My birthday started here yesterday at 7am, shaded and cool in Captain Burke Park, taking respite on a warm morning walk. And a couple of sneaky cigarettes. I am indeed fortunate to have this literally at my back door.
My birthday lunch is with the ‘usual suspects’, again looking over the river but this time from the Brisbane Powerhouse around the next bend. A lot has changed since our last get-together a couple of months ago; two of the six friends present have been diagnosed with cancer in the past 3 months, and serious cancers at that. The impacts of their diagnoses, prognoses and treatment, for them and their partners and us as friends, lingered around us. And none of us can deny that any one of us might still be the first to go; that being ‘undiagnosed’ is no safeguard at all.
For me, everything has changed, irrespective of the outcomes for them. Mortality and loss have taken a place at the table and will be an ongoing presence, whether foreground or background, from now on. However long and rich our individual paths ahead as we move into our late 60s (and hopefully our 70s and beyond), our decisions and actions are backlit by this incontrovertible reality.
Our aspirations for the future reflect both our perceptions of a foreshortened horizon – “get back to golf”, “go horseriding at least once”, “live each day fully”, “get to California in 2020”- and our good fortune in having had sufficient resources to realise many goals already.
So what do I take from this? I think it’s to go deep rather than wide. Oliver Sacks, on learning that he was terminally ill, wrote:
“It is up to me now to choose how to live out the months that remain to me. I have to live in the richest, deepest, most productive way I can. This will involve audacity, clarity and plain speaking: trying to straighten my accounts with the world. But there will be time, too, for some fun (and even some silliness as well ). …
I feel a sudden clear focus and perspective. There is no time for anything inessential. I must focus on myself, my work and my friends. I shall no longer look at “NewsHour” every night. I shall no longer pay any attention to politics or arguments about global warming. … This is not indifference but detachment – I still care deeply about the Middle east, about global warming, about growing inequality, but these are no longer my business; they belong to the future.” from My Own Life in The New York Times Feb 19, 2015
Detaching from politics would be easy for me; I have opinions but have never been a very committed or active participant . In any case, the current venal state of politics fills me with such despair and hopelessness that I am often relieved that I won’t be around for too long. However, I need to at least consider what that means should I live as long as my parents and many aunts and uncles; I could well be around another 25 years.
Strengthening and nurturing relationships, as well as being open to new friendships, will be a focus. My son is nearing 40 and I hope would appreciate a more equal and attentive focus from me. My attachment style has always tended towards the avoidant under stress and I probably have a bit to make up for. My avoidant attachment style has been evident in intimate relationships as well, so I have some work to do there.
Having the privilege of homes in both the city and a country town, I want to immerse myself in my surrounding environment and, in the case of the town I will soon move to, I want to understand it as fully as I can: its geography, history, Indigenous heritage, culture and people.
I have a goal to write, although I was too embarrassed to admit that in the discussion yesterday at my birthday lunch. I have made a start but wrestle every day with my output, judging it lame and amateurish. So be it, I’ll write it anyway. And this blog is a start.
