“Calm seas do not make skillful sailors,” says Chaun after tackling a particularly tricky plumbing problem at my house.
Challenges hone our skills.
We may not welcome those big waves and wild winds, but they will give us the skills we need as – a sailor – or a plumber or – in whatever our focus.
Hope you are working on something that challenges you.
The World’s Oldest Person
has died. She attributed her longevity to divorce and raw eggs, which she ate daily. A previous record holder had no idea why she’d lived so long. Another credited the Lord; still another cited getting enough sleep. (They’re primarily women.) Moisturizer, home cooking, kindness. Hard work. Expensive lingerie. A former world’s oldest man claimed the secret was joy. Minding your own business. Bowling, fishing, great-great-grandkids. Many lived for decades alone. One got her hair done on Tuesdays. One took a job as a housekeeper at ninety. Every night she set her table before eating a plate of pasta. She was buried with a photograph of her son, who’d died in infancy. Some had the title for hours, others for months or years. They gave interviews, greeted fans. One declared there was nothing left to accomplish. Another lamented that it had gone so fast. Their birth records were hard to come by, if they even existed. One wasn’t sure what day she was born, but her marriage license confirmed the year. They fought for women’s suffrage, endured Jim Crow, lost count of wars. Most passed quickly and peacefully. The person who lived to the greatest confirmed age thus far was a chain-smoker who quit when she could no longer see well enough to light a cigarette. She wanted to go to the moon. She ate two pounds of chocolate each week. By Elizabeth Onusko in The Sun, August 2018, p. 23
May your life be long and happy and full of love. (And don't smoke - but the chocolate could be a good idea). Aloha, Renée
Banner photo – Liberata, who lives in the Italian province of Vibo Valentia, holds a photo of herself as a young woman. Photo by Raffaele Montepaone. From: The Sun, “A Long Life” August 2018, p. 16-18.
A compendium of words was stored here
Just underneath the chimney
I’d like to see it that way
Fortune won’t stand still for that
And pressure of the air flattens paper
I’d like to see it that way
One comes into the room groomed, a pleasure
There’s a patch of glitter in the glamor
I’d like to see it that way
Each moment opens up sudden as an umbrella
On a day storms gather like wool
A way I’d really like to see it
So you can’t assume a face again
Before the non-face puts in its appearance
Nor can you push at the door expecting satisfaction on the other side
I’d like to see it that way
Many’s the time and time for reflection
Truer than truth the subject’s interconnections
I’d like to see it that way
I was born on a day absolutely unique in world history
Birds grasp their path in air
I’d like to see it that way
It’s standard to pack half a dozen at a clip
Imagine the red thing yours alone at last
I’d like to see it that way
The image almost takes shape superimposed
As a mist on top of ordinary daily objects
I’d like to see it that way
Life goes on forever like a dusty road
Down which we peer as we drink a glass of water
I’d like to see it that way
We return again and again born into wombs
The shape of inverted ice cream cones
I’d like to see it that way
So I could relax, put on my enormous suit
And ring your doorbell holding my breath and flowers
I’d like to see it that way
In order to be able to end war but
Would war ever end or would my wanting
To end it ever end if nothing ever ended
I’d like to see it that way
Everything is standing up and falling down again
Constantly like hair in wind
I’d like to see it that way
For the good of the nation behind bars
For my own good bundled up into piles
I’d like to see it that way
I blow continuously on this thing the landscape
Crumples around me like a felt hat
I’d like to see it that way
But the problem is I put out my hand
And only clutch air wanting to understand
I’d like to see it some way
Any way so long as I could know it was there
And could pull back the covers at will
To reveal my heart’s desire and measure it
I’d like to see it that way
Norman Fischer, “I’d Like to See It” from Turn Left In Order to Go Right. Copyright © 1989 by Norman Fischer. Reprinted by permission of O Books.Source: Turn Left In Order to Go Right (O Books, 1989)
From: The Poetry Foundation
Enjoy – seeing it that way.
“The world is great. This country is great. The skylines of San Francisco and New York are beautiful to behold, especially on a sunny day. My smartphone is amazing. The world we have created is a wonder, and I am personally taking full advantage of it,” says Zen teacher and poet, Norman Fischer, in The Sun, August 2018.
