Elder Activism

"The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are. Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy." - Joseph Campbell

An idea came to me this week. It aroused me, with excitement, fear, determination, and wonder. So, I hope I can do an adequate job of exploring and expressing this idea.

My world is changing, as I’m getting older. Things are morphing into new forms. Configurations are occurring to me that I barely understand, and that call to me, to give them a voice. This is one of them, an embryonic awareness, which has come squalling over my horizon, calling for me to soothe it, by considering the change in my reality that it foretells. I am bewildered and beguiled, and I know that if I want to keep open, I’ve got to welcome this guest too.

So here goes.

I’ve been trying to pay attention to what happens to consciousness as we humans age. There are a lot of us now, outliving our ancestors, in greater numbers than ever before. Witnessing, and feeling, this, momentous build-up, has put me in a wondrous state of mind. I think mother-nature is up to something. I can’t shake the feeling that evolution is re-working the human race, putting more emphasis upon the grey fruit of this strange journey — than in the past. So, I’m paying attention, and noticing that old people aren’t all, what they used to be.

One of the things I’ve noticed is that some old folks, I call them elders, seem to see things a lot different than the rest of us. There are many ways this seems true to me, but I want to concentrate on only one now. I don’t know how, or when, this happens, but it seems that some older people develop, what I call, paradoxical awareness. They seem to be more comfortable, and even grow fluent in, bringing the opposites together. An indicator of the onset of this awareness, appears to be the statement, “The more I know, the more I know how little I know,” that comes out of some old folks mouths.

For whatever reason, they have arrived at an experience of the world, that is more complex, mysterious, and unified than many of us have. It isn’t unusual for someone in this state of mind to extol the beauty and miraculousness of the world, and to be equally aware of the horror that mankind has visited upon our planet. For them, the joy of being alive, is deeply rooted in awareness of the world as it is. They seem to exude an equanimity that defies logic.

I noticed this, and sometimes feel myself capable of it. I can feel the world turning, and I have a sense, that despite the deleterious impact of humankind, the miracle of life is here to stay. This thrills and humbles me; it makes me want to spread the vision. I don’t exactly know how to do that, and that’s OK, because I have the sense that evolution, that Life, is already at work changing things. I’m just here to witness and praise the miracle that includes injustice.

I can remember the dark days after my stroke, when I had an undiagnosed brain syndrome, which was slowly stealing my functionality. I was dying. I was angry — so disappointed with Life. The Mystery contained a darkness I didn’t want to know. I didn’t think I could care about a life that cared so little for me, and others who were equally diminished. My face took on, what seemed to be a permanent frown. The abyss ate me. I went down into the darkness, and came out of it barely alive, but aware, that my life had never been mine, and that now, I knew I was Life’s life, and that the darkness is only the light I most fear.

I believe elder activism is being transformed, not by we humans, but by Life. Ageing is bringing about, for some, a change in awareness. This changing awareness is leading to other changes. As I am getting older, I am becoming more aware of my own, and others, hubris. I am less inclined to judge. I am accepting more of my own limitations, and the limitations of others. The world has shown me, how Life moves in strange, unpredictable and inexorable ways.

Lately, I’ve found myself thinking. My activism has been largely based on my reaction to the injustice in the world. My actions followed. I assumed that injustice threatens Life. What I now see is that injustice is in the world as part of the wholeness that is Life. My actions must now incorporate that awareness. It feels right to keep acting, but without my former certainty, and with a more astutely humble reverence for the mysteriousness of Life. My actions will no longer be so much against others. Instead, I think I will be paying closer attention to Life, and dwelling in not knowing instead of certainty. It helps to think that Life is pre-eminent, and knows what it is doing.

Generally, I like ageing. Getting older has its well-documented problems. What it doesn’t have yet, is a well articulated description of its potentials. Along with the losses come gains. The gains aren’t obvious, they haven’t been fully described, but it seems Life is seeing to it, that they are available now, regardless of how well described they are. These same gains are changing the way activism, the love of Life, is being played out. In my view, this is evolution coming through us. It is the Universe doing its activist thing.

Disability

I don’t want to write this Slow Lane, but I feel compelled to. I really don’t want to open up, what appears to me, a can of worms — a subject so sore and misunderstood that it seems only pain, heartache, and grief ensue. Yet, I’m feeling something stirring in me, ordering me to walk into this arena and draw attention to this topic. I don’t walk, so all that’s left to me is to open the subject. I am disabled.

