Month: January 2016

The Lion in Winter is a great old movie starring Katharine Hepburn and Peter O’Toole playing Eleanor of Aquitaine and King Henry II of England. These great actors make the sparring between husband and wife over which son, Richard or John, should succeed Henry come alive in well-scripted barbs full of sarcasm and irony.

There is a third son, Geoffrey. At one point in the movie, during such a conversation about which son will succeed, he interjects, “I don’t care which of them you choose. I miss the mention.” It is one of our favorite lines from any movie.

Roger Angell’s latest book is called This Old Man. There is an essay with that title in the book which is a newer piece of writing but most of the volume is given over to pieces Angell wrote sometime in the past, sometimes in his role as a fiction editor for the New Yorker, other times as one of the best baseball essayists around. He is my mom’s age, born in 1920, so he’s had the chance to see a lot in his lifetime.

About one subject for an essay, Angell wrote a line that could well apply to himself: “he was a noticer.” Does that idea grab you as it does me? Am I, are you, a noticer?

Angell meant that the man did more than just see. He noticed, took note of, acknowledged perhaps, assigned some modicum of meaning, however brief and transitory.

People of a Certain Age, one of the many gifts you and I share as a result of our time on the planet is the time to notice.   There is, in noticing, an implication of reflection, and modern life for young people is not geared to reflection.

I think I began to notice in a different way because of birds. Judy’s mom was an avid birder, organizing trips in the U.S. and Latin America for fellow birders. Judy and I joined her on one trip, and have found our own companions for bird watching trips as well.

Birding would be a lot easier if birds stood still for a while. They don’t, so you have to look for slight movements of leaves, and listen for chirps and calls. One can walk through a forest filled with birds and miss them all unless one stops to look and listen. You learn to notice subtleties.

Unfortunately, I have learned not to notice as well. The most obvious example would be homeless people at a stoplight. In fact, homeless people are largely unnoticed by society in general until they take up residence in a nearby park or on a main street through town.

I am certain that I rationalize not noticing by explaining that I can’t give a dollar to everyone I see with his hand out, and I’m not in a position of offering a home. So, in self-defense, I pretend not to notice.

When in the work force, you and I were noticed. We had responsibilities upon which others depended. We had colleagues with whom we collaborated. We finished projects that made a material difference. Jobs make one somebody, unless of course one is far enough “down” the corporate ladder that the higher ups could/would ignore you. Even then, low rungs often find ways to be noticed.

I know people who have struggled in retirement because they miss that notice. They have not found ways to be “mentioned,” as Geoffrey sought to be. In fact, though, I know people who have not yet retired who feel unnoticed.

I wonder if that is the ultimate pain of loneliness, the feeling of not being noticed?

Once, on a trip to China, I had the experience of being transported through Inchon Airport in Seoul and the International Terminal in Beijing in a wheelchair (a long story), my first experience in one. I remembered once hearing from someone permanently in a wheelchair that he felt people went out of their way not to notice him in his chair.

I can’t say that I felt one way or the other, noticed or unnoticed. The wheelchair did put me at the front of the Customs line in Beijing. Officialdom noticed.

Someone once told me that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. To notice is a first step to caring. I wonder if noticing is a function of character?

Not noticing is not necessarily intentional. When we were first married in 1967, we had a friend in her 80s whose children lived in the same city where she lived, and she never saw them. Her explanation was that they were busy with their own lives and raising a passel of kids. I never met her children but I am certain they were not intentionally leaving their mother in loneliness. They did not notice their absence in her life.

Noticers notice people, like custodians and gardeners, who serve us in essential ways expecting not to be noticed. Noticers notice people for whom a hearty hello might be the first notice they have received in a day. Noticers relish each day for the potential of things to be taken in, absorbed, enjoyed.

I’d welcome being called a noticer, one who gives the gift of notice.

Daniel E. White

January 25, 2016

In my dream, the leak in the sprinkler line remained undetected. Water pooled until it overlapped the walk and found the seam of the wall of the house. Steadily, the pressure built, and rivulets found cracks in the foundation. The foundation began to crumble, and the house caved in on itself, victim of a liquid wrecking ball.

I stirred to stop that story. Another replaced it. There were sleeper cell terrorist attacks for thirty days straight somewhere in the U.S. The stock market fell below 100 and financial institutions evaporated. There went our retirement savings in a different sort of cave-in. How frightening!

I got up to go to the bathroom. I went back to bed and fell into a decent, dreamless sleep, the fear exorcised.

We did have a real leak in the sprinkler line. There was a sleeper cell attack. On the basis of these events, my unconscious mind took over and fanned the flames of fear. It made me wonder; of what should I be afraid, if anything at all?

Fear seems to be a default position for humankind. Biologists write about “flight or fight,” which bases the flight instinct on fear. More than a few people fear flying. Motivational speakers try to move people away from a fear of trying. Lots of people have a fear of dying.

People of a Certain Age have found ways to tamp down fears. How else have we managed to live all of these years surrounded by so many invitations to fear? Fear of failing a class, fear of unrequited love, fear of loss.

President Franklin Roosevelt proclaimed “there is nothing to fear but fear itself,” wise words that recognized the ubiquity of “nameless” fears and reminded us that we could help ourselves if we just stopped being afraid. That we have not done so, individually and as a people, stands as affirmation of Roosevelt’s wisdom.

Listening again to the Christmas story, from the time Mary learns her role to the departure of the wise men, I was struck by this: whenever angels appeared in the story, their first words were “be not afraid.”

Really? Angels?

My pastor-friend suggested that an angel is disruptive of the norm, and that one’s first reaction might be to worry about whether or not our “seeing” things was a first step toward madness.

Are you as sad as I am that our 21^st century American life is so buffeted by winds of fear that seem to blow from all directions without ceasing? We People of a Certain Age played in parks and on dead-end streets a distance from our homes without adults to supervise, a joy unavailable to many children today because their parents fear molesters and other dangers. Statistically, of course, that fear is unfounded.

Citizens fear that somewhere in their area might reside a terrorist ready to unleash violence upon innocent people. Statistically, there is a greater chance of being killed by falling furniture.

Gun control supporters fear the pervasiveness of guns. Gun rights advocates fear the loss of what they see as a constitutional right.

There has been fear that Mexican immigrants were taking jobs away from workers born in the U.S. and that Mexican authorities were compliant in sending their criminals here. When a terrorist was found to have forged a passport, the object of nativist fear shifted from Mexicans to refugees from Syria and the war-torn nations of the Muslim world.

Following a tradition as old as our country, there have been aspirants for political office, and incumbents, too, who have given voice to such claims, stoking the ashes of anxiety into the flames of fear. A sure-fire way to be competitive in a political campaign for almost any office at any level is to create in the minds of voters fear about what the opponent might do or not do, be or not be.

I am afraid we are easy prey for fear. Even people of faith, those who believe in a better world in an afterlife, seem not to heed the angels of God who proclaim “fear not.”

Fortunately, there are artists, composers, poets, sculptors, authors, and the like who get beyond their individual fears, if they have any, to produce works that uplift our spirits.

Happily, there are young men and women who are still willing to bear children and raise families, actions of optimism that occur in spite of the fear.

Wondrously, there is the beauty of the earth and sky that, if we don’t pollute it or pave it over too much, will uplift our spirits to that oneness with nature where fear cannot penetrate.

Joyously, there are friends and families and friends-yet-to-be with whom we can all find community, bonds, and relationships that, at our deepest levels, we know to be the greatest gifts in our lives, and an antidote to fear.

The unconscious, the non-rational can be formidable challenges to life without fear. My caved-in house and retirement fund won’t be the last time I encounter “nameless” fear. When it happens, I hope I have sense enough to get up and go to the bathroom.

Daniel E. White

January 13, 2016