Your reflection on a life timeline gave me pause. Every once in a while I am made aware that the days ahead are far fewer than those behind. That realization is enough for me. The timeline is a bit graphic in pointing out the inexorable way to dusty death. Really? Only that much possible time left?
While I do see that our lives are the sum of our choices in many ways, I think they are much more. When I think of my life as a series of events, milestones, forks in the road, decisions on which path to take, a linear depiction is useful. As we look back it’s easy to see a line connecting those events. And when I look at the line of my past it isn’t very straight.
When I put myself at the Red Cup, the present, and look forward, that line is less clear. Rather than Frost’s pastoral metaphor of clear choice, I prefer to envision the growth of our neural network. As we move forward in life we’re often like a dendrite reaching out in intercellular space to find a new connection. While that dendrite makes this one synapse it also makes many others. The experience of life is a marvelous network of interconnections. Many of those connections are timeless. Through memory they exist in any given moment. We have chosen to define our lives by the clock, and are limited by a finite biological life, but while alive our experience is not always linear.
Even when we choose the path forward it may not limit the possibilities of the future. While I have viewed some of my life choices as having taken the path ‘no step had trodden black’, often I backtrack, revisit, circle back and try another route. Some experiences may be limited by time and opportunity, but many others are not. But of course if I have a clear goal in mind, or if I’m in a hurry, I hop on the interstate. Even then unforeseen circumstances may lead to a detour, hopefully it will be a new adventure and not waiting by the roadside for the tow truck.
Our fabulous human memory is what allows us to construct our life as a timeline and also to see it as a network of experience. I experience being unbound by the Red Cup of the moment most often when I am biking or hiking. The right environmental conditions, weather, smells, lighting will trigger memories that are then integrated into the experience of the moment. I am riding along a shaded Vermont road, the air is humid, the temperature mild, the sky clear, and the smell of earth fills my senses. At that moment I’m transported to a lane in Italy, 30 years ago. The experiences are connected for me in that moment, timeless.
Getting to the Red Cup has been rife with injuries and insults. At this vantage point the paths forward appear to be limited by the resulting aches and pains experience have wrought, and not by the pruning shears. If I ever end up on the other side of the dock, let’s go have a drink while we still can.
This is an amazing essay. Thanks for taking the time. I have been thinking about it since I read it a week ago. The dendrite analogy is a useful counter to my image. Making connections is what we do when we move forward. We generate as we go, leaving behind the consequences of our connections, is how I might reframe my theory. That's more encouraging than looking behind and seeing a length of sand.
You get the Comment of the Year commendation. I'll send it in the mail.
❤️ this, Stew. Your writing, questions, and visuals, remind me of a time earlier this month, when Brenan and I were sitting around a dying fire in our backyard after the last of the guests, and neighbors, had left. He spoke, which is uncharacteristic of him when he's sitting by an outdoor fire, saying, "Forty years. That's how long we've lived now, yet how brief it feels."
We hosted this backyard hangout in honor of neighbors who were about to leave for 6 months. It's a tradition we've had with them for the last few summers. During those three or so hours, we reminisced about how quickly time passes and things change (people come, people go). One of our mutual friends informed us of another friend's recent loss. Her mother had unexpectedly passed in her home a few days prior. Her mother's house is only a few blocks from ours.
The last two guests to leave were the youngest ones, Lucy (7) and Thorsten (11). As their dad, Eric, whistled from two yards down, signaling it was time for them to go to bed, and I watched them leave, I felt like I was in two places at once. One, where I've experienced this very scene the last few summers, but with younger versions of these two kids, and another, standing where I was, saying goodbye to them until we see each other again in six months. And it struck me, as it often does these days, that the one constant through this passage of human time, is the land around us; our backyard that bears witness and holds us. Much like the beach you chose to do your timeline visual on...
What a lovely moment, beautifully retold. It’s like a meta moment, when one steps briefly back from the movement of life and see an underlying meaning, significance.