There has been a long period, during which I have had to suffer enormous losses. Some of these losses have left me in a permanent state called disability. Now some souls have tried to rename this experience to direct attention to other attributes — you know like, differently-abled and alternately-abled — but they haven’t been able to erase the fear and ignorance that attends this loss of functioning. Disability is still perceived, by the majority of people, as something frightening and de-humanizing. Mostly, people avert their gaze and ignore this dimension of reality.

What compels me to write is not the general aversion I am subject to. I’ve gotten used to that. I’ve been broken-down long enough to have grown through the ignorance, disdain and fear. I am amongst the disabled folks who have learned to survive in this place. Basically, I’m pretty lucky — I have friends, colleagues, and others who see me primarily as one of them. In that sense I’ve succeeded. Many people don’t see me as disabled, they regard me as if I was like everyone else. In some ways this is what I, and many of the disabled people I know, long for — a sense of normalcy, and the acceptance that comes with it.

I have been aware that I have had a big desire to fit in, to be perceived for what I am, to be held as a person. I have gifts I want to be able to share. And mostly, I get to. I don’t call my self  “Lucky” by accident. That is a testament to my perseverance, and to the maturity of the people around me. As a disabled person, I have it really good.

But here is the problem. I function so well that the fact that I am disabled is anything but obvious. So even though I wear an eye patch, speak funny and am in a wheel chair, I am perceived more for my large and energetic presence, than my low functioning ways. I suddenly have become aware that through my own efforts, and the generosity of others, I am not really seen, as the disabled person I am. The irony I face is this, the effort I’ve put in to not being seen and treated as a disabled person has resulted in me not being seen and treated as a disabled person.

So, why is this a problem? Because the truth is, I am disabled. I am not really able to function like everyone else. Evidently, to overcome the fear of being reduced by others, I disregarded my own limitations in favor of fitting in. I have tried to be the good disabled person. Not at anyone’s insistence, but because I have thought that fitting in might help me deliver the gift granted me. Now I realize that strategy dooms me. I can’t keep up. My gift of awareness isn’t enough to transcend the limitations I actually have to live with. Worse yet, that kind of complicitous behavior works against another important awareness I have been keeping to myself.

You see, I’ve been aware for some time, that I am a kind of precursor. As a disabled person I am already dealing with the kind of prejudice and ignorance that old people (who are more slowly losing functioning and becoming disabled) have to deal with. Ageism, and prejudice against the disabled are on the same continuum. Human ignorance and fear create both, in different ways, but also in very similar ways.

I want to be capable of expressing the full spectrum of what it means to be old during this time. I also want others to have the support essential for them to give voice to what being older has to contribute to this era. If I let my disability become invisible and unseen then I am playing along with the belief that there is nothing for the old and infirm to contribute. I am also participating in the life-denying prejudice I abhor.

I know I probably have made some people uncomfortable along the way, I’m sorry about that. But, and here is the nature of my dilemma, while I am not a crusader for the disabled, I am trying to stir up awareness about the difficulties and beauties of being human, especially older humans. Sometimes I blunder along the way. Pardon my unbalanced and brain-damaged gait, it might be similar to your own, disabled in some ways and broken in others. Fitting in, while tempting, is a trap, that prevents Nature’s profusion from coming through us. The wonder of a broken-down person like me isn’t evident, and doesn’t shine fully on other people’s possibilities.

Crumple Zone

A few days ago my honey was in a car wreck. Luckily, she was unhurt. Her car was totaled. The accident, her reaction to it, and the response of her community, all revealed to me a lot about resilience that I want to pass on in this piece. There is nothing like the care that was present at all of these levels. The world hurts from the absence of this kind of caring, and is far less hospitable and resilient, because humans are so caught up in the wrong kind of pursuits. I was amazed to see how much emotional connection and maturity make a difference. I saw an accident that would have knocked most people out of the box, that would throw a blanket on their best laid plans, and this would-be trauma, instead became an affirmation of the importance of emotional connection.

Car manufacturers have grown a great deal more safety conscious over the recent years. They have gone so far, as to have engineered vehicle designs that include features that protect occupants. This has aided drivers and passengers enormously. No doubt, this kind of planning made a real difference in the situation of my sweetie. The car crumpled in a designed way, the airbags deployed, and she walked away, a 75 year-old woman intact, and only shaken. Her story could have been defined (for days) by the accident, but instead, it has been determined by her reaction, and the response of those she is connected with. The crumple zone was extended by a lot of grown-up hearts.

