Too old to die young

 

 I’ve often said, “Don’t outlive your own life,” thinking i knew what it meant. Now I’m befuddled. Does it mean, don’t live past your physical capabilities or something else? It could mean, don’t outlive your friends, which would be a wise thought or, if circumstances change and you can’t change with them, abandon all hope. This morning I’m thinking it means, don’t outlive your curiosity. 

If i find the day dull and colorless, is it merely temporary, or a suggestion of something deeper? For example, after being in Oaxaca for four months, the bloom has worn off. At first, everything interested me. I took pictures of art, handicrafts, walked all over town looking at the murals. Observed people with appreciation, clicking photographs at every turn, not always getting smiles. These folks seemed vital, fresh, and not like the dull citizens at home. 

Alas, the day has come when i see protruding stomachs and dirty fingernails, obesity an immense problem, probably due to the sugar in all the pastries. For a long time the noise in the street sounded refreshing. With time it’s become abrasive and the crowds pushy. With everybody wearing masks it’s hard to realize how beautiful so many of women are. I’ve even had flashes of homesickness, despite the fact i have no desire to be there. Small wonder i meet so many nomads who keep moving.

Yes, I’ve met many who’ve been on the road for years, traveling dozens, even hundreds of countries. How do they do it? They don’t become attached to places or people. They can say hello and goodbye  easily. That’s how pilgrims have always done it. The movement itself is sacred. True, i don’t see many on a spiritual quest. Most like seeing themselves in exotic places. The lands around them scenes for their own rolling movies. Others like the feeling of being in motion, riding a bicycle, staring out a bus window, the the foreign smells roiling their hair.

I myself am attached to visual spectacle, constantly looking for the odd details, excited by the tilt of unusual looking buildings, colorful clothes flashing the the sun, old buses painted with slogans. I get used to sights and smells and they begin to bore me. I have to climb on a airplane and seek a contrast. And yet, i am really a person of attachments. I begin to yearn for familiar voices and faces.  Even the electronics of this age can’t bring me the flavor of a friend or the crunching of a known street under my feet. I am certainly a failed wanderer, though i like to play the part. 

Bums, beggars, and layabouts

Alas, alack, I’ve discovered another lethal strain of Puritanism in myself: i believe a person must make a contribution to the common good. I think mostly in terms of beauty, creativity, and art. That’s awfully narrow. It leaves out caregivers, policemen, garbage collectors and the great mass of people. What about parents loving their children or bill-collectors being kind? Every kind of giving might be considered essential.

Yet the other day I discovered a distain in myself. I met a young beggar from Kentucky displaying the sign I LOVE TACOS AND MEZCAL. He usually had a sign MONEDA PAR UN CUARTO. Yes, he asked the Mexican passerby to pay his hotel bill, and he’s remarkably successful. The general Mexican citizen has allowed him to travel all over México without a dime, and he’s been doing this for years. A young American begging succor from his Mexican hosts.

Now he is very charming, a good talker, his Spanish good enough to cage a ride to the coast, where he resides now. Friends at the hostel lauded this as courage. HE’S CHOSEN HIS LIFE. And i demurred without saying why. I didn’t want to admit a traveler needs to pay his way somehow, whether he’s in the depths of the tropics or on skid row. I’m an ardent fan of street singers and performers. Anyone can learn a few tunes on a harmonica or strum simple chords on a ukulele and belt out a song.

Skill is not the question here, though I’m inclined to give more money to the more

tuneful. Yes, i always give money to street musicians. Fifty cents to a dollar. I receive their thanks with magnanimity, or i smile as they merely plunk away without looking up. They’ve the pride of their profession. Any artist with any salt does. I like artists who draw on the sidewalk, those who yank and bop at puppets, jump through hoops, mangle a dance routine.

I don’t tolerate fakes however. There’s a guy on the streets of Oaxaca who carries a bronze soprano sax and sits with his son. He’ll play three notes, sit and wait, play the same three notes again. I want to throw a ten peso note at his head. A jerk like this spoils the whole scene. Luckily, he’s the only one. There is a young violinist who plays badly, but i encourage him with a few coins and he gives me a big smile. I want to encourage him till he plays at Carnegie hall!

Retirement: the land beyond time

 

I swore i would never retire. Ah, but at 80 maybe it’s a different story. Like all my friends who have retired i would have to find a new life. My identity as a fire lookout has served me well. It astounds the common crowd ho believe fire lookouts disappeared long ago. And it confuses foreigners who find the very concept bizarre, belonging only to Tibetan and Chinese monks. Other than in the quest for enlightenment, why would anyone sit on a mountain top, alone for months at  a time?

