listening after dark

Fairly new concepts we haven't figured out, Part II: Retirement

Recently, I began to think of retirement because of a survey my office is collecting about workplace satisfaction and retirement plans among Wyoming state workers. I could put more time and research into this, but I'll just wing it: How long have people been looking forward to retirement as a paid vacation? I imagine it hasn't been very long. Probably as long as we've been dating and using electric lights.

Did my great-grandparents think of retirement as an earned retreat from routine, as a reason to buy a Winnebago and drive to Arizona every winter? Well, no. My great-grandparents were immigrants working on a farm in North Dakota, or Europeans still living in the old country, hoping to get to America. Probably the only idea they had of retirement was when they were too old to work, they might be lucky and spend a few peaceful years being cared for by their younger family members.

So what is this sense of entitlement surrounding retirement? I don't think it's going to play out very well in the coming years. With all the boomers cresting the senior years together, we're not going to have enough people working to replace them. They're healthier than any retirees before them, and a lot of them will probably keep working—to prevent boredom, to afford the basic stuffs of life or for lack of other idea.

I'm only 25 and I have a current retirement account as well as a 401k from a previous job. Yet who knows what the nation will be like by the time I reach retirement age—which may well be 75 by then. We'll all be eating pureéd steel and sleeping in pods. We'll be living in outer space. Who knows. Maybe we'll have totally decimated the environment by then and retirement will be furthest from my thoughts.

Fairly new concepts we haven't figured out, Part I: Dating

With the drip-drop of May rain outside my window and choral music on the radio, I can think of complex things...

A couple weeks ago I was talking with a friend about dating, and how neither of us have ever dated, in the usual sense of the word. She had the same boyfriend through high school and college, and I've only had a boyfriend for three years. Neither of us have been on casual dates or dated multiple people around the same time. Perhaps we draw our conclusions about dating from the wrong sources—movies, television, popular culture—or perhaps our college life was too small to give us much of a picture of dating life. Regardless, we don't get it.

But then, does anyone really understand the concept of dating? As I understand it, the casual dating scene has only been around for a few decades. We're not that far from courtship, arranged marriages and the separation of the sexes. And this is not one of those technological creations that evolves faster than we can follow. It's a relational concept, one that seems to be based on cultural assumptions. One, that there is a never-ending supply of people to date. Two, that dating for the sake of dating is a worthwhile endeavor. Three, that a few evenings with a stranger are all it takes to find love. Four, that one can move from relationship to relationship without much emotional strain or damage. Five, that the laws of chance will kick in at some point to bring that singular, perfect person across one's path. I could go on.

I never really wanted to date. Never really met anyone I wanted to date. Now that I'm with someone (did we ever date if we drifted from friendship into relationship?), I realize even more that dating in my high school and college years might have changed a lot of things about me. And I like who I am now. And I'm glad I avoided a lot of awkward conversations and unpleasant resolutions. Perhaps, though, I'm only speaking as an observer. Like I said, I know little about dating. I just wonder if we don't give it more credit than it's due. Maybe those with more personal experience have comments?

The credit crisis, and why I sort of understand now

The past year or so, I've been listening to a lot more NPR. (Sure, I listened before, but mostly just for Car Talk.) My increased listening is due to the small radio in my kitchen that I turn on when I'm making meals, eating, baking, etc. [Actually, the radio is an AM/FM/cassette walkman I've had since I was 11. That would be 14 years. Still works.] So I usually listen morning, noon and evening. I feel generally more informed about the news of the world, and it's a lot easier than reading a newspaper or even skimming online stories. I never watch TV news. Well, I don't have TV, so that figures. And not that NPR is the final word, but they do a great job of covering a lot of things from various angles. Plus they have cool shows like Talk of the Nation, World Café and This American Life.

Recently I listened to a special on the latter show about the credit crisis and the mortgage...well, that whole subprime thing. I didn't have a very clear understanding of the causes or implications of it all, except for the foreclosures. Beyond that, I didn't know who or what was affected. But This American Life's special broadcast was so clear, I now have a much better understanding of it.