Stew, I love your reflections. What a quote: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life?" I think we are fortunate to have life transitions that allow us the space to reflect with new eyes in new circumstances what agency we have and possibility to name and work toward some of these things we want to do, to leave for this earth and our loved ones in the remainder of our possibly 4,000 weeks. I have some writing projects in me that I feel are part of my destiny still to unfold. My brother and I have talked about these kinds of things. It reminds me of this quote he shared with me: Don't fear taking a big step when one is needed. You can't cross a chasm in two small jumps. Also, in your subtitle/dek is mentioned giving up on all others. Sometimes not all. Sometimes just different, and many hopes and possibilities can be carried forward. Warmly, Paula
Thanks, Paula. I’d like to think some of this writing brings focus to others. This is a huge transition for me. The “chasm” quote is fitting. I’m still in the fear stage. I thought about the tag line - about leaving all other choices behind. Of course you are right, in that we have capacity for carrying forth more than one dream. I think I fell under the influence of “the catchy, alarming headline”, versus a more measured phrase. Thanks for suggesting the closer truth. I’m glad you have your brother to share these kinds of thoughts. That is very special.
Thought-provoking reflections, Stew, some I hope to remember long term, with "4,000 weeks--shorthand for life is too short" at the top of the list.
I'm curious about the tension in some of your words (speaking of choices): giving up on, pruning off future possibilities, increasingly bereft...
While it can certainly be said that later life brings fewer options, I wonder whether some become more available with age. Making peace with what has gone before and with what comes next is its own kind of freedom. The future doesn't have to carry every possibility to remain meaningful. Perhaps the last nine steps, inshallah (another word that stood out), are every bit as open to possibility as any that came before them, so long as we're looking for fulfillment in places where we're likely to find it.
I suppose that's what's happening in the hypothetical journal entry. I guess what I'm saying is that maybe the dog's name is Q-tip, or Diesel. 😅
Looking back on the essay, I don’t seem to answer the question I posed about whether possibilities open up or close down. The answer is, of course, it's both. “Making peace with what’s gone before” is not where my old(er) mind goes first; but why not? If I believe in options at any age, maybe I will see them.
Thank you for sharing that perspective.
As for the dog’s name, there are so many possibilities. Though the small white shape of a dog would more likely be Q-tip. I had to laugh to myself, imagining the owner calling to his cotton-puff of a dog “Here, Diesel!”
Reflections on a Red Cup
Your reflection on a life timeline gave me pause. Every once in a while I am made aware that the days ahead are far fewer than those behind. That realization is enough for me. The timeline is a bit graphic in pointing out the inexorable way to dusty death. Really? Only that much possible time left?
While I do see that our lives are the sum of our choices in many ways, I think they are much more. When I think of my life as a series of events, milestones, forks in the road, decisions on which path to take, a linear depiction is useful. As we look back it’s easy to see a line connecting those events. And when I look at the line of my past it isn’t very straight.
When I put myself at the Red Cup, the present, and look forward, that line is less clear. Rather than Frost’s pastoral metaphor of clear choice, I prefer to envision the growth of our neural network. As we move forward in life we’re often like a dendrite reaching out in intercellular space to find a new connection. While that dendrite makes this one synapse it also makes many others. The experience of life is a marvelous network of interconnections. Many of those connections are timeless. Through memory they exist in any given moment. We have chosen to define our lives by the clock, and are limited by a finite biological life, but while alive our experience is not always linear.
Even when we choose the path forward it may not limit the possibilities of the future. While I have viewed some of my life choices as having taken the path ‘no step had trodden black’, often I backtrack, revisit, circle back and try another route. Some experiences may be limited by time and opportunity, but many others are not. But of course if I have a clear goal in mind, or if I’m in a hurry, I hop on the interstate. Even then unforeseen circumstances may lead to a detour, hopefully it will be a new adventure and not waiting by the roadside for the tow truck.
Our fabulous human memory is what allows us to construct our life as a timeline and also to see it as a network of experience. I experience being unbound by the Red Cup of the moment most often when I am biking or hiking. The right environmental conditions, weather, smells, lighting will trigger memories that are then integrated into the experience of the moment. I am riding along a shaded Vermont road, the air is humid, the temperature mild, the sky clear, and the smell of earth fills my senses. At that moment I’m transported to a lane in Italy, 30 years ago. The experiences are connected for me in that moment, timeless.
Getting to the Red Cup has been rife with injuries and insults. At this vantage point the paths forward appear to be limited by the resulting aches and pains experience have wrought, and not by the pruning shears. If I ever end up on the other side of the dock, let’s go have a drink while we still can.