Now, i never dreamed i might live on social security and savings. Until i discovered i could in Mexico. And more than that, Mexico has revealed the deadness of life in the USA. By than i mean, in my home town the streets are empty. People drive the block to the corner grocery. At the most they walk their dog around the block. In Mexico, where there are only small shops, the sidewalks are full most all day. There are common markets with many food stalls and places to eat. 

Maybe it’s the difference between Catholic and Protestant, the churches of the former crowded with saints and paintings, the churches of the latter almost totally lacking in color. The Protestants believe in individual salvation, the souls of others left to make their own way. The Catholics extremely social and community driven. You can get to heaven by helping others. Of course, there is a price to pay. The dogma driven into little kids with a hammer. It’s truly tribal. 

Expats don’t have to abide by these rules and can live appreciating the bright colors  and peaceful parks. Street musicians appear everywhere, not driven into oblivion by rules saying you can’t sit on the sidewalk or raise your solitary voice in song. True, the language is foreign. And I’ve barely exerted myself in that direction, feeling I’ll be dead before i could hold a decent conversation. I enjoy the company of expats and travelers, the common language English. 

I’ve met so many people who’ve spent most of their lives on the road, backpacking through India and bicycling all over Africa. I thought i was something, having been in 40 countries. And that fellow has been in 90 and that fellow 117. I feel like I’ve wasted a good bit on my life on security and habit. And what now? Yes, if i retire, i will enter the land without time, as long as i don’t seek stability. Deepak Chopra says feeling old depends on two things: the view of people around you and the despair of so little time left.  If I can ignore others and imagine i live in a place where there is no time i will be fine. 

“Falling, falling, falling.” Alice

Having fallen twice in the last several weeks, the first time flat on a cement sidewalk, i don’t even want to think about it. PTSD i suppose. Just before leaving Mexico City, i met an Argentine woman in hostel who had no front teeth. A drunk had slammed her agains a wall. Now she was terrified of everything. She couldn’t even get on the plane to return home when relatives sent her the ticket. Her hands like claws, they seemed to be convulsively clutching  a life-raft.

Now i understood her condition. Yes, a couple of kind Mexican woman handed me Kleenex as the blood dripped from my face, a fellow helped me up, had me sit down and insisted i wait till the medico arrived.  I waited half an hour, then walked dazed several blocks back to the hostel. The landlady bought arnica for me and i smeared it on the goose egg by my left eye. I flopped on my bed and slept for 12 hours.

If i were 20 instead of 80 I probably wouldn’t have taken seriously. They say you feel old when you have a permanent injury. Would i be crippled for life? The face wound retreated, but it took several weeks for the muscles in back and chest to stop aching. Then two days ago, i fell entering an air shaft to dry pants i had just washed. Was i getting senile? I’ve always been in too much in a hurry, trying to correct mistakes after they happened! If only i could go back in time.

So far i seem to be recovering again with a sore shoulder and elbow, a glitch in my hip. Still, i’’m feeling fragile. No wonder our basic fear is of falling. Ah, the poor child learning to walk. And what must Alice have thought, falling into wonderland? Of course, it was a return to childhood. And for me a look at the coming decline of age. I’ve sworn i would never let it happen. No, better to fall on my sword. The trouble is: I’m enjoying life more.

Yes, I’m seriously thinking of settling in Mexico, where i can live on my social security. Covid 19 has made everybody in the United States a little crazy. ‘Normal life’ has crept under the carpet. Sure, the vaccines in process, but will a life with masks retreat from consciousness? However, the real question is: as I enjoy living more can i let go of it as easily as last summer, when i felt like jumping off a cliff every day? Only time will tell. 

The gods must be crazy

Or i must be! I know perfectly well what i have to do to escape a virus: boost my immune system. No TOBACCO. ALCOHOL. SUGAR. Plenty of sleep, exercise, vegetables. Lower my stress in every way possible. Stay out of bakeries. Take VITAMINS A, D, B, and ZINC. Research everything i can about the immune system.  YouTube has a wealth of information. Sure, people contradict each other, but i try to use what little brains i have. What is the unhealthiest country in the world? That’s a no-brainer. 

OBESITY

I know I need to lose weight. Why don’t i do it? I like being the weight i am. If i gain, i feel bad. If i lose too much i look like a scarecrow. Who was it said, “if human beings weren’t vain, they’d have nothing to talk about?” Of course, I’m a disgrace to the species. Wealth has ruined us all. If i were a hunter-gatherer I’d be lean and tough as nails. 

Yes, I’ve drunk too many lattes, resided too long in coffee shops. Read too many books. Grown too old, a prime target for any self-respecting virus. “We can’t let this guy go. What would they say back home?”