But, at the same time, we are in a mess. The impulse to make money has left us with tremendous injustice. Some people are doing great while others are suffering terribly. We are screwing up the climate, causing extinctions, causing the earth to reorganize herself in ways that will probably ruin a lot of what we have built and maybe even make the planet uninhabitable for us. Our creativity has also caused us to produce weapons capable of killing huge numbers of people. The chances of our never having a nuclear war are slim. And I haven’t even mentioned drug addiction and mental disorders and racism and sexism and abuse, most of it more or less caused by our high-pressure, runaway consumerist society, where even the post privileged people are a wreck. We don’t have enough depth, meaning, humility, kindness, love or respect for the other and the unknown” [my emphasis] (11).
“We have to get over being dismayed by other people and consider what they’re saying. No denigration or demonizing of others. Maintain a calm but critical exploration of views, not just an outraged dismissal. Be respectful, and don’t be pious” (10). . .
“In Zen practice we follow precepts, which we understand not as rules to live by but as a way to be fully present in a complicated world. The precepts more or less amount to being content with what is, not making things worse, and not hurting anyone. Following these precepts ideally becomes a more primary impulse than preference — or maybe it becomes the main preference. In my own case, I enjoy what I do and am trying to be of benefit to others. I hope things turn out well, and I work toward that end, but if they don’t, I am OK with that, too. Because then I find myself in a new situation, one that I didn’t want but one I now have to embrace. That’s what the teachings are telling us: Where your preferences are ethical and significant, act on them, and then embrace whatever happens, even if your preference is not realized. Act, and then let go. Act, let go. That’s what we have to do” (11).
“There’s no reason to be in despair, as far as I can see. Life is always hopeful. Wherever there’s life, there’s also possibility” (10).
Sunday, I got to paddle canoes with others to escort the Golden Rule, a sailing ship with a long history, on its continuing journey of peace. Moored for the last two weeks in slip #20 at Ma’alaea Harbor, the Golden Rule came to Maui from the Big Island and before that, California. This little sailing ship, a national project of Veterans for Peace, continues its mission to create a nuclear-free world and a peaceful, sustainable future for all beings.
The Golden Rule was first used in the quest for peace in 1958 when four Quaker peace activists sailed it toward the Marshall Islands in an attempt to halt atmospheric nuclear weapons testing there.
The U.S. Coast Guard stopped the ship and arrested its crew, raising a public outcry. The Phoenix of Hiroshima, another sail boat, completed the journey and entered the atomic bomb test zone. The increasing public awareness of radiation dangers led President Kennedy, the U.S.S.R. and the U.K. to sign the Limited Nuclear Test Ban Treaty in 1963. The Golden Rule’s goal seemed accomplished.
However, after the Golden Rule sank in a gale in Humboldt Bay in Northern California in 2010, some saw the need for its continued mission.
For the next five years, U.S. Veterans for Peace, Quakers, and other volunteers restored her.
The Golden Rule now sails again for a nuclear-free world and a peaceful, sustainable future. And right now, she is here in Hawaii. Part of her mission is to educate. Did you know, for instance, that there are about 140 US military facilities and depleted uranium contamination sites in the Hawaiian Islands?
Did you know that the US Navy is expanding its military training here in Maui County: ship-to-ship, ship-to-shore, above the ocean, and below the ocean surface? In our Kahului Public Library, you can see the four large manuals of Navy military plans for Maui County and beyond. Please see my earlier post: https://reneeriley.wordpress.com/2019/01/08/u-s-navy-plans-for-special-operations-training-in-maui-county-and-beyond/. If you are on Maui, go see the many military plans noted in the U.S. Navy manuals at the library reference desk.
As for the Golden Rule in her mission of peace – after her stops in Lanai and other Hawaiian Islands, she will head to the Marshall Islands, which continues to feel the effects of the 67 US nuclear bombs tested there. The Golden Rule plans to help the Marshallese commemorate “Bravo Day” – 65+ years after the disastrous Castle Bravo nuclear bomb test that was far larger than expected — resulting in widespread radioactive contamination.
Go to YouTube: “The Deadly Miscalculation at Castle Bravo” to see film of the deadly bombing that has resulted in many cancers and other health issues for the Marshallese people even today.
After stops in Guam, Okinawa and possibly South Korea, the Golden Rule will sail to Japan in August 2020 for the 75th anniversary of the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Education and action are needed now more than ever!
Here on Maui, we got to meet Helen Jaccard, Golden Rule Project Manager, who during several talks on our island, showed the film Making Waves: Rebirth of the Golden Rule and led discussions: What we can do to reduce the possibility of nuclear war?”
