Last post, I wrote, somewhat tongue in cheek (I hope!) that it had just occurred to me that as I get older, I could be getting worse not better.
Here’s what comes to mind when I think worse, not better: Less ambitious, less courageous, more cautious, more conservative, less likely to throw myself into something new wholeheartedly, crabbier, boring, predictable, less engaged with the world, more fearful, content with the status quo, narrow-minded, petty, envious, self-indulgent, less willing to give of myself.
You probably have your own personal list of worse, not better.
Which makes me wonder, what’s on the better, not worse list? Funnier, looser, less concerned about what others think, flexible, giving, generous of mind and heart, trusting myself and others, sharing responsibilities, moral clarity, openness, curiosity, wonder, kind and tough, practical and impractical, disciplined and relaxed.
Oh dear. Some push-pull on that list.
What if: Instead of fearing that I’m getting worse as I get older, I acknowledge that I’m changing? My ambitions are changing. My desires are changing. Having checked the major life goals off my list (education, family, career), it seems harder to name what I want. Maybe the goals at this stage (mid-40s) are looser.
At moments, I do sense a wholeness, a oneness, an understanding of purpose that feels deep and wordless, and wondrous. But it is fleeting, as ecstatic experiences tend to be. I get the feeling, in these moments, that our purpose here on earth is to be brazenly present and wholly human, insatiably curious vessels of grace poured into imperfect containers, cracked and fragile and not meant to last. We’re meant to be brief, and aware of our limitations; in our brevity, we sense eternity; in our faultiness, generosity of spirit.
I used to dismiss religion’s various visions of heaven or paradise. Hated it, actually. But I’m starting to understand, more deeply, why these visions exist. Because here on earth, we’re bound to invent a series of flawed experiments, no matter how heart-felt our intentions. Criticism is easy, also necessary, also demonstrates involvement in the process; but the ease with which a critic can point out flaws, versus the challenge to she who attempts change, or reversal, or to implement a new idea, structure, system, vision, dream—well, it’s a pretty massive gulf. It’s why Canada keeps commissioning reports and implementing few/none of the reports’ recommendations.
The will to act almost has to be collective.
And while we wait for collective action, people suffer. As individuals, we see our neighbours suffering, and we find band-aid solutions, work-arounds, we tinker with the machinery we’ve inherited, upheld by greed and power and inertia. But we can’t knock it down till enough of us amass at the gates and demand change.
I’ve been thinking a lot about hope. Hope despite set-backs. Hope despite seeing the same script played again and again. How to serve hope, see hope, carry hope? And I think, ah, that’s where the vision of heaven comes in. It’s something to hold onto, to imagine, to dream of. It’s often present in art. Think of gospel songs: crossing the river, being called home, carried home, the relief and sweetness of rest after labour. This represents what we long for, and can’t quite glimpse. Wholeness, resolution, peace.
I can’t possibly know exactly what a better world would look like, let alone figure out how to get there. Just like I can’t even seem to see what a better Carrie would look like, let alone figure out how to get her there. I do hope I’m not getting worse. I hope the small actions I undertake every day in hopes of being healthy, humble, self-aware, humorous, curious, generous, trustworthy and trust-giving, are not outweighed by my multitude of neurotic tics, anxieties, fears, lethargy, indecision, vanity, ignorance, injury and self-interest. But who knows, really?
I’ll just have to hope without knowing, be without knowing, and take action without knowing, exactly, the consequences. Better or worse? Change keeps happening whether we notice or not, sanction it or not. So, whether better or worse, definitely different. Hopefully braver. Hopefully clearer. Hopefully lighter. But who knows.
Watching: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “The Danger of a Single Story” (Ted Talk)