High T

Ponce de Leon is alive and well! The fountain of youth (for men) has finally been discovered! More testosterone will make them young, vigorous, sculpted, sexy and – of course – much happier than they are .

It’s natural! (So is arsenic.) Pay no attention to those doctors behind the screen muttering about side effects. It’s your life! Make it better !

This culture lives on advertising. Usually I enjoy the commercials and realize that most people have been immunized enough by constant exposure to retain a degree of skepticism. Even when I grew up long ago, comic books had full page ads on how Charles Atlas could help you fight off bullies kicking sand in your face .

Ah, but bodybuilding requires work. Curing “low t” is just a matter of taking a pill or enduring injection. Just like drinking from the fountain of youth. Hey, this smiling face promises, and he looks pretty honest .

We have become a culture looking for easy solutions, maybe because we have little time or energy for complex ones. Slogans to fix social problems. Pills for physical issues .

Hope, if not exactly a fountain, springs eternal.

Infanticide!

There, that got your attention! And such is the real purpose of shock words these days – to condense a slur, rally a slogan, and sometimes promote a hidden message. I remember when students would shout “hey hey LBJ, how many kids did you kill today .”

Some issues are tangled, mysterious, insoluble. Abortion and women’s rights _ or potentially crippled-child rights _ is one of the toughest. Definitions are almost impossible. The world refuses to be solved .

For the record, I am in favor of all children, everywhere, being born normal, healthy, and into circumstances where they are well cared for until their late teens. For the record, in our real world, even if babies are born normal and healthy, society often lets them die or suffer from neglect, starvation, war, disease, or other violence. And genetic luck guarantees that many embryos do not produce normally healthy babies. It used to be far worse – nature was never kind .

But “baby killer” is an effective slur. Nobody wants to be so labeled. The problem is that those who use it are – like those anti-war demonstrators – really pursuing a deeper agenda One in which it is the duty of women to produce and raise children and leave the rest of the stuff to men.

I dislike such people and their agenda. Perhaps one day I too will have to find something simplistic to shout back. Isn’t that really the true problem with our civilization? Not stupidity, not evil, just fatigue at complex, seemingly insoluble, issues .

The Good Life

A list of what constitutes a “good life” is almost infinite. Security, health, purpose, achievement and all kinds of immediate desires driven by situation and often stoked by envy. Constructing a comprehensive list would be impossible .

Nor does it help that our mercurial consciousness juggles the proportions all the time. If we are very secure, we may desire adventure. If we have all we could possibly want all the time we may be bored. As we age, the possibilities and strength of desires mutate deeply .

Often in younger days there are immediate massive problems that overwhelm all others. Some are illusions, but they seem real at the time. At times the jumble is so chaotic that our wishes become simple, like just getting a decent meal or a good night’s sleep .

So for an elder to outline “a good life” to anyone else – especially someone less old – is malicious. One thing I think becomes clear wisdom is that conditions vary, and the past is rarely a reliable guide in matters of the soul. Anyway, there are enough puffed up guides out there to satisfy anyone’s curiosity. I wouldn’t trust them -, but then, I’m not you .

I adjust and remember and immerse myself in my own “good life” and wish you luck with yours .

Live Long or Live Well

In our competitive society, there once existed a group of people who firmly believed “he who dies with the most toys wins.” Now that everyone has too many toys, that has mutated into “he who lives longest wins.”

Even in the dim and ancient past, aristocrats and rulers frantically tried to live “forever”. They would eat gold, jade, mercury. Perform rigorous and/or disgusting rites. Indulge in the latest fad – oxygen, radioactivity, fasting, exercise. They wanted to extend their pleasant lives indefinitely, regardless of how that quest might degrade their immediate happiness .

As fairy tales frequently point out, the fly in the ointment was exactly what such an extension would involve. Does anyone really want an eternity as a typical 110-year-old crone, crippled in body, deprived of senses, in constant pain, or barely aware of being human ?

The whole point of having consciousness is to react well in the moment. Perhaps to simply enjoy, perhaps to try for a better future. To fully engage where you exist is itself a kind of eternity _ the only true “reality” we ever experience between memories of the past and visions of the future .