I handed out a few flyers to advertise the events. At one stop, I gave the flyer to the really helpful Ace Hardware man who always greets me, “What can I do for you, Miss?” and “Boss Lady, what do you need?” He always makes me laugh – and almost always finds what I need. When he saw the flyer, he put his head on the counter and groaned. He said, “It has to start within our hearts.”
He does have a point. In our news, our politics, even in our canoes sometimes there is grumbling. If we aren’t at peace within ourselves, within our families, and among our neighbors and fellow paddlers, how is there hope for peace in the world?
With the threat of nuclear disaster, total annihilation as a possibility, we must work on all fronts to create a peaceful, sustainable future for all beings: peace within and peace without.
The night before the Ma’alaea departure, some of the crew and friends met at Kamaole Beach Park III in Kihei for a potluck celebration.
The cornerstone of Veterans For Peace’s mission is to “End the arms race and reduce and eventually eliminate nuclear weapons.”
Thank you Veterans for Peace and for all those who have worked on and for the Golden Rule Sailing Ship.
To donate, for more information, and to track the progress of the Golden Rule Sailing Ship, go to:
Facebook: Golden Rule Peace Boat
Or contact: VFP Golden Rule Project/P.O. Box 87/ Samoa. CA 95564
You can also find a cool video from our Sunday paddle escorting the Golden Rule Sailing ship on its way out of Ma’alaea Harbor: Go to FaceBook – Eddie Fischer. Thanks, Eddie
Let’s work for peace within our hearts, within our families, among our neighbors – near and far – and among nations.
“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
From an African proverb. Seen on an Ajiri tea bag: Kenyan Black Tea with Ginger.
“Ajiri means “to employ” in Swahili. Women in western Kenya design and handcraft each and every label using dried banana bark. <www.ajiritea.com> & <www.ajirifoundation.org>.
Beautiful messages. Wonderful tea. Excellent source. Enjoy.
“Your Professional Decline Is Coming (Much) Sooner Than You Think: Here’s How to Make the Most of It” by Arthur C. Brooks
“‘It’s not true that no one needs you anymore.”
These words came from an elderly woman sitting behind me on a late-night flight from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C. The plane was dark and quiet. A man I assumed to be her husband murmured almost inaudibly in response, something to the effect of “I wish I was dead.”
Again, the woman: “Oh, stop saying that.”
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but couldn’t help it. I listened with morbid fascination, forming an image of the man in my head as they talked. I imagined someone who had worked hard all his life in relative obscurity, someone with unfulfilled dreams—perhaps of the degree he never attained, the career he never pursued, the company he never started.
At the end of the flight, as the lights switched on, I finally got a look at the desolate man. I was shocked. I recognized him—he was, and still is, world-famous. Then in his mid‑80s, he was beloved as a hero for his courage, patriotism, and accomplishments many decades ago. As he walked up the aisle of the plane behind me, other passengers greeted him with veneration. Standing at the door of the cockpit, the pilot stopped him and said, “Sir, I have admired you since I was a little boy.” The older man—apparently wishing for death just a few minutes earlier—beamed with pride at the recognition of his past glories.
For selfish reasons, I couldn’t get the cognitive dissonance of that scene out of my mind. It was the summer of 2015, shortly after my 51st birthday. I was not world-famous like the man on the plane, but my professional life was going very well. I was the president of a flourishing Washington think tank, the American Enterprise Institute. I had written some best-selling books. People came to my speeches. My columns were published in The New York TimeFrom Our July 2019 Issu
But I had started to wonder: Can I really keep this going? I work like a maniac. But even if I stayed at it 12 hours a day, seven days a week, at some point my career would slow and stop. And when it did, what then? Would I one day be looking back wistfully and wishing I were dead? Was there anything I could do, starting now, to give myself a shot at avoiding misery—and maybe even achieve happiness—when the music inevitably stops?
Though these questions were personal, I decided to approach them as the social scientist I am, treating them as a research project. It felt unnatural—like a surgeon taking out his own appendix. But I plunged ahead, and for the past four years, I have been on a quest to figure out how to turn my eventual professional decline from a matter of dread into an opportunity for progress.
Here’s what I’ve found.
So what can people expect after that, based on the data? The news is mixed. Almost all studies of happiness over the life span show that, in wealthier countries, most people’s contentment starts to increase again in their 50s, until age 70 or so. That is where things get less predictable, however. After 70, some people stay steady in happiness; others get happier until death. Others—men in particular—see their happiness plummet. Indeed, depression and suicide rates for men increase after age 75.