Basically, some worldwide investors (think trillions of dollars) were running out of places to invest their money, and some Wall Street folks started selling them huge bundled shares of mortgages. In the early part of the decade, housing prices kept going up and everyone who needed a mortgage already had one. So the brokers lowered their standards and started giving out mortgages to almost anyone. The risk assessors were using the old, secure mortgages' stats to determine the security of the new mortgages, so the Wall Street folks sold these bundled mortgages as if they were perfectly secure: as safe as government bonds, as good as cash. But the new homebuyers had mortgages they couldn't afford, for which they never should have qualified. Soon enough, many of them defaulted or just didn't pay. This trickled up the line and thus, here we are with all these foreclosures and housing prices falling and everyone wondering who's going to pay for it.

I think that's basically the gist of the program. Listen to the full show if you're interested, or if you don't trust my summary. I'm definitely not a finance whiz, so I may have missed a few details.

This whole situation makes me even more thankful for prudent parents who taught me the value of money and the unreliability of credit. (And to always, always read before you sign.) Honestly, I'm not that many generations from hiding gold bullion in the well. The way the U.S. dollar is depreciating, that sounds like a pretty good idea.

Considering traditions

It's Holy Week, isn't it? I went to the Episcopal church again on Sunday (my third time), and the Bishop was there. It took me a moment to figure out who the man was with the tall red cap and the curved staff. Why the curved staff? Wait, wait, I'm looking it up....

[I've learned well, parents, to always look things up.]

Apparently all the vestments worn by bishops have been acquired and changed over the centuries, and while they have religious significance, they also have cultural and social influences. The materials, shapes and, indeed, even the items themselves, have been modified as various generations of people have seen fit. The staff is called a "crozier (pedum, pastorale, virga)" or "crosier." It was originally connected to the idea of domination but now is supposed to symbolize guidance—much like a shepherd's crook is used both to guide and correct.

Here are a few Web pages I perused just now:
• Vestments of Bishops.
• Episcopal Dictionary.
• Ecclesiastical Terms.

This sort of thing is fascinating to me, especially just now as I'm attending different types of churches and noticing the differences, high and low, strange and sane. A main contention against church in general is that it is a human invention, influenced by history, culture and politics. I think that's one of the things about it that interests me so much. People are capable of so much good and so much destruction. That we choose to channel our energies into church—a thing that we may love or hate, or both, a thing that can be viewed almost entirely apart from God (and that's where it get dangerous, if it's purely a human institution)—is fascinating to me.

In a way, I feel like a researcher, sitting in the back of most services, taking it all in. It makes me think about all the years of attending the same church (or several chunks of years attending two or three churches—contemporary or pentecostal churches—as my family moved to different cities). I remember being familiar with the order of things, knowing all the songs, anticipating the pastors' favorite phrases and anecdotes. I was a regular; I took part in potlucks and game nights and all that. It wasn't just about having friends and knowing people, it was about being familiar with all aspects of the church. I knew what all the rooms looked like, where to find the pageant costumes and the Christmas decorations.

Now I am a visitor, a stranger not only to the people but to the traditions. But just as I love to travel, try new foods, meet new people, see very different sights, I'm enjoying being a stranger to these things. I guess I've always been of the opinion that the more one learns, the larger a person one becomes. Larger inside, I mean. I have a lot of space inside to fill with observations, information and thoughts—and I don't think I'll ever be full.

Do what you love...but how?

Via some blog/site linking this morning, I've come across a great essay on finding work you love. Read it here. It's long but good; I skimmed the first third but then got hooked...largely because the topic is so applicable to my life right now. This bit especially:

The important question became not how to make money, but what to work on.... The definition of work was now to make some original contribution to the world, and in the process not to starve.

I've been out of college for almost three years. I got a degree in English because it's what I enjoy and something I felt would be flexible enough to apply to any job. Employees want people who can communicate; they want to see that you've been able to complete a college degree.

For two years I worked at a real job in the real world, complete with benefits and paid vacations and office parties. That was fine. Good, in fact. It was quite good. But I never planned to stay there forever (some people were surprised at that). I wanted some experience and some more time to think about what was next.

