Words and Writing

Yesterday I was contacted by the PR firm of Joel and Charlotte Parker, whom Walkfit has hired to look into the possibility of using me as part of their promotions. In response to their request for personal information about me and to introduce myself as clearly as possible, I emailed the beginning draft of my book, which I figured would give them a quick synopsis of my personal thought processes. While rereading that early draft this morning, the need for certain revisions jumped off the pages like a twist in my gut, so I guess that is the risk of letting things be seen prematurely: there is no bringing them back. I prefer to write and re-write in solitude until I am satisfied that the words and sentences and rhythm are as coherent as I can make them. If other people do not like them after I am finished, at least I can defend them to myself. Now there is a rough draft out there, parts of which are embarrassing to me. At any rate the book is irrelevant to the Walkfit endorsement except in the sense that the insoles cured my sore feet and allowed me to do the walk pain free.
Of course writers are somewhat obsessive-neurotic even-about words, and take them far too seriously while at the same time realizing they are meaningless without the actions to support them. All the words in the world will not stop a war nor save a dying love. I personally have heard too many talking heads in my life not to be a little cynical of what anyone says until they back themselves up with their behaviors. And I long ago stopped writing letters to newspapers because they have seemed useless in affecting public actions, or the editors have butchered words in order to save space. I do not suppose that Van Gogh or Mozart would have appreciated if someone had erased their colors or omitted a few notes. But?...well..I like to write and feel obligated to my God to use that talent,so hopefully someone, somewhere, has been inspired by something I have said if I have said it well.

Aging

While walking today, I thought that were my life not to have been written down or remembered by others, I might conclude that it had never occurred, so sparse is my recollection of it. Those things that I Do remember must be retrieved from a vague, faraway place that is shrouded as if by a mist or fog, and which require my deliberate attention to see clearly. What value then is a life which to it's main participant becomes mostly blank space? Certainly it is nothing specific that I have done or have not done, at least not in the order that I might value it, for often I have been reminded months or years later of the affect of something I had said or done that I had long forgotten or disregarded. Perhaps the only way to fill in the blank spaces is by soliciting the recollections of others and finding a collective value among all of them. Pictures and children and possessions offer physical proof that I have existed where my memory fails me, but when I think that most of human history has been lost or forgotten, it is hard to take too seriously anything I or anyone else has done. There is a collective amnesia to every generation -or entire civilizations -which appears unavoidable so that we repeat the same mistakes and successes as both individuals and societies. Being something of a spiritualist, or at least, a skeptical optimist, I tend to think that the value of a life is measured by the love and tolerance we learn and then return to the world. Not just to humanity, but to the Universe at large as it were. That is a difficult thing to do sometimes, although it appears that good intentions are as important as results...
While watching my 83 year young mother grow older, I have noticed that the blank spaces in her memory have lengthened and become more frequent, so that even five minutes ago may partially vanish from her awareness. Yet I am inspired by her continuing good spirit despite her ailments, so that she has become not a bitter old woman rather a bemused one, and remains able to laugh at her dwindling powers. Something truly good and wonderful has survived in her, and continues to bring value to both herself and those who know her. In that sense there have been no blank spaces and her failing memory is irrelevant to the kind heart she has always shown.

I am currently reading a book called 'The Winds of Change' which argues that civilizations have prospered and collapsed in conjunction with climate change, which may or may not be true. Certainly resource depletion profoundly affects the stability of a society, and sometimes the availability of those resources is affected by climate changes beyond human control. Yet the current debate over climate change is unlikely to change the eventual outcome, because neither individuals nor societies seem willing to alter their lifestyles until a crisis is upon them, and that crisis apparently will arrive despite the warning signs we have all witnessed. Maybe wisdom-or skyrocketing prices -will encourage a reduction in human consumption sufficient to avoid planet wide suffering, but so far most Americans are ignoring the issue in their personal habits, and at any rate, with other societies clamoring for the American lifestyle the breaking point will eventually be reached.
Other than living simply in my personal life, I do not worry much over such possibilities, nor dwell on pessimism, for I see a kind of inevitability to them in our human nature. The planet has endured major environmental catastrophes in the past, so either by our own hand or through some external force, Humans likely will become one more extinct species. If there is anything to conclude it is that it is a shame, simply a shame, that with our intelligence and foresight and capacity to do good we have chosen instead to live so vainly and selfishly. Rather than to have been honorable stewards of our world and lived to our highest potential, we have consistently chosen to waste our potential-not all of us of course, and not always intentionally-but often enough to have created our present predicament. So the population continues to grow, and the oil and the oceans and our other resources continue to be depleted, and so?...The juncture of all these global issues is coming within the lifetime of our children, whether we are ready or not

Summer

August has arrived, with a hot afternoon that would make swimming the wisest of pasttimes, although I-like most people-have been too busy and ingrained in my habits to swim. Instead, I have been working around the office moving old medical charts and trying to write the book in between my usual walk. Actually, I enjoy heat more than cold, and find something animalistic about dripping with sweat on a hot afternoon. It makes me feel alive and potent and better able to touch the primal instincts...in fact, it doesn't get any more Real than defecating out of doors while perspiring heavily as the blowflies come to feed. Such things strip away all the pretensions I have about being 'above' the so called animals- deeply personal and humbling. People sometimes complain of the hot or the cold after walking a short distance from their cars to a building, yet if they allowed themselves sufficient time to acclimate to the outdoors they might find it to be not so hot or cold as they first suspected. Thoreau used to say of his woodpile that it warmed him twice-once to cut the logs and again to burn them- so maybe we should occasionally raise or lower our inner thermostats rather than waste oil. I'm not sure at what age we lose our wisdom and sit in air conditioning rather than cool our feet in a pool or stream, but if resources are becoming as scarce as the scientists tell us, and the atmosphere really is warming, then those alternatives from our past are still there to enjoy.