The car behaved fabulously. It is wrecked, but it converted the energy of collision into twisted metal, rather than mangled flesh. Even as it passed into a useless form it performed well. It is fair to say it did what it is supposed to do; it gave its life for my honey. I am extremely grateful to all who have made this a reality. She survived the wreck because of the car’s design, but she grew through the aftermath, because of resilience built into human connection.

She had a bigger part in what played out than just being the passive victim of an accident. As a result of her age, and especially her maturity, she was able to complete her intended journey despite the surprise collision. As she put it, her intended life was more important than any “drama” (by that I think she means, emotional reaction) that the accident produced. She had the internal wherewithal to focus upon her desire, rather than be subject to the emotional shock that such a circumstance was likely to arouse. She held herself together, and overcame what could have been a messy loss of equanimity, by relying on her desire, and savvy about herself. In other words, she could have fallen a part, after a circumstance that would have warranted it, but didn’t, because she didn’t have to. She was solid enough to be who she wanted to be. She had her own crumple zone.

Aiding her was her community. Another level of the crumple zone that protected her, were the relationships that surrounded her. In this case, she was connected with folks that were concerned about her — and knew her well enough — to let her define her own experience; no one freaked out, they merely supported her. This allowed an unfortunate collision to become a binding agent that served her and her loved ones. The accident had a dual role, it affirmed her self-solidity, and increased the bonds that defined her community. She felt cared for in a very personal and specific way, and those that cared, got to be involved. A destabilizing event turned into a resilient collective response. Connection not only held, but was confirmed by misfortune.

As a community-builder, as someone who regularly praises the role of caring, it is heartening to experience just how much resilience lies in our responses to each other during the misfortunes of life. I know, that this relatively painless event, has been only relatively painless, because of the quality of caring that it entailed. My sweetie’s self-love was important, and that was abetted by the love of those involved.  This event is some of the best evidence that the ties that matter, exist primarily in the heart.

The auto companies can’t engineer that, no city or neighborhood can either, because the crumple zone is only as capable of handling shock as we the people are. We need each other. (Today, and most likely, in the future.)  The only way to insure this protection, is through growing — our hearts, spirits, and most importantly, our emotional connections with one another.

Wonder

Like Mystery, everything seems to be shot through with wonder! The spaciousness that flows from these places, within all parts of reality, leaves me breathless. I am disturbed, by living within so much magnificent mystery. Because this is so, I’m finding it harder and harder to think and comment about anything. Probability seems to dictate that no matter how I look, or which way my attention is drawn, I behold a certain amount of wondrous uncertainty. Its all so much, so mysteriously undetermined, while being solid, that I wonder if I can even sensibly write about it.

Reflecting, as I am, on this aspect of my experience, and trying to find words for it, is, no doubt, part of the foolishness I was born with. Somehow, without any intention on my part, I’ve become aware of something so thoroughly palpable because it isn’t there. I mean, rather crazily I’m sure, that what isn’t there is what seems to accompany what is. And, even more strangely, gives it shape, dimension and meaning.

I was never prepared for this kind of perception. And it seems, that uttering anything about it is hopeless. Still, I keep thinking that there should be someway to talk about it. There seems to be something about reality that contains a probabilistic something that keeps everything connected and free. How is that possible! I don’t know, but I have noticed. The perception thrills me, and it leaves me befuddled. I can’t adequately articulate this aspect of my reality, yet it is so awesome I can’t ignore it either. I feel compelled to share it, and at the same time, I am aware that I am not really able to describe it.

So, what am I talking about? I can’t really say. I am trying not to use, over and over again, the words mystery, uncertainty, wonder and unknown. They need a rest, and only dimly refer to what vibrates in the background. I want to convey, and hear other’s perceptions about, this quick-silver facet of each moment, because somehow sharing such befuddlement is deeply reassuring. Maybe that’s what I’m doing here, noticing the wonder that keeps my heart beating.

Anyway, it seems like, in my dottage, this awareness has come on stronger than any past point of my life. I have a mixed reaction to this awareness. I love it. It seems so freeing. I have been released from all assumptions about what is going on here. Simultaneously, I feel a sense of foreboding. It is making me a more eccentric old man. I am being herded by Life into a smaller and smaller corral. Becoming more unique, is hard on a social animal, like me.

All I can say, honestly, is that I am growing more and more impressed by the sense of wonder growing in me.  My life is changing. I can feel it. Maybe this is death setting in, or maybe, I’m finally coming to Life. I no longer can say. Whatever is happening, is unbidden, I know that, or do I, maybe in my childhood, I called in this late-life sense of wonder. All I seem to know now, is that the flow is carrying me, through this canyon, where the walls are made up of a kaleidoscopic experience that bedazzles and befuddles me.

I could say Life is wondrous. That seems true. Putting that awareness alongside of my awareness of how cruel, destructive, hateful and arbitrary Life can be, leaves me on-edge. I teeter between hope and hopelessness. I don’t know why I can see all of this, but I do. Some days it hurts, some days I feel so lucky. All I can really say, and think, is, isn’t it a wonder!?

Isolation

I’ve found myself giving a lot of thought to isolation. As a savvier than normal old person I have a particular apprehension about the nature and effects of isolation. I don’t think it is very healthy for we social animals. I am also concerned about the costs that we all pay living in a cultural world where isolation is normal. Our lack of community, combined with our general distrust of each other, adds up to neglect of certain parts of our shared humanity. This is the source of my dismay. It is also something I can feel.

I’m sort of not really isolated. By that I mean that I have worked on staying connected. I have my disabilities to thank for some of that. I literally could not survive if I didn’t have caring others in my life. I am also a community-builder, one of those people who actually believes community is our natural social habitat. I’ve been a pain in the ass to my friends that way. The upshot of all this, is that I have more people in my life than many single, old people.

When I was making reassurance calls (see my last Slow Lane) someone said to me that I seemed to have lots of contacts, and therefore wasn’t all that isolated. I said at the time, and feel it more strongly the more I think about it, that when one lives in a cultural world where isolation is the norm, being as socially connected as I am, seems-like more than it is. Surprisingly, I feel a sense of isolation, even though I’m more connected than the average bear.

Isolation, it strikes me, is particularly harsh and corrosive to we old people. I’m already disabled, and somewhat used to asking for help, but most folks haven’t adapted to the break-downs that come with elder life. I know how hard that is. I saw a national news story a few weeks ago, which proves this point. It was about an 85-year old veteran who had returned from a hospital where he had just had surgery. He made the news because he called 911 to get help. His refrigerator was empty, and he was in no condition to go shopping. Luckily, one of the 911 operators was a social worker, who bought him some groceries. Imagine, his story made the news, because he’s a veteran.

The story concluded by saying over 40% of people over 65 didn’t have any kind of support system. In my book, we are the veterans. Life kills us all off, eventually. But, in the meantime, let’s all pay attention to how we choose to live. Isolation is our doing. Our social nature is somehow askew. There is so much we could say to each other, if only one could listen. There is so much beyond what we could say to each other. Age takes you down into the moment and dares one to show up.

My circumstances teeter on the relationships that support me. I suppose you have that same vulnerability. Now, these relationships are in good shape. And, they are because I am my own primary caretaker, and I have a deep awareness of the danger of isolation. I still have some influence over my own fate, but if I couldn’t take care of myself (and I’m not far from not being able to do so), the isolation that is prevalent in our social realm is likely to determine what happens. That is part of the backdrop of my life.

So, I think about isolation. I have an on-going apprehension about the erosion of community. Lately, however, I’ve grown more aware of how my friends are being affected. I know health suffers when people don’t have enough social life. But lately, I’ve become aware that the medical community has diagnosed cognitive decline as a brain impairment (a purely mechanical thing, perhaps responsive to brain exercises or medication) rather than addressing the decline in interactions and caring. Getting together, doesn’t reduce memory loss, but does put it into a healthier context. Old people who are more connected live a different quality of life.

This issue is probably too vast for one of my Slow Lanes. But, the level of isolation we modern humans live with, is part of our lifestyle being out of balance. I think that the speed of Life we live with, amounts to passing each other by.

Not only that, I think the speed we maintain also means that we have a tendency to pass our selves by.  I am growing more aware of how many people isolate themselves.  I was ethically concerned, as a therapist by the reliance on the consulting room and confidentiality, because they reinforced social isolation. To me, those things had a tendency to undermine community. Now, I’m finding so many people who have adjusted to isolation. They are prone to isolate themselves rather than get themselves out into the social hub-bub, where they can continue being surprised and growing.

My concern about how isolated I am, isn’t so much about my own personal situation right now, as it is about what is going on all around me. I guess I’m a good example of one being affected by the social environment I’m living in.

I go so far as to say, “a person who is socially cut-off (no matter if by oneself, or larger cultural processes) is not actually a whole person.” That may sound harsh, and perhaps is, overly judgmental, but for all practical reasons, if isolation is allowed to prevail, it is too true.