I want to be an old tree not an old curmudgeon
turning 50
I don’t want to become an old curmudgeon. Just because I’m turning 50 doesn’t make me want to yell at the neighboring kids to get off my lawn. As a 10-year-old, I was terrified of my neighbor in suburban Minneapolis. Forget “Minnesota-Nice,” that old guy YELLED at me when our baseball hit his patio awning. We would run and hide if our ball went in his perfectly-manicured and never-used backyard. Like Sandlot, but change out the rumored beast of a dog for an old grouchy curmudgeon. That is not my vision for the next season of my life.
That said, I feel more and more like a relic. The techbros who currently wield all the power, envision an AI and transhuman future, while I am increasingly desirous of a more human future. The societal pursuit of faster, more efficient, and everything (and everyone) must have a utility, leaves me longing for slower days with a few hours wasted on non-commodified relationships of delight–what we used to call ‘friendship.’ Catching a few clips from the Grammy’s makes me feel like I’m an alien from another time and another place who is visiting another planet. I went to my second ever NFL game this year, and wish I hadn’t. I was overwhelmed by the biggest screen ever seen, a full frontal advertising assault, and the amount of beer seemed needed to anesthetize the crowds from their real lives. Well, plus the Vikings lost. Am I just an old grouch?
A quote from Thomas Merton has been at the front of my journal this year, and I keep returning to it. I am going to replace his word “monk” for another word, “disciple.”
“In the night of our technological barbarism,
disciples must be as trees which exist
silently in the dark
and by their vital presence
purify the air.”
Merton’s, Basic Principles of Monastic Spirituality.
This sounds like Psalm 1. The blessed one is like a tree, firmly-planted, well-watered, and fruit-bearing. A healthy tree is not fussy, largely unnoticed, and has more going on below the surface than meets the eye. But that tree is a gift, a “vital presence” to “purify the air” of the surrounding ecosystem. I want a hidden life that is alive, not rotting. I want to be rooted and grounded in trinitarian love. I want to be vital in presence. I want to be fruitful. That is what I want to be now–a tree.
Fifty-?
Ifty thee are fifty
There's a gifty
To uplift thee
For it's nifty
To be fifty
So don't be thrifty!
But
In this golden time
Embolden
And joyfully beholden
The blessings of your soul then.
(I played "76 trombones" for my birthday yesterday, and at that age,
I now have no shame in writing a silly poem for my Pastor's birthday.)
Hi Nathan
This is tongue in cheek so take it as a grain of salt.
First, you are not old so you cannot wear the mantle of curmudgeon. Maybe it is me but I conclude that as you get older you will notice that your tolerance for annoyance will rapidly decrease! Even what annoys you will spread out to an even larger spectrum of things! It is not like you want it to but it does! You will like to be kinder, and more engaged but desire and ability diverge as you age. I like psalm 1. When the psalmist talks about a tree planted by the waters edge he follows that they produce fruit in season. Maybe, for the aged their season is not over but has changed, old men dream dreams. Furthermore the psalm is drawing a contrast between the ungodly, the scorners and the godly.
To put a point on it, as time weighs it's heavy hand upon us it takes diligence and being more selective about what you address and engage. Even then I find myself crying out for mercy just performing simple tasks and isolating from what, in the past, was a joy (e.g. my toddlers banging around the house). Again, it is not what I desire, it just happens :-)!
End of rant.