oh, to be relevant in this world.

or our world. or any world for that matter.

Commenced with the herculean attempt to catch up on a three month backlog of New Yorkers today. Decided to go backwards, so I opened the May 9th issue. oh what a frisson of pleasure it is to read this worthy magazine. oh my secret reveries of someday being published in *whisper* THE New Yorker. le sigh. but back to topic at hand. in talk of the town, reading a snippet entitled "Fish Story", discussing Ted Danson and his recent book "Oceana: Our Endangered Oceans and What We Can Do to Save Them". blah; no strike that ... all a most worthy endeavor and perhaps fodder for a future discussion.

but the masses pap TV series he is in "Bored To Death" discussion contained the quote which immediately inspired me. One small paragraph where Danson discusses his character, George, and how he relates to him. After reading it, I had to go grab my little ordi and start my random flow of randomness. hopefully it will lead to something.

ok, here it is. Danson shares that "The one constant in George is that desperate need of a sixty-three-year_old to still be relevant in the world."

this resonated not only with Danson, but immediately with me. First off, it makes sense, that view of someone beginning (optimistic view of today's youthful culture!) to age and the feelings of invisibility, irrelevance.

I have read many women who state this feeling ... the feeling of creeping invisibility as they lose that prime pitch of supple feminine youth ... I think this invisibility could also be categorized as relevance. For a women, her sexual vibrance and femininity often equates to her self-image and feeling of relevance in this world. I think discovering successful replacements for this external characteristic is key to a transition in self-image and confidence as we age. Not to mention the fact that older women can be some of the sexiest bitches on the planet. ha. but I digress.

So men struggle with this too. Albeit, likely later in the party than women do as it relates to aging and sexual vibrance. But also in terms of career, metiér, etc. As Ben Harper puts it, "there's always someone younger, someone with more hunger"...

Yes I see this in my daily life as well. like the fellows who are chafing at life's reins at the moment, lost. when I read this quote, I did think of those guys I know. In the context of this feminine characteristic I described (not solely feminine as I see it), they seem stuck in their self-image of the handsome playboy ... always a pretty young woman on their arm and yet a stable of every age standing by to dote on them as well. Their charm and devil may care attitude are magnetic and women are drawn to them like moths to a flame. Caught in that youthful pattern of greedily sampling all at the buffet, unable to say no until nearly sick and exhausted of the choices. As the years pass, all the dishes begin to look the same so the search for new temptations becomes more frenetic. None seem to satisfy. And somewhere along the way, the beautiful young women have found other options. The young loves they let slip through their fingers are now mourned. Greed having betrayed them, they find themselves sad .. alone .. and possibly, irrelevant because they have equated such superficiality to their personal relevance! all the while, seemingly oblivious to the many other qualities and capabilities that could provide longlasting and truly satisfying meaning in their lives.

I have seen this before, particularly with the fellows who have a fear of commitment. They have convinced themselves otherwise ... can't be "tied down", they are "free spirits" etc. They become stuck in this cycle and wake up one day, the laughing stock dude down at the dance club, trying to score girls 20? 30? or more years younger! sure they might from time to time, if their pockets are full. I sincerely hope my friends finally avoid this and find new paths to pursue.

But is the desperate need to still feel relevant in this world relegated to humans of a certain age? or is it what drives many of us? particularly the educated population of the world ?

Perhaps inspiring this need, the mere potential that all of us can find a way to be relevant in the world ... perhaps that could steady the world somewhat. When I reflect upon some of the greater nations in the world, my unscientific observation is those that invest in their citizens, particularly their youth through education ... these nations experience an overall uplifting of their population. Through education, lower and upper, we are exposed to ideas and possibilities. The broader the range of topics, the greater the chance that a grain will be planted that inspires a young individual towards a passion in life. some sort of relevance in their world.

when this doesn't happen, we find ourselves floating, hopefully treading water at least. but not finding a rewarding internal satisfaction that comes from ending the day having done something meaningful.