(Illustrations by Luci Gutiérrez)
This last group would seem to include the hero on the plane. A few researchers have looked at this cohort to understand what drives their unhappiness. It is, in a word, irrelevance. In 2007, a team of academic researchers at UCLA and Princeton analyzed data on more than 1,000 older adults. Their findings, published in the Journal of Gerontology, showed that senior citizens who rarely or never “felt useful” were nearly three times as likely as those who frequently felt useful to develop a mild disability, and were more than three times as likely to have died during the course of the study.
One might think that gifted and accomplished people, such as the man on the plane, would be less susceptible than others to this sense of irrelevance; after all, accomplishment is a well-documented source of happiness. If current accomplishment brings happiness, then shouldn’t the memory of that accomplishment provide some happiness as well?
Maybe not. Though the literature on this question is sparse, giftedness and achievements early in life do not appear to provide an insurance policy against suffering later on. In 1999, Carole Holahan and Charles Holahan, psychologists at the University of Texas, published an influential paper in The International Journal of Aging and Human Development that looked at hundreds of older adults who early in life had been identified as highly gifted. The Holahans’ conclusion: “Learning at a younger age of membership in a study of intellectual giftedness was related to … less favorable psychological well-being at age eighty.”
This study may simply be showing that it’s hard to live up to high expectations, and that telling your kid she is a genius is not necessarily good parenting. (The Holahans surmise that the children identified as gifted might have made intellectual ability more central to their self-appraisal, creating “unrealistic expectations for success” and causing them to fail to “take into account the many other life influences on success and recognition.”) However, abundant evidence suggests that the waning of ability in people of high accomplishment is especially brutal psychologically. Consider professional athletes, many of whom struggle profoundly after their sports career ends. Tragic examples abound, involving depression, addiction, or suicide; unhappiness in retired athletes may even be the norm, at least temporarily. A study published in the Journal of Applied Sport Psychology in 2003, which charted the life satisfaction of former Olympic athletes, found that they generally struggled with a low sense of personal control when they first stopped competing.
Recently, I asked Dominique Dawes, a former Olympic gold-medal gymnast, how normal life felt after competing and winning at the highest levels. She told me that she is happy, but that the adjustment wasn’t easy—and still isn’t, even though she won her last Olympic medal in 2000. “My Olympic self would ruin my marriage and leave my kids feeling inadequate,” she told me, because it is so demanding and hard-driving. “Living life as if every day is an Olympics only makes those around me miserable.”
But as Darwin progressed into his 50s, he stagnated; he hit a wall in his research. At the same time an Austrian monk by the name of Gregor Mendel discovered what Darwin needed to continue his work: the theory of genetic inheritance. Unfortunately, Mendel’s work was published in an obscure academic journal and Darwin never saw it—and in any case, Darwin did not have the mathematical ability to understand it. From then on he made little progress. Depressed in his later years, he wrote to a close friend, “I have not the heart or strength at my age to begin any investigation lasting years, which is the only thing which I enjoy.”
Presumably, Darwin would be pleasantly surprised to learn how his fame grew after his death, in 1882. From what he could see when he was old, however, the world had passed him by, and he had become irrelevant. That could have been Darwin on the plane behind me that night.
It also could have been a younger version of me, because I have had precocious experience with professional decline.
As a child, I had just one goal: to be the world’s greatest French-horn player. I worked at it slavishly, practicing hours a day, seeking out the best teachers, and playing in any ensemble I could find. I had pictures of famous horn players on my bedroom wall for inspiration. And for a while, I thought my dream might come true. At 19, I left college to take a job playing professionally in a touring chamber-music ensemble. My plan was to keep rising through the classical-music ranks, joining a top symphony orchestra in a few years or maybe even becoming a soloist—the most exalted job a classical musician can hold.
But then, in my early 20s, a strange thing happened: I started getting worse. To this day, I have no idea why. My technique began to suffer, and I had no explanation for it. Nothing helped. I visited great teachers and practiced more, but I couldn’t get back to where I had been. Pieces that had been easy to play became hard; pieces that had been hard became impossible.
Perhaps the worst moment in my young but flailing career came at age 22, when I was performing at Carnegie Hall. While delivering a short speech about the music I was about to play, I stepped forward, lost my footing, and fell off the stage into the audience. On the way home from the concert, I mused darkly that the experience was surely a message from God.
