Fire Next Door

Unfortunately, this is not a metaphor. The other day, smoke started coming out of the garage in the ranch house across the road from us. By the time the firefighters had arrived in these suburbs and put it out, the whole place and it’ belongings were ruined. Apparently it is a total loss and must be torn down and rebuilt .

It is a strong reminder of the force of fortune. The owner had for years poured a stream of money into improvements _ so much so that my wife and I were sometimes annoyed at the constant activity, noise, and trucks blocking our driveway across the narrow old street. No matter, gone literally with the wind. Up in smoke .

And of course I sit here and realize that there but for the grace of God go I. Nothing obviously stupid caused the blaze. Bad luck, a wayward electric spark perhaps. But nobody could sit back and think “if only” .

There is insurance, and the owner claims to want to rebuild. But lots of memories are gone, and no doubt the sense of security once enjoyed. Everything in their world changed in a couple of hours .

If it were not so terrible, it would be a terrific remedial tonic to cure hubris .

Certified versus Experienced

Now that hiring is solely based on “merit”, it is useful to ask what, exactly, signifies “merit”. In a lot of cases that is otherwise described as nepotism, social class, or presentation. Proof that one is a member of the existing tribe. But let’s pretend “merit” means how well one can do the job required.

Throughout history, the main measure – outside of actual performance once hired – has been experience. What someone has done and how well they have done it is almost always the main traditional criteria of “merit”, even if the skill is simply being flexible enough to learn new skills, or showing up on time. The normal route for all that until very recently was apprenticeship .

Today, increasingly specialized experience can be hard to come by, so learning with eventual “certification” became common. It worked a little. But most trades and professions want to be in a guild – which turned out to be well served by erecting barriers to entry involving more and more numerous and baroque certificates.

Certification often fails miserably in telling how meritorious a job candidate is, but it certainly thins down the stream of job seekers. And it’s self-serving since the last employee in wants new applicants to “at least go through what they did” .

The only folks who love all this are the lawyers. And the teachers. For the most part, newbies entering good professions are now facing that tried and true nepotism, social class, and presentation – plastered over with certification .

Age and Tide

There are multiple ways to turn any natural observation into a metaphor for our lives. Having lived near the sea for most of my life, I am well aware of tides. Age often leaves us casting about for glimmers of cosmic understanding wherever they may occur.

The most famous metaphor is of course King Canute, ordering the tide to cease. A symbol of the uselessness of trying to prevent the inevitable. More deeply, a warning of how stupid it looks to attempt what common sense knows is impossible .

But there is also the idea of ebb and flow, high and low, translated to good times and bad. There will be in any life joy and pain, both of which usually pass one to another in a complex but inevitable rhythm .

For an older person, however, there is yet another lesson, which relates to deceptive normality. The high water mark is indicated with only minor variations day to day and season to season. But suddenly that can change in storm or tsunami, and rage well beyond what we thought we understood as limits. Leaving behind destruction and _ of course _ death .

So here we are, metaphor in hand. Is this next problem merely a usual tide or something worse?

It’s easy to become anxious when the predictable breaks the rules .

Optimism

I try to be an optimistic person. I generally believe that things will work out for the best. It makes my life happier .

Yet there is a world of ambiguity in any concept such as “optimism”. To begin with, nobody can know anything about the future. Beyond that, exactly what “things” am I selecting for prediction? And what I mean by “best” may in no way relate to what you consider good. No need to belabor the issue. Like “beautiful,” it is a concept that seems to mean something to everyone, but can hardly be pinned down. Nevertheless, I remain an optimistic person .

I try to pick things that have some actual relevance to my personal well-being. I can be optimistic, for example, that I will enjoy dinner tonight. And by a magic mind trick, I could even be optimistic if I think the dinner will be awful – because it will soon be over !

There are infinite outcomes to choose from, and many ways to wonder what might be “best”. Instantly we bog down into dreamy lists and semantics .

At my age the key is really careful selection of discreetly small things, in a pretty short time frame. And a concept of “best” that reduces to how much worse it could be .

I’m an optimist, but hopefully not a complete fool.

Best of my Possible

Surrounded by babel about infinite multiverses, I have my own fantasy that my soul manages to navigate, pick and choose among them. A thread aware of the past and future, trying for an optimum path in what we call time, freezing yet another life in some new groove, or maybe just replaying it .

It’s all philosophic twaddle of course. I don’t really buy into the multiverse. No idea what time really is, but pretty sure that mostly what we experience is some form of underlying reality. Nobody knows. Nobody can know. I don’t care except in idle daydreams .

It’s been a very fortunate life, so I have the luxury of imagining I live in the best of all possible worlds – for me. My very own best possible life, unconcerned with all the other possibilities.

Oh, of course, much of that outlook is constructed by skillful editing, shaping nostalgia to focus on silver linings, “accentuating the positive”. No apologies. It’s a nice way to view the world, at least as one grows ever more elderly .