I have spent more years than I would have liked on the merry-go-round, unfulfilled. Even worse than to experience a desire to be relevant in the world is that absolute awareness that one's life pursuit is without meaning or real contribution. once you feel irrelevant and yet do not seek change, oh the internal misery! If it hadn't been for the gift of my two children and the knowledge that the earnings I received from my daily drudgery was allowing me to raise them with more options than I had ... well my desperation index would have been much higher!!!

and now. well these past few years have been a gift in terms of rediscovering my own relevance to myself. frankly , that is what I think is most important. eventually one might be relevant in one's circle. or community. or even the world. but first and foremost, we have to find our own self-relevance. and then live up to it.

spending a life seeking relevance on your friends' or society's measure is a false pursuit and can only lead to misery, unless you die clinging to your delusions. It takes courage to examine and embrace your internal purpose and desire, and then find the path to achieve them. In many of our cultures, you will be discouraged from your dream. you will be told you will fail. that you will be alone, an outsider. but that is mostly others' fear and envy speaking. just think, if you are finding relevance in your path less travelled, what does that say to the masses?

so in conclusion ... ha, what can I say? life's answers can be found in The New Yorker?! heh heh, perhaps. but also, to take the quote of Ben Harper a little further, "There's always someone younger, someone with more hunger. Don' t let it take the fight outta you". get out there and find your relevance.

peace out for now kiddos. I'm back!

reverie.

Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina

There was no water at my grandfather's
when I was a kid and would go for it
with two zinc buckets. Down the path,
past the cow by the foundation where
the fine people's house was before
they arranged to have it burned down.
To the neighbor's cool well. Would
come back with pails too heavy,
so my mouth pulled out of shape.
I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides
of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me.

~Jack Gilbert

I read this poem in the November 10, 2008 issue of The New Yorker (an indulgence I've yet to set aside in my new life abroad). It touched me in ways that surprised me. At first this segment resonated ...

"I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides
of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me."

As I reread the poem, I was transported back to a summer at my great-grandparents' house in Roseburg, Oregon. I was 12 or so and had a first glimpse of, heretofore unexperienced, freedom.

I was free to stay at a new girlfriend's house. Boys loitered on the curb like vultures who had somehow spotted a fresh kill, circling..circling. We first swam in her pool ... a luxury to me compounded by the fact that there was no fundamentalist cult member judging my swimsuit, my swimstroke or the decibels of my laughter. After we finished our swim and donned cut-off jeans we made our way out to the curb and conspired to take a walk to the river.

The poet Gilbert's words urged me on to attempt to 'see myself. keep trying to feel who I was.' Perhaps I had a little more success or perhaps those were just his words, not his feelings attempted.

As I think about that day walking down to the river, a hot stifling August summer day, I can almost resurrect certain moments. The dust we kicked up as we walked the path, and how it settled down as we got deeper into the woods bordering the river. The smell of the greenery that began to emerge from the trees and fern nearer the water. The sweat trickling down my already dry back. The excitement I felt walking alongside that 13 year old boy, John Alsen was his name.

I thought I understood this boy, whose father was a preacher, a hard mean man who liked to humiliate his kids into submission. John's father had caught him in some harmless yet forbidden act and had shaved his head ... all save a Hare Krishna like pony-tail sprout at the top that he bound in a band. John was as hard headed as he could be, in return. He joked about his ponytail and embraced it, ruining the satisfaction for his father who eventually chopped it off ... irritated.

John and I walked companionably down the path and it wasn't long before I felt his hand take mine. I was speechless and excited and about as near to being in love as a 12 year old can be. The group of us spent the afternoon swinging high over the river, revelling in those moments of being airborne just before we hit water in a shock of cool relief and swam lazily back to shore.

At dusk, we'd had enough and stood on the banks jostling a bit and passing a few stolen cigarettes. The red ember glowed and we all felt that sense of being there ... right there on the edge of everything that adult possibilities present in the mind of a teen. John's arm slipped round my waist and we stole a quick kiss. We made our way back to the neighborhood, up the path, mosquitos buzzing, crickets in the distance. Arms around each other's waists.

For several days, this afternoon beamed bright in my mind, a young girl's flight of fancy. Back at my grandparent's house ... I enjoyed the dull routine of cooking, sewing, walking in to town ... and dreaming about young John Alsen.

Home with them one afternoon, the phone rang. It was another of the boys from the group that night.

"Hey Kim ... whatcha doin'? I heard you had fun the other night. John says he got a piece of tit ..." I slammed the phone down. Shaking. Red. Understanding I wasn't going to ever hear from John or speak to him again ...

Carefully made my way to my room. Closed the door to contemplate the ways of love. The ways of love in the real world versus a young girl's reverie.

And yes, Jack Gilbert, I hear the sounds of me.