Journal

Now that I’m in my fifties, I kinda thought I would have my life figured out. It may have been all those sitcoms I watched as a kid. I thought I would have at least received a copy of my permanent record by now… but all I’ve come to realize is that life is mysteriously cyclical, and each new day presents another opportunity to get a strike. Or at least pick up a spare.

There are so many unexplained things happening on this planet that we humans ignore, as we busy ourselves with work and recreational pursuits. It is the year 2022 and scientists still have not observed eels mating in the wild. Sure, they’ve captured eels and observed their reproductive cycle in captivity, but that’s like watching a sex show in Amsterdam and claiming to have witnessed true love. Not necessarily the same thing.

Meanwhile, the Earth is shifting and changing in ways that could lead to our demise faster than you can say underground bunker— much less get to one. Take the recent volcano in the Pacific for example. Plates are shifting and releasing gasses from the planet’s core, which has the power to render life as we know it as meaningless as a pair of Manolos in a bowling alley.

Since 1980 I have only bowled a handful of times. It was never my favorite pastime, even if I didn’t have to wear shoes that weren’t my own. Meanwhile in the last forty years, the North and South Poles have shifted four metres* (13 feet.) It would seem that Earth is getting a hitch in her giddy ‘up. Apparently, our planet shifts on its axis as it hurtles through the cosmos, and this shifting causes a wobble called polar motion, which has to do with the ratio of water to land. Wobbles, in my opinion, are not good. The fact that we’re out here in the “unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the galaxy” -Douglas Adams, spinning along as though we have nothing but time and oil, is a friggin miracle in itself. And if the delicate balance of water to hardened lava tips too far to one side or the other, then it really won’t matter how cute our shoes are.

Humans are cute, objectively, but we should remember that we’re not irreplaceable. (Which is a good thing, because you never want to be so good at your job that you can’t be promoted.) I like to imagine the gods and goddesses watching over us as we eat nachos, drink beer, and hurl heavy balls down the lane, congratulating each other for knocking down all the pins while our planet is in serious jeopardy of becoming a gutter ball. I’m sure they can understand the levity we crave while living in such political clutter and chaos.

Each day we turn on our screens to witness the juxtapose of river and air pollution next to wildlife and wild lands. To watch billions of our tax dollars spent on bombing our fellow earthlings. To try to understand how the cast of Sex and the City and the Golden Girls can be portrayed as the same age. What an amazing age decade, the fifties! Especially for single women living their best lives with their best friends.

In my experience, by fifty years old we are fully oscillating between big-picture world issues and microscopic self needs, between gratitude and greed. And it is a balancing act to keep from becoming jaded to the plight of others, while still taking care of ourselves and protecting our own joy. There isn’t much wiggle room but as they say, if you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much room.

Maybe that’s why people take up bowling in middle age— or better yet, curling (what they call bowling in Canada, eh?) A hobby with Zen-like repetition and adult beverages might be just the thing to make me temporarily forget about the state of our planet. And maybe when I’m hanging out with Betty White, enjoying nachos and beer while wearing hobby-specific shoes, I will look back and see that my fifties were when I figured it all out.

*https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/apr/23/climate-crisis-has-shifted-the-earths-axis-study-shows

Happy new year! Oh boy, these days it seems like each year is better than the next… just kidding- sort of. We went through the ringer last year: pestilence, poverty, politicians who were ready to burn it all down and hang the vice president on the front steps of the capitol.

This was the first holiday season in twenty years when America wasn’t at war. Well, except for within itself. But then, this country hasn’t really enjoyed a peaceful existence since the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria hit the shore. Just imagine if those guys had been welcomed in the same way we treat immigrants today. Maybe there was a contingent of Native Americans pushing for them to be put in cages until they could ship them back across the pond, but the majority thought that was barbaric, remaining open-minded and cooperative.

Throughout human history the issue of our differences keeps bubbling up to the surface, causing ongoing pain and suffering. Race, religion, gender, sexual preference, none of these have been proven to exist after this life (neither have we, my husband would remind me), so why do we spend so much time discussing, analyzing, criticizing, and killing each other over whether or not we neatly fit into these arbitrary boxes? I’m over it. As long as it’s consensual, I say give it a go! I do have one request, however. We need a singular pronoun for people who don’t wish to use he or she. ‘They’ is already overused and causes unnecessary confusion, so I propose we use Ye. As in, “Ye went to the store because yiers frig was empty.”

Transgender members of Native American tribes were often revered.* And similar to the way the science behind breathing through one’s nose surfaces throughout time— only to be buried again and again (also passed down through the generations by Native Americans), exposing ourselves to different kinds of people broadens our E.Q. (Emotional Quotient.) But, then a novice gets into power and war begins anew… Myriad health/dental issues could be solved by simply teaching our children to breathe through their noses and peace could be achieved by teaching them to seek out/accept diversity. Though I suppose until we figure out how to calm our fear of the unknown, and instead embrace it, we’ll keep forgetting and relearning the secrets to thrive in this life.

Speaking of the collective unknown, I want to talk about the one thing we all have in common but don’t speak of. Death. I have a few theories I’d like to run by everyone, and I can’t do it if he/she/ye keeps leaving the room every time I bring it up. I would also like to propose we start celebrating our loved one’s deathdays in much the same way we celebrate their birthdays. I would like to be able to sit around eating cake and reliving the good times we shared, without accusations of being “morbid” or “stuck in one of the five stages of grief.” I know death is an end, but I also believe it to be a chance at rebirth, an opportunity to experience another perspective.

I love meeting people who look at life completely differently than I do. I often think I should get to know more old sailors and bikers, both to shift my consciousness and to ensure even representation at my funeral. If I died right now there would be plenty of preppy cowpokes and tattooed old punks, but maybe no more than one or two Harley Davidsons in the parking lot. Can any of us really know what it’s like to be each other? I have a cousin who sees life in math equations, and another one who sees colors attached to people. Perhaps the point of life is to consider it from as many angles as possible, using the one body we each get, and if we live long enough, maybe even end up with the ability to walk in the shoes of our so-called enemy. Seems like the Native Americans may have already known this when some Anglos showed up thinking life was just a game to win or lose.

*https://www.theguardian.com/music/2010/oct/11/two-spirit-people-north-america