The state of the union and my kitchen

It astounds me that I listened to the entire State of the Union Address. I was listening on NPR (I liked the narrative during the applause; it helped to know who was clapping) instead of watching on TV, because that way I didn't have to see the president's smirky face...though I could imagine it vividly enough. I've never been able to take him seriously. The only time he seems sincere is when he's talking about fighting terrorists and his voice slips into a thicker Texas drawl. But even that is more disconcerting than reassuring.

I've never before been as attentive to the news as I have been this past month. Since I got back from my trip and have been at home most of the time, I've been listening to NPR a lot. I like the variety they offer and their point of view. Sure it's usually more liberal, but that's OK by me. And they usually do try to provide more than one angle to stories.

It was kind of hard for me to get much of anything out of the address, but that's probably because I'm more of a visual person when it comes to lengthy communication. So if you're like me, you might find it helpful to read the full text of his speech here. (I didn't, but I thought you might be more ambitious than me.)

...

As far as the kitchen goes, for dinner tonight I made the gyros I mentioned yesterday. I used this recipe, modifying it by using less of everything (cooking for just me) and adding some minced garlic to the marinade and chopped cucumber to the finished product. It was quite good, especially with the whole-wheat pitas I made yesterday, using this recipe, modified by using only 1/2 cup soy flour and 1 cup regular flour. (I can't help it, I like to modify recipes, even on the first try.)

Solitary ramblings on a darkened night...arriving someplace, perhaps

The house is mine all week, while my parents are away, so I'm getting a preview of living on my own. I've done this before—stayed home alone for days or weeks. It is always a welcome thing. It makes me want to run up and down the stairs (more than usual), play crazy music on all three floors, dance and leap and pretend to be an entertainer. I entertain myself, at least. But I usually end up doing things much the same as when other people are around. I sit up in the attic, the only really warm place, use my computer, read, knit, and listen to NPR and all sorts of music. I venture downstairs for food and drink, but for little else.

It's raining tonight, a windy, forceful sort of rain that insists on people staying indoors. I won't argue with that. I've been up here all afternoon, knitting and listening to Me Talk Pretty One Day (on cassette, read by David Sedaris). I hardly noticed the hours pass from 2 to 4...or almost 5.

What I'm trying to say is this: I like being alone. I really, really like it. Especially after being with people for a while. When I was driving around the country, seeing places and visiting friends, I was always happy to leave wherever I was if it meant having some time alone. I didn't like to tell my friends this, because I thought they might not believe me when I said how much I enjoyed visiting them. Because both statements would have been true. I like people and I like getting away from them.

I listened to NPR while making dinner. There was an interview with Desmond Tutu, whom I don't know much about. But I was appreciating his replies to the interviewer, and a few words in particular caught my attention: "A solitary human being is a contradiction in terms. We say in Africa a person is a person through other persons. We are made for togetherness, for friendship, for fellowship. We are created to live in a delicate network of interdependence and we are different precisely in order to know our need of one another."

Tutu's words reminded me of something I already know but didn't know how to say. I've been thinking lately (the past four or five months) about how much I appreciate my various friends. I know so many very different people, and I've gained so much from their differences. I've become a fuller person, I think, because of their differences.

On NPR right now

I'm listening to a discussion of happiness; Darrin McMahon is sharing his research (and recent book, Happiness: A History) with Diane Rehm. Listen in now or find more information here (scroll down).

This is fascinating. McMahon references everything from Aristotle to Saint Augustine to the Declaration of Independence to Zoloft. A big theme is happiness as a result of virtue, exhibited in social and political settings—not in solitude. The idea of happiness as a basic human right is actually a very recent idea.

He's speaking from a Western perspective and 2,500 years of philosophy and thought on the subject of happiness. It's a history, which is important to note, because there are so many other perspectives and so much more history one could consider.

"Pleasure—and pleasurable things in the world—draw us; and pain—and painful things in the world—repulse us." This reminds me of Katie's recent post about beauty and pain.

