I’ve come to the realization, or at least I’ve decided, that my body is no longer capable of performing the tasks necessary to play competitive softball. Some of the joints and muscles are a bit worn, torn, or weaker than they were in my youth. I guess this is called acceptance. Should I push on and overcome it, or accept it?
As much as I’ve noticed the frailty of the aging body, playing softball the past two years also further awakened me to the frailty of my mind. I found it hard to concentrate, mostly when playing defense, on all the elements I needed to be aware of, to effectively respond to the play that was about to erupt. From my reaction time to when the ball hit the bat, to the judgment of the best angle to get to the ball, whether to attempt to catch the ball in the air, or on the hop, and where was the most likely place to throw the ball, given the speed of the runners and the strength of my arm. The effort to concentrate on all this tired me out perhaps more than chasing, catching or throwing the ball.
This realization surprised me, even as I have witnessed my own cognitive decline in recent years in writing, reading and thinking. We all know people older than we are who continue to excel in one or more areas of life, beyond what we are able to do. Should we battle the aging process or accept it? Do we have the necessary ‘fight’ in us to make enough difference to overcome what aging has left us? Is what appears simply as the aging process really just our own laziness or lack of willingness to push harder to do what used to be easier? Why can’t I run a 5 minute mile anymore or a 21 minute 5 K, or…? Why can’t I train myself to remember a short poem or quotation?
I’m not sure of the most useful questions, let alone the answers. Muddled and befuddled are my two constant companions. Part of this is a response to the increasing complexity I discern in the world we inhabit. I have perhaps a greater breadth of ideas, but not near the depth required to make full sense of it. I read daily but retain almost nothing I can recall with any detail. I do sense that the engagement with the author’s ideas and their tone in sharing them does shift me in subtle ways. It may, for instance, nudge me to try to employ the sentiment I take from the reading. I hope that reading has cumulative effects, that in the selection of the things I choose to read, I feel they are feeding my better self – affirming what I hope to be true and possible and refocusing my attention to possibilities that I was either previously blind to or ignorant of.
And so to muddle on through these most fragile times for democracy, equality, ecological health propelled by knowing that others around the world are consciously choosing to try and make the world a better, kinder, and more sustainable home for all. It is this notion that Rutger Bregman’s new book, Moral Ambition: Stop Wasting Your Talent and Start Making a Difference addresses for me. His writing flows and empowers while challenging us to “feed our better wolf".
I should also plug a couple of other reads since the last blog post here. Roman Krznaric's History for Tomorrow is a keeper.
Like Bregman, his writing is fluid, efficient, and light while exploring deeper ideas that could motivate readers to reconsider what's possible, even in these turbulent times. While I have yet to watch the entirety of it, I stumbled upon a fascinating discussion between Krznaric and Jeremy Lent, author of The Web of Meaning, a book I am rereading for the second time in six months it is so good.
Bregman makes the point, much better than I can quickly summarize, given the aforementioned cognitive decline, that knowledge or awareness is not sufficient without action. Hopefully, these three recent excellent reads have nudged me to attempt to repair what is torn and needs mended. There's a lots to choose from. Hope to see you on this journey.
A favorite poem from Denise Levertov in memory of Karen Silkwood and Elliot Gralla. We're never too old to begin.
Beginners
Dedicated to the memory of Karen Silkwood and Eliot Gralla
“From too much love of living,
Hope and desire set free,
Even the weariest river
Winds somewhere to the sea--“
But we have only begun
To love the earth.
We have only begun
To imagine the fullness of life.
How could we tire of hope?
-- so much is in bud.
How can desire fail?
-- we have only begun
to imagine justice and mercy,
only begun to envision
how it might be
to live as siblings with beast and flower,
not as oppressors.
Surely our river
cannot already be hastening
into the sea of nonbeing?
Surely it cannot
drag, in the silt,
all that is innocent?
Not yet, not yet--
there is too much broken
that must be mended,
too much hurt we have done to each other
that cannot yet be forgiven.
We have only begun to know
the power that is in us if we would join
our solitudes in the communion of struggle.
So much is unfolding that must
complete its gesture,
so much is in bud.
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