No Place for Sissies, Part 2: Looking Back

In my previous blog,  I began what I hope will be a useful dialogue on the subject of growing older. A lot of my thoughts in this area lately have been about looking back over my life thus far, sort of assessing my successes and failures, thinking about how I have lived my life, what I did well and what I might have done better.  Looking back and sort of grading ourselves takes a bit of courage. I think it is part of the reason for Bette Davis' warning about old age not being for sissies.


As often happens when I am mulling something over, I have been reminded of a some songs that present divergent views about the results of looking back over one's life.  One of those is Frank Sinatra's classic "I Did it My Way."   This song presents the thoughts of someone facing "the final curtain" and thinking about how well he did. His self-assessment is that he was someone who planned his life, lived it according to his own rules, did things his own way, always stood tall, and, although he has regrets, they are "too few to mention."   Hmmm.  Pretty impressive record.

Another song that tells the story of a man looking back over his life is Harry Chapin's  "Cat's in the Cradle."  When I was a young man, it was one of my favorites, but these days I find its message so disturbing that I usually avoid it.   But I listened to it today, and was struck again by the fatalistic view of his life the man unfolds. The story begins when he is young man, busy with his career.  His son is born, but the young man is busy pursuing what is most important to him, and time goes by faster than he expects it to.  Now he is old, and looking back on his life, and wants to spend time with the son he neglected.  Only now the son is too busy for him.  The little boy's wish to be "just like him" has come true, but that fact is portrayed as a curse, as the tendency of some  men to value the wrong things, to make the wrong choices until it is too late, and to pass that failure along to their sons.  In other words, instead of giving himself on all A's on Life's Big Report Card
like the man in the Frank Sinatra song does, Harry Chapin's fellow gives himself nothing but F's.  And, oh, by the way, his son will fail at life, too, and there nothing he can do to make any of it any better.  He and his son were both failures before they even started out.  Let's all just kill ourselves now.

I think both of these views are unfair and dishonest.  I don't think anyone who has learned anything in life can look back and honestly say they have no regrets.  And I also don't believe anyone is ever a complete failure, or that there is ever a time when it is impossible to rectify past mistakes, perhaps by making the future better.  Some people are afraid to admit that they might have done some things better, that they should have made different decisions. Others are too hard on their younger selves, forgetting that when they made whatever mistakes they condemn themselves for, they had not yet gained the experience and wisdom that now allows them to see where they erred.

As I look back on my own life, in general I think I have done pretty well.  The biggest regrets I have are the times when I have treated people unkindly. There are things I might do differently, given the chance.  I sometimes wish I had been a lot less serious and goal-oriented in my youth, that I had taken time to have more fun.  I also wish I had been more willing to take risks, to make changes and try things that were a bit scary.   But I don't condemn myself for not making those choices.   For the most part, I did the best I could in most situations, and I don't have any huge regrets or failures to be ashamed of.

Some people I know that are my age do have major regrets.  When they talk about their pasts, some express shame, some grow wistful, wishing things had been different.  "For all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these:  it might have been." --  John Greenleaf Whittier.  To those folks I say, there is still tomorrow.

While it is true that getting older and honestly assessing our lives are not for sissies, it also true that facing our regrets and learning what we can from them makes it possible to make our futures better, to look forward to doing things differently, and perhaps doing the things we always wanted to, but never got around to.

More about looking forward in my next blog.


Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse

No Place For Sissies, Part 1: Getting Old

Actress Bette Davis once said, "Old age is no place for sissies."

I don't really think of myself as as old, more like middle-aged. But realistically, unless I live to be 114, I know that I have already lived more years than I can expect to continue living this life.

And I'm starting to understand what old Bette meant, I think.  I know that I am blessed in so many ways.  I have a wonderful wife to whom I have been married for almost 37 years.  Our relationship gets better every year.  I have a wonderful family who love and respect me.  I am still in good health.  I am gainfully employed (at least for the moment). Still, I am beginning to feel some of what Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey meant when she said, "Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death."

Time has yet to rob me of much of what I hold dear, but it is hard not to think of the future without some trepidation about what lies ahead.  I have seen enough of what happens to people as they get old, and most of it is not good.  I often think it is harder for men to get old than for women, mostly because the men I have known well who have been the victims of Time's thievery have not dealt with it very well.  Who can blame them?  It must be devastating to lose the parts of yourself that define you as a man, your strength, your virility, your abilities, your independence, maybe your self-respect.