Will it happen again? In some professions, early decline is inescapable. No one expects an Olympic athlete to remain competitive until age 60. But in many physically nondemanding occupations, we implicitly reject the inevitability of decline before very old age. Sure, our quads and hamstrings may weaken a little as we age. But as long as we retain our marbles, our quality of work as a writer, lawyer, executive, or entrepreneur should remain high up to the very end, right? Many people think so. I recently met a man a bit older than I am who told me he planned to “push it until the wheels came off.” In effect, he planned to stay at the very top of his game by any means necessary, and then keel over.
Age is, of course, a fever chill
that every physicist must fear.
He’s better dead than living still
when once he’s past his thirtieth year.
The author of those gloomy lines? Paul Dirac, a winner of the 1933 Nobel Prize in Physics.
Dirac overstates the point, but only a little. Looking at major inventors and Nobel winners going back more than a century, Jones has found that the most common age for producing a magnum opus is the late 30s. He has shown that the likelihood of a major discovery increases steadily through one’s 20s and 30s and then declines through one’s 40s, 50s, and 60s. Are there outliers? Of course. But the likelihood of producing a major innovation at age 70 is approximately what it was at age 20—almost nonexistent.
Entrepreneurs peak and decline earlier, on average. After earning fame and fortune in their 20s, many tech entrepreneurs are in creative decline by age 30. In 2014, the Harvard Business Review reported that founders of enterprises valued at $1 billion or more by venture capitalists tend to cluster in the 20-to-34 age range. Subsequent research has found that the clustering might be slightly later, but all studies in this area have found that the majority of successful start-ups have founders under age 50.
This research concerns people at the very top of professions that are atypical. But the basic finding appears to apply more broadly. Scholars at Boston College’s Center for Retirement Research studied a wide variety of jobs and found considerable susceptibility to age-related decline in fields ranging from policing to nursing. Other research has found that the best-performing home-plate umpires in Major League Baseball have 18 years less experience and are 23 years younger than the worst-performing umpires (who are 56.1 years old, on average). Among air traffic controllers, the age-related decline is so sharp—and the potential consequences of decline-related errors so dire—that the mandatory retirement age is 56.
If decline not only is inevitable but also happens earlier than most of us expect, what should we do when it comes for us?
Whole sections of bookstores are dedicated to becoming successful. The shelves are packed with titles like The Science of Getting Rich and The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. There is no section marked “Managing Your Professional Decline.”
But some people have managed their declines well. Consider the case of Johann Sebastian Bach. Born in 1685 to a long line of prominent musicians in central Germany, Bach quickly distinguished himself as a musical genius. In his 65 years, he published more than 1,000 compositions for all the available instrumentations of his day.
Early in his career, Bach was considered an astoundingly gifted organist and improviser. Commissions rolled in; royalty sought him out; young composers emulated his style. He enjoyed real prestige.
But it didn’t last—in no small part because his career was overtaken by musical trends ushered in by, among others, his own son, Carl Philipp Emanuel, known as C.P.E. to the generations that followed. The fifth of Bach’s 20 children, C.P.E. exhibited the musical gifts his father had. He mastered the baroque idiom, but he was more fascinated with a new “classical” style of music, which was taking Europe by storm. As classical music displaced baroque, C.P.E.’s prestige boomed while his father’s music became passé.
How does one do that?
A potential answer lies in the work of the British psychologist Raymond Cattell, who in the early 1940s introduced the concepts of fluid and crystallized intelligence. Cattell defined fluid intelligence as the ability to reason, analyze, and solve novel problems—what we commonly think of as raw intellectual horsepower. Innovators typically have an abundance of fluid intelligence. It is highest relatively early in adulthood and diminishes starting in one’s 30s and 40s. This is why tech entrepreneurs, for instance, do so well so early, and why older people have a much harder time innovating.
Crystallized intelligence, in contrast, is the ability to use knowledge gained in the past. Think of it as possessing a vast library and understanding how to use it. It is the essence of wisdom. Because crystallized intelligence relies on an accumulating stock of knowledge, it tends to increase through one’s 40s, and does not diminish until very late in life.
Our dean might have chuckled ruefully at this—college administrators complain that research productivity among tenured faculty drops off significantly in the last decades of their career. Older professors take up budget slots that could otherwise be used to hire young scholars hungry to do cutting-edge research. But perhaps therein lies an opportunity: If older faculty members can shift the balance of their work from research to teaching without loss of professional prestige, younger faculty members can take on more research.