When asked if he was happy, Winston Churchill replied, "Of course not! What do you think I am, an idiot?"

Madeleine says

Ever since I read whatever that first book of hers was that I read (Walking on Water, I think it was), I've been coming back for more. Madeleine L'Engle is what I've come to call my "home voice" in writing.

It is essential, I believe, to have a home voice—or, more likely, several. Madeleine is my writing home voice, in the same way that Deb Talan is one of my current music home voices. These are the artists who inspire, who clarify, who state the obvious when the obvious is the most profound thing, the thing we desperately need to hear. I have these voices resounding in my head; their words influence mine.

Here's what Madeleine says, which I read last night:

An infinite question is often destroyed by finite answers. To define everything is to annihilate much that gives us laughter and joy.

I've been worrying about giving an answer to someone, but I cannot for the life of me understand the question. I haven't heard it in a way that I can form in words. Maybe I haven't really heard it at all. So maybe I can't answer; maybe to answer it would be to take the life out of it. Maybe by trying so hard to answer everything, I'm becoming one of these people:

The people I know who are the most concerned about their individuality, who probe constantly into motives, who are always turned inwards towards their own reactions, usually become less and less individual, less and less spontaneous, more and more afraid of the consequences of giving themselves away.

I've realized lately, amid my own clamoring to know myself, that I am most a self (what Madeleine tries to understand as a self, not a self-image...read the book: A Circle of Quiet...I hope she doesn't mind the first-name basis I'm on with her, because I cannot think of her in any other way) when I am, for lack of a more mature word, playing: usually outside, often alone, free from self-analysis, ready to explore. I think that I'm beginning to translate that attitude to being in company, but it takes time, for an introvert such as myself, as well as the right company. What's more, I don't think I ever want to lose this willingness to be—and play—alone.

I wish I could go on, but I must away to work very soon.
...

Who are your home voices?

The expanse between us (borrowing Rilke's thoughts on solitude and love)

As a sort of follow-up to my post of yesterday:

This morning I slept in, finished 1984 (disturbing, thought-provoking) and read a bit of Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet, which I've been savoring for several months. The letter I read this morning seemed to relate directly to yesterday's thoughts.

Rilke begins the letter by writing about his young friend's sonnet, and then goes straight into a treatise on the nature of love, by way of discussing the necessity of solitude, though it may be difficult (yet especially because it is difficult).

I equate good friendship with togetherness, learning about each other, telling stories and details ("quality time," you might say). Further, it seems that love would be a deepening of this same thing: more togetherness, more sharing (less individuality). But Rilke's words are otherwise:

"Many young people, to be sure, who love falsely, that is simply surrendering, letting solitude go (the average person will always persist in this way), feel the oppression of failure and want to make the situation in which they find themselves full of vitality and fruitful in their own personal fashion ... but how should those who have already confounded themselves and are no longer bounded or separate, who therefore no longer possess anything individual, be able to find a way out of themselves, out of the depth of their already shattered solitude?"

He then writes about the ways in which women are beginning to be viewed differently, to think of themselves differently, with the new ideas of feminism (the letters were written between 1904 and 1908), and also about the ways in which men are changing, especially in their perception of and relation to "the feminine human being." [This feels like I'm writing a paper for an English class...it's rather fun. This is the part I enjoyed, anyway: combining bits and pieces to find some further or clarified meaning from the author's words.]

Then he writes:

"And this more human love (which will consummate itself infinitely thoughtfully and gently, and well and clearly in its binding and loosing) will be something like that which we are preparing with struggle and toil, the love which consists in the mutual guarding, bordering and saluting of two solitudes."

In the related notes at the end of the book, Rilke writes, in another letter, about love and more specifically about marriage:

"The good marriage is rather one in which each appoints the other as guardian of his solitude and shews him this greatest trust that he has to confer. A togetherness of two human beings is an impossibility and, where it does seem to exist, a limitation, a mutual compromise which robs one side or both sides of their fullest freedom and development. But granted the consciousness that even between the closest people there persist infinite distances, a wonderful living side by side can arise for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them."

I have no conclusion to add to this. I'll keep these words for later.