When we consider our own mortality, it is inevitable that we make judgments about how well we have lived this life, that we wonder what it all means.  Some folks dwell on the futility of it all.  A famous fictional example of this is Shakespeare's murderous king Macbeth.  Upon learning that his wife had died, Macbeth responded with:

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

Steve's modern English translation:  Life is one stupid day after another, and it only leads to death.  Let's get it over with, because although we all struggle through our lives and the challenges we face, we all just end of up dead and forgotten.  It is just a lot of noise, pain, and anger, and in the end, it doesn't mean anything. It means nothing.  

Let me be quick to say that I don't subscribe to Macbeth's conclusions about life, his nihilism. As I follower of Christ, I take comfort in Jesus' words, "I have told you these things, so that you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)  Jesus was telling his disciples, and by extension us, that sorrow is just part of this life, and is to be expected, including the kinds of sorrow that come with growing older.  It is not my purpose here to try to convince anyone that they should adopt my beliefs about Christ.  As it has been said, "For those who believe, no proof is necessary.  For those who don't believe, no proof is possible."

However, I believe that whether you believe that life means nothing, or you have a faith or philosophy that gives you hope, growing old and facing what comes with it is not easy.  I think it is important to think about the issues that growing older brings, and so to try to cope with them as best we can. I hope I have a few years before the really hard parts come, but I have thought about a lot of them as I have observed people who are struggling with aging and the losses it brings.  I have looked back over my life, and I have looked forward.  I have struggled with fear of the future, and with fear of the present, and the extreme changes in our culture that have occurred in my lifetime. I have thought about the ways my self-image has changed, and ways it might continue to change as I grow older. I have seen others face death, and have been confronted by my own mortality.

To be honest, I have far more questions than answers. I would like to explore some of those questions with you in a series of blogs called "No Place for Sissies."  Maybe we can answer some of them together.

Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse

Both Sides Now

If you are around the same age as I am, or if you are familiar with "Golden Oldies" music from the 1960's and 70's, then you probably remember Judy Collins' recording of Joni Mitchell's beautiful, although perhaps somewhat maudlin, song "Both Sides Now."

In the song, which Judy Collins sings like an angel, she talks about several aspects of living and how she has viewed them at earlier points in her life.  The specific things she sings about are clouds, love, and life.  She says that as she has progressed through her life, her perspective on each of these things has changed, and so therefore her ideas about each of them has changed.

This week I have been reminded of that song, and its ideas about changing perspectives, because I find myself in a situation that is completely new to me, in a place I never really expected to be.   After 32 years with the same employer, yesterday I was one of about 200 people who are part of what is legally referred to  as a "mass lay-off" (as I learned in the letter they gave me on the subject).   During my tenure at that job, there were several lay-offs in the past, but I always survived them.  I was always on the "win" side mentioned in Judy's song.  This time I am on the "lose" side.

The real theme of "Both Sides Now" is the illusions we live under until some event changes our perspective.  In the past, the criteria for who would be laid off and who would not included tenure, and job performance, such things as quality of work, ability to self-motivate and lead others, and ability in special assignments, such as writing portions of proposals to win the company new contracts.   I rated well in all these areas, so I was always safe, or so I thought.  It turns out, looking at this lay-off from the "lose" side, that my belief in my job security was an illusion like the ones Judy Collins sings about.

Because of our Federal government's inability to do what we elect them to do, because of sequestration, and the budget impasse, the criteria for this lay-off were different than before.  Most of  the work we did at my job was funded from the same big pot of money.  A few other tasks were funded separately from other agencies in the government.  This layoff was the result of the big pot of money being eliminated.  If your job was funded by that money, it was eliminated.  Only the jobs with funding from other sources were safe.  My job was from the big pot, so I was out.   Seniority, quality of work, and all that other stuff didn't matter this time.

Finding oneself suddenly out of work at age 57 is devastatingly shocking. After so long, many of the people I worked with were like family.  Although I did not always love my job, it always gave me self-respect, the feeling that I was capable and valued, somewhere to go each day, and something to do that mattered.   Ironically, in recent months I had grown to like my job more than ever and I finally realized how much it meant to me, how much it defined who I was.  Facing the loss of all that is much like dealing with the death of a loved one.

I know that although this is the end of a major part of my life, as Judy's song says, "something's lost and something's gained in living every day."  I have lost my job, but I have gained an opportunity to do something new, to learn new skills, meet new people, perhaps live in a new place.  I don't think I would have ever chosen to do those things if I were not forced into it.  So, like the cliche says, a door has been closed.  Now I need to find the open window.