A few years ago, I saw a cartoon of a man on his deathbed saying, “I wish I’d bought more crap.” It has always amazed me that many wealthy people keep working to increase their wealth, amassing far more money than they could possibly spend or even usefully bequeath. One day I asked a wealthy friend why this is so. Many people who have gotten rich know how to measure their self-worth only in pecuniary terms, he explained, so they stay on the hamster wheel, year after year. They believe that at some point, they will finally accumulate enough to feel truly successful, happy, and therefore ready to die.
This is a mistake, and not a benign one. Most Eastern philosophy warns that focusing on acquisition leads to attachment and vanity, which derail the search for happiness by obscuring one’s essential nature. As we grow older, we shouldn’t acquire more, but rather strip things away to find our true selves—and thus, peace.
Vanaprastha is a time for study and training for the last stage of life, Sannyasa, which should be totally dedicated to the fruits of enlightenment. In times past, some Hindu men would leave their family in old age, take holy vows, and spend the rest of their life at the feet of masters, praying and studying. Even if sitting in a cave at age 75 isn’t your ambition, the point should still be clear: As we age, we should resist the conventional lures of success in order to focus on more transcendentally important things.
When the New York Times columnist David Brooks talks about the difference between “résumé virtues” and “eulogy virtues,” he’s effectively putting the ashramas in a practical context. Résumé virtues are professional and oriented toward earthly success. They require comparison with others. Eulogy virtues are ethical and spiritual, and require no comparison. Your eulogy virtues are what you would want people to talk about at your funeral. As in He was kind and deeply spiritual, not He made senior vice president at an astonishingly young age and had a lot of frequent-flier miles.
You won’t be around to hear the eulogy, but the point Brooks makes is that we live the most fulfilling life—especially once we reach midlife—by pursuing the virtues that are most meaningful to us.
I suspect that my own terror of professional decline is rooted in a fear of death—a fear that, even if it is not conscious, motivates me to act as if death will never come by denying any degradation in my résumé virtues. This denial is destructive, because it leads me to ignore the eulogy virtues that bring me the greatest joy.
How can I overcome this tendency? The Buddha recommends, of all things, corpse meditation: Many Theravada Buddhist monasteries in Thailand and Sri Lanka display photos of corpses in various states of decomposition for the monks to contemplate. “This body, too,” students are taught to say about their own body, “such is its nature, such is its future, such is its unavoidable fate.” At first this seems morbid. But its logic is grounded in psychological principles—and it’s not an exclusively Eastern idea. “To begin depriving death of its greatest advantage over us,” Michel de Montaigne wrote in the 16th century, “let us deprive death of its strangeness, let us frequent it, let us get used to it; let us have nothing more often in mind than death.”
Decline is inevitable, and it occurs earlier than almost any of us wants to believe. But misery is not inevitable. Accepting the natural cadence of our abilities sets up the possibility of transcendence, because it allows the shifting of attention to higher spiritual and life priorities.
So: I’ve resigned my job as president of the American Enterprise Institute, effective right about the time this essay is published. While I have not detected deterioration in my performance, it was only a matter of time. Like many executive positions, the job is heavily reliant on fluid intelligence. Also, I wanted freedom from the consuming responsibilities of that job, to have time for more spiritual pursuits. In truth, this decision wasn’t entirely about me. I love my institution and have seen many others like it suffer when a chief executive lingered too long.
Fortunately, an effort to serve others can play to our strengths as we age. Remember, people whose work focuses on teaching or mentorship, broadly defined, peak later in life. I am thus moving to a phase in my career in which I can dedicate myself fully to sharing ideas in service of others, primarily by teaching at a university. My hope is that my most fruitful years lie ahead.
Because I’ve talked a lot about various religious and spiritual traditions—and emphasized the pitfalls of overinvestment in career success—readers might naturally conclude that I am making a Manichaean separation between the worlds of worship and work, and suggesting that the emphasis be on worship. That is not my intention. I do strongly recommend that each person explore his or her spiritual self—I plan to dedicate a good part of the rest of my life to the practice of my own faith, Roman Catholicism. But this is not incompatible with work; on the contrary, if we can detach ourselves from worldly attachments and redirect our efforts toward the enrichment and teaching of others, work itself can become a transcendental pursuit.
“The aim and final end of all music,” Bach once said, “should be none other than the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul.” Whatever your metaphysical convictions, refreshment of the soul can be the aim of your work, like Bach’s.