Reasonable attempts to extend living well are commendable. Obsessive focus on distant future possible life extension probably destroys appreciation of actual existence and replaces it with the hollow vision of dreams.

Face Blind

In an era of mass production and conformity, it may be easy to forget how different people actually are – both physically and mentally. And how that shapes their outlook on the world. Individuals are treated very much as if they are the proverbial “bricks in the wall,” identical in possibility and hope .

Of course when we think about it that is not true. Short people simply will not be basketball stars. And so on. Talents and handicaps vary. Much depends on the time and situation into which one is born. That is all common sense, easily agreed on. What it means and how much it is actually important is a whole other matter.

As a trivial example I am face blind – I cannot recognize people from their visage. Not really much of a problem, but it tended to limit me to being comfortable only in small groups and otherwise treating everyone as anonymous strangers. Today, with virtual AI eyeglasses doing facial recognition, it would even be correctable, like lenses for 20/20 vision. But in my times, I realize it truly shaped my response to life .

I worry, then, that the iron homogenization of computerized capitalistic rule is ignoring such basic human facts. A society composed of people finds ways to deal with such diversity. Rigid “scientific” silicon-based laws may not .

Sanity

Most people feel it is good to be sane most of the time, although a bit of madness now and then may be useful. But to which sanity do we refer ?

Sanity could be defined as how well we integrate with reality. But realities differ. Our internal reality (based on our perceptions) may not be that of others around us. A paranoid, for example, believes he is sane. But no doubt the first test of sanity is if we ourselves believe we are acting appropriately for our environment .

That gets tricky as social environment varies. What I think is sanity may not match at all what others are doing. Fortunately humans adjust well, and can usually adapt to the general cultural perspective, no matter how weird it may seem at first.

But sometimes other people do seem crazy. Proverbially your mother would ask “if your friends all jump off of a cliff would you have to?” There is a logical internal sanity based on “higher values” – God, science, logic, experience – whatever .

All these (and probably more) get thrown into the mix, possibly consciously, possibly not. And then – how do we judge if we are sane or not? Survival? Happiness? Success? Smugness? And what degree, what color or odor the eventual resolution ?

Such a simple thought. Except that all of us are very complicated indeed .

Medium Well

“All things in moderation. Even moderation.” A wise saying. Living as an uncaring Buddhist saint, ignoring the world, has always struck me as early death. A few extremes add spice to existence .

There are complaints that today is different. We are buffeted by uncontrollable forces. Internet adds to higher highs, lower lows, rabbit holes, and destructive fantasies. It is impossible to be “moderate” in such an environment .

However, that is usually expressed by some of the most pampered people who ever lived. Warm, dry, well fed, with electricity and other comforts not imagined by those living a few centuries ago. The whining of such spoiled brats is very annoying .

Our ancestors faced genuine extremes every day, every year, almost all of them potentially fatal. There was never a better logical reason to “live well today for tomorrow we die.” Disease, disaster, hopeless fate. And yet – they kept an even keel. Mostly .

I’ve adopted a schizophrenic approach. For local matters over which I have control (eg eating, exercise) I continue the advice of “moderation”. For all that “media” hoopla I’m more like the monk, observing but fully dissociated.

As I think of it, medium well done.

Tranquility

In our fortunate era, one can do many things, play many roles, in fact be different persons over time. We recognize standard stages of life – childhood, adolescence, young adult, middle-aged, senior, elder – and the various career changes one can make. But our very being can also transmute .

Tranquility is not a revered goal of our culture. It’s more important to be upset, to strive, to be unsatisfied with what is and work to change things for the better. For most of those stages of life, being tranquil is dangerously close to being a lazy good for nothing .

But elders _ well, little is expected at this declining energies and thoughts. Attempts by old folks to do great things is at best comical and at worst annoying and tragic. Tranquility fits those who otherwise get in the way of progress .

I confess to buying into this somewhat. Ever since I read Innocents Abroad as a boy, I realized that younger people who accept life however awful it may be are more to be pitied than envied. I hardly ever sought tranquility, preferring even painful activity to doing nothing .

But now? I’m afraid I am still not quite tranquil, although I have slowed, appreciate the moments, and try not to regret all the many things I can no longer do. Such acceptance, I suppose, is close to tranquility. Or laziness, of course.