Staying Awake

I sat with my sweetie a few months back watching Young @ Heart, a lovely documentary about a choir of oldsters who sing modern music, and realized–I don't have the slightest idea what I'll want to do when I grow up.

This is shocking news to me since I am a big planner. (You might refer to my earlier post about list-making in case you doubt me.) I have little plans for the day, the week, the month, bigger plans for the future. A 5 year plan, a 10 year plan, a plan for retirement. But while watching that movie, I had the thought for the first time: I'm doing an awful lot of planning for a person I haven't met yet. A total stranger, who might not appreciate my input, thanks very much. I imagine her at 75 saying back to me now, "I know how much you've scrimped and saved and planned so that I can go on a world cruise, but I'm really much too busy with my accordion quartet to take the time now. Sorry."

I think about when I turned 38 or so and suddenly realized that my 22-year-old self had made a decision for me that I was still living by. She was well intentioned but kind of a tight ass frankly, and she swore off alcohol, not because she had a problem with it, but because her rare encounters with it had convinced her that it simply was not worth the time and money. So for the next 16 years my knee jerk response to any offer was, "No thanks. I don't drink." That is fine, except that I had not given it any thought at all for 16 years. I had no idea whether I still felt that way or not. At 38, was I still someone who doesn't drink? As it turns out, I am, for the most part, but now I enjoy a very occasional girly drink, and about once every 10 years or so I like to go a little wild with friends for about 2 weeks. My 22-year-old self would not have guessed that about me, nor would she have given me space for it. Her opinions were a lot more, well, clearly defined, let's say, than mine are.

As I said, I am a planner, but I am also a planner who has frequently had the experience of plans gone astray. Once, during my travels, I met a woman in Austria who was also traveling. We hit it off, but I was going to Italy next and she was off to Germany. We agreed to meet in southern France on a particular day about a week later and travel a little together. (Just for everyone's information, I am talking about a time before cell phones.) I got on a train for Florence, I thought, but I arrived the next morning in Venice. I have written about this before. I was frustrated and angry and not sure what to do. I had a specific timeline to work with and I was in the wrong place! There was no way to force this situation to fit my plans so I had to be creative. I had to be flexible.

I cannot plan for every possible eventuality. And I cannot predict every choice I will make. I think I know myself and the shape of my life, the direction I want to go. I keep getting these little hints though that my life is actually the space between breaths. I need to stay awake for the breathing, so that I can enjoy this one breath right now, appreciate it and be ready. Be ready for the shift that happens inside that says, not that way, this way now. Be ready for the obstacle that shows up outside that says, not this way, that way now. Be ready for the lost luggage, the broken dish, the winning ticket, the surprise vacation, the broken arm, the long-lost relative, the new love, the change of heart, the move across country, the flooded basement, and maybe even be ready to take up the accordion when I grow up.

copyright 2009 J. Autumn Needles