Bach finished each of his manuscripts with the words Soli Deo gloria—“Glory to God alone.” He failed, however, to write these words on his last manuscript, “Contrapunctus 14,” from The Art of Fugue, which abruptly stops mid-measure. His son C.P.E. added these words to the score: “Über dieser Fuge … ist der Verfasser gestorben” (“At this point in the fugue … the composer died”). Bach’s life and work merged with his prayers as he breathed his last breath. This is my aspiration.
Throughout this essay, I have focused on the effect that the waning of my work prowess will have on my happiness. But an abundance of research strongly suggests that happiness—not just in later years but across the life span—is tied directly to the health and plentifulness of one’s relationships. Pushing work out of its position of preeminence—sooner rather than later—to make space for deeper relationships can provide a bulwark against the angst of professional decline.
Dedicating more time to relationships, and less to work, is not inconsistent with continued achievement. “He is like a tree planted by streams of water,” the Book of Psalms says of the righteous person, “yielding its fruit in season, whose leaf does not wither, and who prospers in all he does.” Think of an aspen tree. To live a life of extraordinary accomplishment is—like the tree—to grow alone, reach majestic heights alone, and die alone. Right?
Wrong. The aspen tree is an excellent metaphor for a successful person—but not, it turns out, for its solitary majesty. Above the ground, it may appear solitary. Yet each individual tree is part of an enormous root system, which is together one plant. In fact, an aspen is one of the largest living organisms in the world; a single grove in Utah, called Pando, spans 106 acres and weighs an estimated 13 million pounds.
The secret to bearing my decline—to enjoying it—is to become more conscious of the roots linking me to others. If I have properly developed the bonds of love among my family and friends, my own withering will be more than offset by blooming in others.
When I talk about this personal research project I’ve been pursuing, people usually ask: Whatever happened to the hero on the plane?
I think about him a lot. He’s still famous, popping up in the news from time to time. Early on, when I saw a story about him, I would feel a flash of something like pity—which I now realize was really only a refracted sense of terror about my own future. Poor guy really meant I’m screwed.
But as my grasp of the principles laid out in this essay has deepened, my fear has declined proportionately. My feeling toward the man on the plane is now one of gratitude for what he taught me. I hope that he can find the peace and joy he is inadvertently helping me attain.”
— by Arthur C. Brooks in the July 2019 issue of The Atlantic p. 66-76. Brooks is/was the president of the American Enterprise Institute since 2009. He will become a professor of public leadership at Harvard this month. His most recent book is Love Your Enemies.
My own retirement from teaching at our local college was not followed by angst or despair as happens to many because I immediately got to teach at a sister school in China. I returned to China for at least part of each year three more times. The challenges and joy of teaching – especially in another culture – kept me busy and happy. And Barry and I traveled.
Back at home, I volunteer, joined book clubs, put energy into becoming an outrigger canoe paddler – and competed. I love being on the ocean, the challenge and camaraderie of being part of a team. This last regatta season has been fantastic. Undefeated, we won gold for all of our races here on our island – beating our arch-rival each week. When we competed in the Hawaii State Races at the beginning of this month, we earned a bronze medal; my first Hawaii State medal. We were a unified, happy bunch.
From right: Audrey, Wanda, Sandy, Diane, Jolyne, and me
However, this Labor Day weekend, I’m at home – not as usual at the Queen Lili’uokalani Races in Kona. This year, no one invited me to be in a crew. In the past, I would have been devastated about not being included. However, I’m being philosophical about my being “left behind.”
The reality is that 18-mile race under a hot sun is hard. The last time I got to paddle the Queen Lili, I was a desperation choice for a team whose members were 10-15 years younger than I. I was willing and I worked my hardest. We did water changes in the ocean waves far from shore; the crew switched paddling sides every 19-21 strokes, not the 10-12 that I’d practiced — and I thought I might die! When we finally got to shore, I collapsed in the shade. The crew did earn a Silver medal, so at least I felt that I hadn’t held them back, but that win wasn’t from a unified crew. It was not all that much fun.
So today at home, I got to paddle in a double-hull outrigger at sunrise. I wasn’t chosen to stroke; two Novice B girls were. The reality is that they are decades younger and stronger than I am and are learning the newest recommended stroke. I was in seat two and got an excellent workout. And I got to go to coffee afterwards with paddlers I usually just see on the beach or in another canoe. In my own way, I’m working on being more like Bach than Darwin. And I’m having fun.
Will you be a Darwin or a Bach? It’s probably not too soon to be thinking about it.
I hope all is well with you wherever you are.
