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.

Magic

When I was a boy, “magic” had been confined to church. After world war II, everyone assumed “Yankee ingenuity” could fix anything, often with little more than “string and bailing wire”. Farm boys were all mechanical geniuses, City kids knew how to outfox anybody. All was – or would soon be – knowable and under control .

As examples, we fixed our own flat tires, changed oil. When a TV or radio didn’t function, I’d take vacuum tubes out to test and buy at Radio Shack. Even later, I knew how transistor “gates” worked and could program in binary (zeros and ones) or assembly. TV or newspaper news was limited, trustworthy, opinion confined to editorial pages .

Now? It’s all magic. Even mechanics can’t fix new cars, God himself couldn’t repair a broken circuit board. I have no idea how quantum computers work, nor how AI is programmed. And all sources of “news” are slanted and suspect .

In fact, once again, we inhabit a world of magic as profound and (possibly) as dark as anything in the Middle Ages. We know how to (mostly) talk and provide services for money, shop, consume, and be entertained. A few “experts” know a lot – or claim they know a lot – about increasingly tiny bits of esoterica .

That makes the residual child in me quite uneasy. Without understanding I still believe real control is impossible .

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.

“Good Things”

My wife is always suggesting that we should “partake of the good things in life.” The implication, of course, is that we do not do so often enough, and also that we may be unable to do so in the future. It’s not really unexpected because we do lead a fairly comfortable, sedentary existence.

I find “partake” a fairly cute little word. It conjures images of aristocratic ballrooms or excursions in exotic lands. I never think of folks as “partaking” of a pizza or hamburger. In fact, I rarely hear the word in everyday conversation .

The problem – at least the first problem – is the exact definition of “good things”. I like a walk in the park. She likes shopping. But I guess one cannot “partake” of such commonplace pleasures. No, usually she means something we rarely if ever do. And likely will not. It can generate an intimation that we are somehow being left out of all the fine things everyone else is doing .

A larger problem is that I cannot think of many things that I would rather do than a nice stroll in nature. I am perhaps too much a creature of habit, but that is because over the years I have trained my habits to correspond to my pleasures. Most of the other stuff is, actually, pretty boring .

But what two people want differs. If we ever get around to “partaking” of something she wants, I’m sure I’ll survive .