Each day now I can look back with fondness, enjoy some happy memories, and not worry at all about what I must do nor regret opportunities lost. I suppose all that is simply symptomatic of truly losing my mind .

Modern Socialism

Politicians are once again concerned about “socialism” almost as much as they were about “communism” in days of yore. They predict bread lines in New York, no houses for anyone, and dust and empty shelves for all. Just as in the USSR, China under Mao, North Korea now. That economic vision (whatever it is) has been proved by history to fail .

Yet today, there are elements of socialism everywhere, as there are elements of capitalistic free enterprise almost everywhere. There are few bread lines, and few any worse than in the “food pantries” set up for the (more fortunate) indigent in the United States .

The fact is that none of these systems is as it once was. Socialism, communism, capitalism are all far different in current practice than their conceptions of 100 years ago. The ongoing industrial and information revolutions have changed economics mightily. A world of (at least temporary) abundance based on possible ecologic disaster fails to fit any of the classic patterns.

What is unfortunate is that every thinker with an ax to grind pulls out the old unvarnished philosophies instead of coming up with something new, positive, and relevant. Our current drift may sooner rather than later be disastrous .

Joy of Surprise

Many times in my life I have purposely tried not to overprepare. Careful planning and study can dull the joy. At least for good things, I have always appreciated surprises .

Now that I began drawing again., I have gone through the usual process of learning to be an artist. At first I was overwhelmed and fearful at making “mistakes”. Then with practice, I was able to concentrate on the general shape of what I was trying to do .

The true reward is beginning to arrive after 6 months of mostly concentrated effort. Some of the things I do are once again surprising me. My intuition kicks in and spontaneously adds a doodle or line, which turns out to be quite interesting. My hands almost guide themselves as I pay more attention to the general vision of what I want. And at some point, as I finish up, I am happily surprised at the result. At least some of the time …

When folks speak of becoming like a child, they often mean being able to play. Surprise is a part of that. I merely extend that to utilize it in other areas of my life .

These days it is much too easy to know (or think we know) too much. Sometimes, ignorance can truly provide bliss.

Matisse

I suspect most people walk into a room, glance around, and when they find nothing threatening nor astonishing, begin to concentrate on whatever purpose at hand. I myself tend to ignore most wall decorations out of rush and habit. And, after all, paintings are really just simple wall decorations.

That’s why I like Matisse. Unlike artists who wish to make us look, try to change our character, to disturb the bourgeois, or to follow some obscure vision, Matisse accepts being a relaxing wall decoration. A beautiful and amazing wall decoration, to be sure, but no more than that.

Matisse is no simple artist. His pictures do reward long and deep study. There is always nuance in the deceptively simple presentations. But if you do not feel the nuance, his paintings are also just lovely background. A lot like nature itself .

I admit a preference for bold colors and strong drawing which he consistently delivers. Blended subtlety must be left for others. His work is usually joyful, exuberant, and makes one smile when it is noticed .

In a world of acid religions, societies, and politics, it is refreshing to contemplate his world of “lux, calme, et volupte.”

Barbarians

The Greeks called those outside their linguistic tribe “barbarians” because their language sounded like “bar bar bar” (or “blah blah blah”) nonsense. The name stuck for anyone not abiding by the “civilized” rules _ implicit and explicit _ of any given society. Being a barbarian is in the eye of the beholder .

“Uncivilized” attitudes and behaviors from those within a tribe are more difficult. For the most part, that comes down to ignoring laws and customs and saving a special treatment (good and bad) for friends and family. Living and possibly ruling by petulant whim .

Obviously not all barbarians arrive from “outside” like Attila the Hun. Internal monsters and their gang are frequent interruptions in “the march of progress” which includes peace and prosperity. More importantly, civilization implies a stable or rising economic framework and basic security for its members.

Once a barbarian clique gains power, it is difficult to dislodge, since it uses all the leverage of the state to maintain position. It seems most such situations are resolved more by internal squabbles and knives than by anybody legally replacing them. And on occasion a violent revolution. Or, of course, outside invaders.

The best hope for those trapped in a culture captured by barbarians is to lie low and hope they quickly eliminate each other .

Coda

July 4th was a family gathering, senior generations, young adults, grandchildren. As the younger folks spoke of ambitions, hassles, fears and the future, the elders reminisced about what had been and how magically much of life had happened .

Then the party ended and we elders went back to whatever normal lives we each inhabit. And I realized that in this culture – at least for the more fortunate – old age is a kind of coda on reality .

Finally we are free of admonitions about what to do, what we must do, especially what we are supposed to do. Mostly the young – even as they love us dearly – want us to stay out of the way as they race along their narrow paths .

Earlier, that was somewhat frustrating, as we were used to racing ourselves. But sometime in our late ’70s, life truly slows into rocking chair time at least for stretches of our days, however much we may regret it .

And what we learned at the party was to pull out the old memories and nostalgia and personal tales, since it is as raconteurs that the young treasure us most .