And it feels there’s no place to run to. If the USA is bad, Mexico has the highest level of diabetes in Latin America. (Yes, stay out of those wonderful bakeries.) And to be good, you have to live in a country like CANADA, where people being barricaded inside their houses, or AUSTRALIA, where police rounding up people on the streets. In other words, I’d have to be pleased fascism is saving my life, so I CAN sit at home and stare at the wall. 

Unfortunately, I’ve been raised as an individual and will sneak around as best i can to find nooks and crannies of normality. Somebody’s got to do and i believe it is my duty and sanity. 

Always carry a backup phone when traveling!

 I look down at my shirt pocket, AND MY CELL PHONE IS GONE1 A moment of absolute panic. Here i am in the huge airport of Brasilia, Brazil. I can’t believe it. I run down the stairs to the last place i had it, a booth of the airlines. No one in line has seen it. I run back up, trip on the escalator and dump food all over the place. A the information booth the woman speaks little English. She calls for another, who does. I find out Find My Phone won’t work here. She can’t call a number out of country. I moan and beat my head. Then a call comes. A security guard has found a phone. I wait in a state of suspended animation. Yes, it is my phone. He found it hanging from a luggage cart.

How dumb. The chain tangled itself in the cart. It’s usually  around my neck, but I’d been taking pictures. So much for this nightmare. I ate ice cream and drank a cappuccino to calm down. I have a backup phone and didn’t  bring it. Okay, there’s the experienced traveler totally losing his cool. Here in Mexico City I’ll search for an older phone. I know where the iPhone store is. At the same time I’m totally exhausted from the 20 hour flight. I dragged my bags all over on a six hour break. Not only that after the telephone fiasco i tripped on my bags,  raisins all over the carpet. Later i find I’ve  sprained my left wrist more than I thought.

Okay, i did sleep almost sixteen hours before sitting down to write this. There’s something not so good about having my mind befuddled. I’ve paid for two weeks at the Selina Hostel to get me through the holidays, waiting to see if i brought back Covid with me. I doubt i have. No symptoms. And i just checked with my hometown. Nine more people died, so far I’m better off and I’ve had some very unusual experiences. Better than  lying in a bed in familiar surroundings , the grim reaper haunting my dreams. Of course i used to think, “Make good memories and you can die happy.> ah, that illusion has been dispelled forever..

I flew off to Brazil on invitation from a young woman I’d barely met in mexico last winter. I hesitated. My friend Lucas said,” you might as well have an adventure in Brazil in the warm air instead of a sitting here waiting for winter.”  his words took hold. And a wild time it turned out to be, though nothing I anticipated. We cycled through lovers, mates and friends in one week, the fastest complete relationship I could imagine. We left it at friends i hope. What’s odd is we had more in common than two people have a right to be. Born in Brazil, she moved to Germany at 19 . Studied dance and theater in Holland. We knew all the same names and places. At thirty two she gave up dance, to become a therapist astrologer  traveling around Brazil, learnng kite surfing and giving ‘readings. It just proves having a lot in common doesn’t mean being soul mates. 

A cat separated too soon from its mother

 Well, now i am embarrassed. I had an astrology reading from a woman, Kay Taylor, and afterwards i felt very unsatisfied and told her so. Partly this was due to my phone not recording the session. I couldn’t listen to the session again, and that’s when i learn the most. She had recorded it. And when I listened again, it made more sense.

What bothered me was it was so gloomy. Betrayal. Distrust. Fear. In fact she said my chart dominated by the last. She said my recent past life came from a death just before WWII. My birthday May 5, 1940.  I’d always felt I’d been Jewish. She said I’d been betrayed by the community and had troubles with trust.

So be it. I’m prey to pain attacks which I never had when younger. In fact i had a bad one early yesterday morning. It took the whole day to shake it off. And now I’m very conscious of how fearful i can be. I hope i can say with Georgia O’Keefe, “I’ve always been afraid and I’ve never let it stop me from doing anything.” 

This morning it occurred to me i act like the black cat i shared an apartment with briefly after leaving the lookout. The landlady said it had been separated from its mother too early. It kept kneading pillows for example. I just looked up the characteristics of such a cat:

From a mental or developmental standpoint, kittens who have been separated too soon may not be as easily socialized, whether that is with their people or other animals. They don't know what they are. They don't know what normal cat behavior is.

Kittens who have been separated too soon can have physical as well as mental problems. In terms of physical problems, they may not have good coordination or understand how to stalk prey and how to translate this behavior into appropriate play with their human. They may be aloof, wary or fearful of touch.

The more i read, the more sense it makes. My first grade report card:  He doesn’t play well with others. And my mother saying “You played alone so much I never thought you’d have any friends.” My sister born just a year after me. I was dethroned! I became a real pest after that. I did everything i could to upstage my baby sister. Poor girl. She too had a rough start.

The astrologer gave me one piece of good advice: pursue pleasure and happiness. I’ve never been good at that.