This is an amazing essay. Thanks for taking the time. I have been thinking about it since I read it a week ago. The dendrite analogy is a useful counter to my image. Making connections is what we do when we move forward. We generate as we go, leaving behind the consequences of our connections, is how I might reframe my theory. That's more encouraging than looking behind and seeing a length of sand.
You get the Comment of the Year commendation. I'll send it in the mail.
❤️ this, Stew. Your writing, questions, and visuals, remind me of a time earlier this month, when Brenan and I were sitting around a dying fire in our backyard after the last of the guests, and neighbors, had left. He spoke, which is uncharacteristic of him when he's sitting by an outdoor fire, saying, "Forty years. That's how long we've lived now, yet how brief it feels."
We hosted this backyard hangout in honor of neighbors who were about to leave for 6 months. It's a tradition we've had with them for the last few summers. During those three or so hours, we reminisced about how quickly time passes and things change (people come, people go). One of our mutual friends informed us of another friend's recent loss. Her mother had unexpectedly passed in her home a few days prior. Her mother's house is only a few blocks from ours.
The last two guests to leave were the youngest ones, Lucy (7) and Thorsten (11). As their dad, Eric, whistled from two yards down, signaling it was time for them to go to bed, and I watched them leave, I felt like I was in two places at once. One, where I've experienced this very scene the last few summers, but with younger versions of these two kids, and another, standing where I was, saying goodbye to them until we see each other again in six months. And it struck me, as it often does these days, that the one constant through this passage of human time, is the land around us; our backyard that bears witness and holds us. Much like the beach you chose to do your timeline visual on...
What a lovely moment, beautifully retold. It’s like a meta moment, when one steps briefly back from the movement of life and see an underlying meaning, significance.
Stew, I love your reflections. What a quote: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life?" I think we are fortunate to have life transitions that allow us the space to reflect with new eyes in new circumstances what agency we have and possibility to name and work toward some of these things we want to do, to leave for this earth and our loved ones in the remainder of our possibly 4,000 weeks. I have some writing projects in me that I feel are part of my destiny still to unfold. My brother and I have talked about these kinds of things. It reminds me of this quote he shared with me: Don't fear taking a big step when one is needed. You can't cross a chasm in two small jumps. Also, in your subtitle/dek is mentioned giving up on all others. Sometimes not all. Sometimes just different, and many hopes and possibilities can be carried forward. Warmly, Paula
Thanks, Paula. I’d like to think some of this writing brings focus to others. This is a huge transition for me. The “chasm” quote is fitting. I’m still in the fear stage. I thought about the tag line - about leaving all other choices behind. Of course you are right, in that we have capacity for carrying forth more than one dream. I think I fell under the influence of “the catchy, alarming headline”, versus a more measured phrase. Thanks for suggesting the closer truth. I’m glad you have your brother to share these kinds of thoughts. That is very special.
Thought-provoking reflections, Stew, some I hope to remember long term, with "4,000 weeks--shorthand for life is too short" at the top of the list.
I'm curious about the tension in some of your words (speaking of choices): giving up on, pruning off future possibilities, increasingly bereft...
While it can certainly be said that later life brings fewer options, I wonder whether some become more available with age. Making peace with what has gone before and with what comes next is its own kind of freedom. The future doesn't have to carry every possibility to remain meaningful. Perhaps the last nine steps, inshallah (another word that stood out), are every bit as open to possibility as any that came before them, so long as we're looking for fulfillment in places where we're likely to find it.
I suppose that's what's happening in the hypothetical journal entry. I guess what I'm saying is that maybe the dog's name is Q-tip, or Diesel. 😅
Looking back on the essay, I don’t seem to answer the question I posed about whether possibilities open up or close down. The answer is, of course, it's both. “Making peace with what’s gone before” is not where my old(er) mind goes first; but why not? If I believe in options at any age, maybe I will see them.
Thank you for sharing that perspective.
As for the dog’s name, there are so many possibilities. Though the small white shape of a dog would more likely be Q-tip. I had to laugh to myself, imagining the owner calling to his cotton-puff of a dog “Here, Diesel!”
Here, Diesel!
See? The possibilities for wonder are wide open. :)
thanks Stew; thought-provoking, as usual. No doubt that the steps/weeks/years ahead will be full of many kinds of meaning for you and yours.
I’m counting on making the choices that will help that come about.