“The skies were clearing, the remaining clouds scudding fast across the blue as Watergate Bay stretched endlessly ahead. We followed the beach, too fragile to face the up and down of the clifftop. The wide expanse of sand lay pristine and empty beyond the restaurants and cafés. The only person ahead came into focus as an old man with two spaniels. He stopped to speak as we passed.
‘Are you walking the coastal path?’
‘Some of it. To Land’s End a least.’
‘I’ve always wanted to do that . .. just walk for days and days.’
‘Then do it. Just pack a rucksack and do it now. You never know how long your fetch will be–depends on the wind'” (p. 129).
From: The Salt Path by Raynor Winn
“The uplifting true story of the couple who lost everything and embarked on a journey of salvation across the windswept South West coastline. …” Google Books
What do you want to do? Start now. Aloha, Renée
“Did you know that bees need a water source?” asks Laryssa, an artistic young Servas guest who at the time we met her kept bee hives on the roof of the building where she rented her apartment in Philadelphia. That winter, her bees froze to death; then she moved to Hawaii. She is a great source for bee information. August 17 was National Honeybee Day in the U.S. In recognition of the fact that bees are extremely necessary for us, here are some of Laryssa’s ideas to keep bees cool in the summer and ideas from others of what else we can do to help bees.
Laryssa says, “Bees gather water and bring it to the hive in order to cool it down. They don’t drink water because nectar is mostly water. When bees bring water to the hive, they spray it onto the frames in the hive. Other bees fan their wings. This essentially creates air conditioning that cools the hive. The baby bees are very sensitive to the temperature, so the hive cannot get too warm or too cold.
Alternative ways to create a water source for bees are wine corks floating in a container of water or just drape a towel over the side and let some of the towel touch the water. The problem with these bee water sources is that you’re creating a breeding ground for mosquitoes, so it can be tricky.
Or if you have a pool, you can put a small towel over the pool edge so that it slightly touches the water. Then the bees at least won’t drown trying to get to the water. They definitely do not want salt water, but they’ll take whatever they can find.
Here is what Carol Ann said recently on Nextdoor (a community web site):
“Bee Water Cooler!
Aloha All ~
After the first fire [we’ve had over 10,000 acres burn this summer on Maui], I noticed bees hovering around our pool. I learned that these bees are tasked with bringing water back to the hives. I rescued many from drowning as they fell into the pool. Unfortunately some also drown.
The ‘aina [Hawaiian term literally means ‘that which feeds’] is very dry now and thousands of acres have been destroyed by fires, so every day the numbers of thirsty bees are increasing.
I researched how best to provide bees with water (so I could stop playing lifeguard!).
Please consider providing our honey-making friends the water they need (and keep them from drowning in your pool). All you have to do is get a shallow pan (pictured here is a plastic pan used under potted plants), fill it with gravel and a few larger stones, add water and VOILA – you have a bee water cooler! The bees need to be able to stand on the gravel to drink, so don’t cover the stones all the way.
Carol Ann continued, “I set my Bee Water Cooler next to the corner of the pool where they were already drinking in an attempt to lure them away from this dangerous (for them) spot.
P.S. These bees are not aggressive and I have not been stung once.”
Bees land on Bob’s swimming suit when he hangs it out to dry.
Also a CNN story gives “Seven Simple Ways to Help Bees”. https://www.cnn.com/2019/08/17/us/national-honeybee-day-tips-save-bees-trnd/index.html
CNN reminds us, “People owe a lot to bees — namely, many of the foods we enjoy, like strawberries, avocados and broccoli. The US Department of Agriculture estimates that every 1 in 3 bites of food exists because of animal pollinators, and bees lead the charge.”
What each of us does matters – for the bees and more.
It’s likely a Bee Water Cooler would help bees where you live.
Do you have other good ideas to help bees? Please share them.
“Did you know that poor diets kill millions worldwide? Diets lacking whole grains and fruit and high in processed meats, trans fats and sugary drinks may be responsible for one-fifths of all deaths. That makes poor diet the biggest risk factor in the world.”
This conclusion is from a Global Burden of Disease study tracking dietary factors from 1990-2017 in 195 countries, conducted by researchers at Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation, University of Washington, Seattle, published in The Lancet. Seen in BottomLine Personal, July 15, 2019. p. 13.
A Maui News cartoon from: https://politicalcartoons.com/sku/226505/
The ingested plastic microfibers aren’t helping us.
Please choose wisely — what you eat, what you use . . .
Do you have tested health advice that has worked for you?