I am.

There is a lot to be said about service. For instance, it is a sure way of learning about yourself. Service is a much bigger deal than we humans generally think it is. We, who are elders, who are broken down, have the capacity to let everybody in on this well-kept secret. All we have to do is ask — ourselves, and each other, for the help all of us need. In so doing, we are affirming one of our most human characteristics —the strength and beauty of our mutual dependency on each other.

 

 

 

  

Performing

One of the developmental achievements of old age is, what I refer to as, “escaping the gravitational pull of mass mind,” that is, getting away from being a cultural agent. A lot of energy goes into the effort to be genuine, to no longer be trapped by the values of convention. Old people in particular are motivated by a desire to be free, they don’t want to be captured by the conforming power of the system. The uniqueness of each of us, can be washed out of us, by our own desire to fit in. It is an especially human dilemma.

The effort to overcome conditioning is undermined by how good a repertoire of hiding one has developed. Or, how much your loved ones matter to you. To get by, one learns to perform. Getting good at knowing how to perform, how to respond to all situations with just the right way of being, that allows one to stay within the margins of acceptability.

 Behavior is one of the ways we show our identity papers. One is in the in-crowd if one can perform all the secret handshakes. After a lifetime of doing it, a mantle of normalcy hardens into place, and normalcy becomes routine.

Living outside the boundary of normalcy, out in the hinterlands of authenticity is hard, sometimes dangerous, and often painful. When humans get older, they are forced into the weeds at the margins. This is when the play between conformity and authenticity gets really interesting and dicey. Those who have not already developed a capacity for self-hood begin to feel trapped. And those who have —become avidly interested in tasting freedom before it’s too late — suffer ignominy.

Dying free and authentic is a deeply human value, that goes beyond the messages of comformity, that remain the pablum of the masses.

The struggle for the freedom to be oneself is rooted in the desire to be free of the constraints of passing, popularity, or marginality. As a human it is painful to be the subject of prejudice, invisibility, and misperception, and for some, it is equally painful, to live captive within social orthodoxy. Aging is hard, precisely because the urge to be free, runs one up against how unfree one has been. Throwing off the voluntary shackles one has assumed is challenging, enough so, that it can take a lifetime. Being old prompts that kind of awareness, necessitates change, and moves one dramatically into a minority position. The headwinds are greatest when the heart starts awakening.

Going beyond social conditioning requires an ardent drive. One that has to bear the humiliation that comes with failing repeatedly. Failing to be free happens a lot more than being authentic. Think about it, even the normal greeting, “How are     you?”  is laden with the challenge, are you one of us, or are you a wild unknown being? What passes for normal discourse can be loaded with stern messages about where the line is. The temptation is always pressing.

The urge to perform is always present. The better you have been at it — makes it all that more beguiling. Fitting in is so important to us humans, and being ourselves is becoming even more important. We don’t yet live in a world where both are acceptable, but if old people truly acquire freedom, the rest of us could. Meanwhile performing will go on, and authenticity will remain a desire that grows more pressing as we age.

Freedom isn’t free. Working on ourselves isn’t really work — it’s harder. And, growing more mature isn’t always welcome. Being human in a world of contradictions is a vulnerable opportunity. Performing in these circumstances is a hair-raising experience, one made for an exquisitely rare being.

 

 

 

  

Graceful Weirdness

The Cracked Water Pot: An Indian Story 

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hanging on one end of a pole, which he carried across his neck. One pot was perfect and delivered a full portion of water after the long walk from the stream to the master’s house. The other pot had a crack in it and leaked, so that it always arrived half full.

For two years the bearer delivered only one and a half pots of water to the master. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. The cracked pot was ashamed of its imperfection and miserable that it was able to accomplish only a half of what it had been made to do.

It spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I want to apologize to you.”

“Why?” The man said.

“I am only able to deliver half of my load because this crack in my side causes a leak. Because of my flaw, you do all of this work and don’t get the value of your effort.”

The water bearer responded, “As we return to the master’s house, notice the beautiful flowers along the road. Do you see that there are flowers only on your side of the path? Because I know your flaw, I took advantage of it and planted seeds on your side of the path. You’ve watered them every day. And I’ve been able to pick them to decorate the master’s table. Without you being just as you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”                                                                                          

                                                                                                                                                                                      A West Asian Folk Tale

Perfection comes in many guises. We aren’t able to recognize them all. It’s just possible that what we consider our fatal flaw might just be perfection in disguise. Remember the cracked pot next time you are about to criticize yourself, or someone else. How many seedlings have we been nourishing unknowingly? It looks like Creation may be depending upon our broken ways. Beauty mangled is still beauty.

In fact, I think we might all be cracked pots. This life is weird enough that my flaws just might be my perfection. My crack pot ideas carry me into a host of situations that turn out in ways I would never expect. So, do my plans. Does the Universe chuckle, or am I imagining it?

There is no accounting for the way this life keeps twisting around and becoming something else. Usually something unexpected, that pulls out of us some hidden and unknown beauty. The water bearers creativity and compassion is a true model of our capacity.

Through some compassionate mystery we are perfect with all of our flaws. How’s that for a wacky full-paradoxical reality? Being human in such a world is just part of the graceful weirdness we get to be part of.\