One thing I am determined to do is to avoid becoming a victim.  Someone smart told me this week that battered women who believe they deserve the abuse they receive remain victims.   But when they become angry at their abusers, they are able to realize they are not to blame for what happened to them, and  from that belief comes the ability to take steps to change their lives.  The person who told me that said I need to be angry at what happened to me to avoid being destroyed by it.   I think I've got that covered because I am mad as hell at our incompetent government and the suffering it is inflicting on so many decent people across this country.

However, I'm not going to get stuck in anger and grief, either.  Gone is whatever illusion I had that the future of my job was secure.  Now my future is uncertain.  It was always was.  I just didn't know it.






Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse

The Seeds of Faith

Each day on my way to work, I pass by lots of places here in my hometown that remind me of my life as a child, schools I attended, places I used to go with my family.  One of them is Immanuel Baptist Church.  Seeing that little church takes me back to some of my first memories of learning about the faith that would become an important part of me.  I remember being there and singing all the typical Sunday School songs, including "Jesus Loves Me" and "Jesus Loves the Little Children." 

I remember that the latter song always made me wonder what "red and yellow" little children would look like,  because I associated those colors with the ones I knew from my crayon box.  I was also a little unclear on how the coins I brought for offering made their way to God. Or was it Jesus that got them?  And what was the deal with Jesus and God?  Which of them was in charge of what?  

Since we were an Army family, we moved a lot, so Immanuel Baptist was followed by Westwood Baptist, also here in Lawton, and First Southern Baptist Church in Junction City, KS, outside Ft. Riley.  When you go that far north, churches have to specify which Baptists they are, unlike down south, where " Baptist" always means "Southern Baptist."  Later when we moved back here, we went to Westwood again.

I have vivid memories of all these churches, of being so young that everything was confusing, especially matters of religion and faith, which most people, if they are being honest, would have to say remain somewhat fuzzy long after their childhood is over.  

Later, I learned that Jesus said that a lot about faith, and that he used stories, or parables, to impart his wisdom. One of the things he said is that his Kingdom is like a mustard seed, a tiny little seed that, when planted, grows into the largest of the garden plants, as big as a tree.  When I drive by Immanuel Baptist church, I am reminded that it was there, and in those other churches I attended as a child, where I sang those songs, and met people of faith, and gained a child's  imperfect understanding of God.  Those experiences, and my mother's strong faith, were the seeds of my own faith in Christ. 

As a child, my faith was simple.  It was OK that I didn't have everything figured out, that I didn't quite understand everything they talked about in church.  I didn't worry about those things much, because the basis of my faith, the belief that God loved me and cared about me and my life, was very real to me.  I believed those things partly because I was taught them at church and by my mother, but mainly because I experienced them for myself.  I knew God and his Son, and I knew that they loved me.  I don't know why this was true for me, I just know that it was.

As an adult, I became involved in lots of church activities, such as teaching Bible classes and being in church leadership.  I felt it was important to do these things to show God  (and other people)  that I was serious about my faith.  It was important to me to live out my faith for my children to see, and working in the church was how I tried to do that.  Some of the "church work" I did was deeply rewarding.  However, a lot of it was drudgery, done because I felt I had to, that not serving at church was not an option.   I was drawn into all kinds of church drama that didn't do much to glorify God.  (If you've been part of any church, you've probably seen the kind of stuff I'm talking about.)   I know now that a lot of the things I did to serve God were pretty far removed from the seeds of my faith.

These days I don't do any church work.  My faith has taken a path that  I would never have expected, one that does not include a congregation at present.  I am not bitter, or overly cynical.  What I am , is open to questions in ways that I never allowed myself to be when I was in church.   There are plenty of things that churches teach that I  no longer believe, or at least allow myself to question.  I no longer accept the doctrine of eternal torment for everyone who doesn't profess Christ.  Despite the emphatic proclamations of some, I do not believe that God hates homosexuals.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  I no longer feel that I have to have an answer to every theological question.  It is once again OK that I don't have everything figured out.

Some people who lose faith in their church, who allow them themselves to ask questions,  ultimately lose their faith completely.  They leave it behind like their childish beliefs in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.  I am glad that that is not the case for me.  Although my  faith has changed, it has also grown.  Although I doubt some things that churches teach, I have never doubted those fundamentals, the seeds of my faith that I experienced when I was so young, that God loves me and that Jesus is my friend.

It is difficult to write about matters of faith without sounding trite, like someone who just parrots what he has been taught.  I hope I have avoided that, but if not, that's OK.  How do you explain or defend something you believe, something that you know, to someone who doesn't understand your faith?  You can't.  And that's OK too.  I know what I believe, and why I believe it.  For that I am thankful.


Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse