Tag: future

Thunder Road

Thunder Road has been the source of my favorite line in all of music since I’ve had a favorite line in all of music: You ain’t a beauty, but, hey, you’re all right.

But as I’ve been listening to it lately as a middle-aged guy, I’ve been thinking more about the whole song. Not as a part of an album (which is a remarkable whole). And I know next to nothing about music, so my reflection is mainly just about what it says in words.

I find it insightful. It articulates emotions specific to a particular time of life, emotions that feel urgent at that time, but perhaps deceptively so when observed from the distance of middle age, when you know there’s almost always another chance, another opportunity coming. Patience, in other words, is usually rewarded. But I suppose that makes for less compelling lyrics. . . .

The screen door slams, Mary’s dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey, that’s me and I want you only
Don’t turn me home again, I just can’t face myself alone again
Don’t run back inside, darling, you know just what I’m here for
So you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore
Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night
You ain’t a beauty but, hey, you’re alright
Oh, and that’s alright with me

The song starts with a start, a door slamming, but immediately makes it clear that our narrator is in love. Soft language follows – “Mary’s dress waves” – with an image that rivals any description of any lover anywhere: “Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays.” What listener can’t superimpose an image of his own love as he hears that line? And then Springsteen invokes one of the great classic plaintive songs of the rock era – Roy Orbison’s Only the Lonely – and begs to be heard: “Don’t turn me home again.”

But then he shifts his tone, challenges his love to confront their future: “Don’t run back inside,” and “So you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore.” And then he encourages, cajoles even: “Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night.” And then he professes his love in the most Springsteenian way ever: “You ain’t a beauty but, hey, you’re all right, Oh, and that’s all right with me.” He tells her that he sees her as she is, and that her flawed self is still perfect for him. It’s the most brilliant “I love you” ever, because it acknowledges the puzzle of love, that imperfect beings can be perfect in the context of the right relationship.

You can hide ‘neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
Well now, I ain’t no hero, that’s understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey, what else can we do now?
Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair
Well, the night’s busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back, heaven’s waiting on down the tracks

The song gains momentum in the second verse, as Springsteen makes his case for change. First he paints the futility of the status quo: “You can. . . Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets.” He points out his love’s passivity, waiting for someone else to change her circumstance, which becomes perhaps a little ironic when he subsequently presents himself as a non-heroic savior of sorts. And he frames his question as a both a gamble – “With a chance to make it good somehow” – and no choice at all – “what else can we do now?”

His pitch then is for escape, for throwing off the frustration of their current situation for the uncertainty of leaving it behind, betting that “heaven’s waiting” somewhere down the road. And without a particular destination to offer, at least not yet, he focuses on the feeling of the journey: “roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair.”

This is youth speaking, impatient for change, believing anything is better than this current situation, willing to chuck it all because he hasn’t built up enough of an investment to consider keeping it. He’s a have-not-wants-more. And now he’s selling his solution to the woman he loves, a woman who seems to be hesitant to embrace it.

Oh oh, come take my hand
We’re riding out tonight to case the promised land
Oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road
Oh, Thunder Road, oh, Thunder Road
Lying out there like a killer in the sun
Hey, I know it’s late, we can make it if we run
Oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road
Sit tight, take hold, Thunder Road

The chorus distills all the relevant pieces into a few lines. It’s a stirring argument to be sure, especially when paired with the music, ratcheting up the intensity, building energy beneath the words. He won’t go alone: “come take my hand.” His urgency grows – “Hey, I know it’s late, we can make it if we run” (yet another great, great line!) – and the non-specific destination shimmers in the distance: “. . . the promised land.”

Well, I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk
And my car’s out back if you’re ready to take that long walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door’s open but the ride ain’t free
And I know you’re lonely for words that I ain’t spoken
But tonight we’ll be free, all the promises’ll be broken

He finally gets to the one line in the song that’s forward looking and specific, the promise of what the future will look like once they’ve made their escape: “I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk.” And he follows it up with his hard close: “my car’s out back if you’re ready to take that long walk.” He recognizes that it’s a long walk – a tough decision – for her, and he’s a full-discloser too: “The door’s open but the ride ain’t free.” If she joins him, he sees it as a commitment, to him, to his escape, to the future he sees. He acknowledges that he hasn’t made an explicit commitment to her – “I know you’re lonely for words that I ain’t spoken” – and he still doesn’t, telling her instead that this act of escape will be a paradigm breaker, a self-evident act of commitment so that no explicit promise of love is needed.

There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines rolling on
But when you get to the porch, they’re gone on the wind
So Mary, climb in
It’s a town full of losers, I’m pulling out of here to win

Curiously, he continues selling past the close, digging into Mary’s psyche, recounting her history. She’s had other opportunities: “. . . ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away,” and those lost opportunities haunt her, those suitors screaming her name “at night in the street.” She hasn’t gone, perhaps because they didn’t treat her well – her “graduation gown lies in rags at their feet” – but by morning she regrets it, only to find it’s too late: “But when you get to the porch, they’re gone on the wind.” The message is laid bare: “So Mary, climb in.” Don’t face more regret in the morning. “It’s a town full of losers” – there’s nothing for you here. Come with me, because “I’m pulling out of here to win.”

What I’ve missed for the many years I’ve been listening to this song is that it’s not really about Springsteen and his act of escape. Rather, it’s a sensitive portrayal of Mary, the tension between her fears and hopes, the story of a soul caught between wanting more but not sure how to get it. It’s Springsteen talking, but throughout he is not just aware of Mary, she is the protagonist of the song. He is merely the vehicle of her potential happiness. And, interestingly, we don’t know how her story ends by the end of the song – I like to think she left with him, but who knows? After all, her history suggests otherwise. Still, it’s Springsteen, and with a song that builds so relentlessly and irresistibly to its crescendo, I can’t imagine she deflates that energy by denying it.

Differences

I am a product of my environment.

My family. Its genes and its values. My community. Its norms and expectations. My nation. Its identity and its archetypes.

My cousin isn’t.

I sometimes wonder if she might have a better answer than me. Not more or less right, but perhaps more effective at addressing the questions at hand: what’s the best way to secure yourself? Now, and for the future.

I am biased to independence. It seems the most secure path. And it feels like the most responsible path. The most moral path.

Of course, that’s because it aligns with my environmental expectations. Be self-sufficient. Avoid risk. Don’t put yourself at the mercy of other people – they are likely to choose themselves over you. And then where are you?

I think most people, at least in this country, feel the same.

But should we?

I heard some weeks ago that we are severely overinvested in personal transportation. 92% of cars at any given moment are parked. Sitting idle. So our desire for individual convenience has created an incredible automobile glut. Nine out of 10 cars are not in use, but waiting to be used. There are significant consequences for that decision as well: we are polluting our environment, we lose time in traffic congestion, we are more isolated from each other. The waste and damage is huge compared to other, more communal solutions to moving ourselves around.

Could we be making the same mistake in securing our futures?

My cousin has found a community that seems to be highly committed to each other. Their emotional connections seem to be deep, and they seem to value each other for what they are rather than for what they can give directly in return. What my cousin gives to the older members of that community is not expected to be repaid to her by those older people. I believe her expectation is that when she is older there will be a younger person willing to give the necessary time and energy to her care.

That feels like a very risky bet to me. And probably to most people who read this. But isn’t it wasteful for us all to prepare for a future independently?

Just as all those cars sit idle, a lot of the assets we accumulate to safeguard our future won’t be used by us. We accumulate them for security, just in case we need them. Like any good actuary would tell us though, some of us will live long lives and some of us won’t. If we all prepare to live to 90 or 95, then the person who dies at 75 or at 70 or at 65 is wasting resources, saving assets he or she will never use. If we had a communal pool of assets that we all contribute to – and an actuary would be very helpful to determine what that level would be – then those excess resources being invested could be put to use for other purposes.

This isn’t an original thought. It is, of course, the foundation of our social security system – we all pay in, and we all benefit, though not in the same proportion. For this to work, for people to feel good about it, we have to accept that some of us will be lucky with our lives’ duration and some of us will be unlucky. So be it.

It requires a profound shift in our communal values and expectations, a reordering of our communal priorities, and, perhaps hardest of all, a ceding of control. I am very reluctant to trust my fellow people to take care of me when I am vulnerable. I want to control that part of my life.

Understandably, perhaps. But necessarily? I wonder.

Education

I wonder if we’re teaching our children what matters most.

Knowledge is important, of course, but in a world where data and information are at our fingertips – literally, given the proliferation of smartphones and other powerful devices that can educate us on any subject in seconds – perhaps we should be teaching them skills that help them interact with others. And not just in workplace settings either. Cooperation and collaboration in social groups and communities will be essential if we’re to achieve our greatest ambitions.

I believe that education should be the single highest priority for our societies. We owe all the members of our communities every chance to learn the things that they can leverage to build the kind of lives they want. It’s good for them, and it’s good for everyone else too, because if I’m doing what I enjoy, then I’m enthusiastically contributing to our society. And that’s the outcome we should be striving for. In jobs, in families, in communities.

We should be schooling everyone in the mechanics of healthy relationships, helping them to understand what a good relationship looks like and how to create one. And how to recognize and then navigate a relationship that’s not so good.

It’s probably a good idea to educate everyone in the principles of budgeting, estimating income and expenses, using credit appropriately. Basic financial skills can go a long way to alleviating stress in adult life, and that has so many benefits, especially with intimate relationships.

We might want to teach everyone the basics of transportation and home maintenance: how furnaces and home appliances work, how cars work, and how to keep them all in good working order.

And about nutrition – the kinds of nutrients we need, how to shop for groceries and how to prepare basic dishes.

In short, the kinds of things we need to know to live in balance with ourselves, with our neighbors, with our colleagues. It isn’t especially complicated – all of these topics and more can be taught in one high-school class period over a year.

Life skills.

Not more important than math or history or English or science. But still important enough to teach to a common level of understanding. I could have used something like it, and I believe most of my older teenage friends could have benefited just as much too.

Sacrifice

I believe in choice. In fact, I insist on choice.

Free will is the essence of our humanity. We decide for ourselves our actions and our inactions. We choose what to say and what not to say, when to say it, and to whom. We choose what we believe and what we do with the time we have. And our legacies are the sum of those decisions. Blaming circumstances or crediting others for outcomes of our decisions dodges the accountability we have to accept in order to realize our possibilities and responsibilities.

And choice necessarily requires sacrifice.

No matter what we do or say or think, in choosing we close the door on anything else we could have done or said or pondered with that same time and energy. And the more extensive the decision is, the more time and energy we must exert to make that choice, the greater the sacrifice required.

In our day and age, sacrifice has a negative connotation. It comes with a sense of deprivation or discomfort. What do you mean I have to give up something? I’m not wired to give things up happily. Just keeping the option open is enticing – it means I could still choose that path. Don’t take anything from me!

Instead of resenting it, we should celebrate sacrifice. Giving something up in order to achieve something else is not just an acknowledgment of reality. There is reason in the conscious sacrifice. There is maturity too, recognizing that some things have more value than others and that striving for something greater means foregoing things that matter less. You can add nobility too, if the sacrifice is personal enough – it is noble to put some things above your own comfort and security. Other people’s critical needs. Principles like freedom. Confronting evil and cruelty.

Recognizing sacrifice should inspire us to prioritize how we spend our time and energy. We would waste less of both if we were clear on what we are trying to achieve with our choices. We could weigh the opportunity cost of each choice confronting us against how we benefit. Like reasonable people do.

We could have such a different world if we looked to make sacrifices to achieve better things instead of looking for more of lesser things to hoard for ourselves. A deeper, more meaningful world. Can we try it?

My Daughter

My oldest daughter graduated from college over the weekend.

Such milestones prompt reflection for me. I couldn’t help but relive her birth, the delight I felt in her infancy, the mental and emotional turbulence of seeing her navigate her young life, cheering (and sometimes cringing) as she faced fears and tackled new challenges with varying degrees of success, balancing support for her with coaching and even discipline. I was better at the coaching and discipline, I’m afraid.

With some chagrin I admit that she emulated my study habits in her early academic career, procrastinating on homework and projects until she absolutely had to begin. As much as she was afraid of engaging with her work – afraid she wouldn’t measure up, I suspect – she couldn’t let her teachers down by failing to turn in something. I saw a lot of myself in her then: awareness of her talents, but unsure if they would really translate to excellence, and very much afraid to find out.

Some of my favorite memories of time with her were very stressful. She demands much energy at the best of times, but when she had a school project due, well, anxiety ran very high. Still, once we had a plan, we worked well together. She’s always been able to focus on the task at hand once she settles on it.

CLB Graduation Steps 4 BlogOur work together started with her fourth-grade California history project. We made a model of a gold-rush settlement called Squabbletown mostly out of popsicle sticks. It took many steps – we had to make the ground, paint it, add foliage, build and assemble the buildings – all of which we crammed into the weekend before it was due. Naturally.

She started off the same in middle school. Her project then was to build a model of an Egyptian sarcophagus. Again, multiple steps of designing the coffin, finding materials, painting, assembling, and writing a narrative. All of which we crammed into the weekend before it was due. Same with a model of the Parthenon.

And then she parted ways with my own middle-school self (that extended through my college graduation, and, to be honest, beyond). She found that the stress of delaying her projects affected her much worse than the thought that she might not deliver an acceptable product.

In seventh grade she started planning her projects, finishing them well before their due dates and enhancing her happiness greatly. She stopped needing my help. I had been the training wheels for her academic bicycle ride, and, as is the fate of parents throughout time, I was sidelined to her developing competence. And as much as I hoped for that transition, as much as I ache to see her blossom into all of her abilities, I miss not the uncertain and underconfident little girl (though I loved that little girl fiercely) but rather the tangible value I provided that she needed then and doesn’t need now. I have to admit that I’m a bit adrift, searching for the things that she needs from me now. The challenge is no longer hers, but mine, and I’ve not built all the habits or mastered the skills that will tell me what those are. But I do strive, because I believe that she needs me, even if I don’t know exactly how.

Watching her become not just more capable but also more aware of her talents and more sure of her efforts has been as gratifying and as satisfying as anything I’ve ever done myself. Seeing her pride in her success, watching her with the friends who adore her, hearing the professors who praise her, it’s all so affirming. Of what she’s done to this point, but also of the efforts of her mother and me. Accepting her hard-won diploma (magna cum laude, no less – please forgive me) was a milestone for her.

And for me. And I hope there are many more milestones ahead.

Simplicity

Time is a resource that cannot be replenished. So why do I waste so much of it?

I think I’m not as intentional about using my time as befits its value. And I spend too much of my time maintaining past decisions. So between not paying attention as the minutes and hours and days go by and having to spend minutes and hours and days doing things past choices obligate me to address, I despair.

I don’t have time!

The solution is simple, though not at all easy.

The first part is addressed with discipline. Simply making a plan and sticking to it. Being mindful. Choosing how I spend my time instead of letting one game on TV blend into another, hanging out for an extra hour or two when I meant to go to the gym, napping for ninety minutes when I intended a catnap. I need to do better at time-bounding my activities before I start them, and then honor the deadline. Like many, I struggle with transitions, so perhaps it will help to set expectations with myself that I will move to the next activity when my allotted time ends. And if I feel compelled to continue, then I must do so consciously, with an explicit recognition that I’m sacrificing what I had intended to do with that next block of time.

Easier said than done. I have many times during the day when I stay on Facebook or watch the post-game show when I intended to do something else. My lack of resolve shames me.

The second part is also straightforward: live simply. Everything I add to my life must be maintained. Floors need to be swept, dishes and clothes washed, furniture dusted, computers and phones charged and updated, cars gassed and serviced. I must show up for my engagements on time, presentable, and I have to do my work to expectations. So whenever I add something to my life I should ask many questions. Do I really want this? Can I afford it? How quickly will I tire of it? How much time will I need to devote to this? What will I be sacrificing because of the time I need to spend keeping this up?

We value different things. We value the same things differently. But I think the questions pertain to all of us. Each of us has the same 24 hours in a day to use. And maybe it’s human nature to be satisfied only with something more than we currently have.

I have made strides. I buy only clothes that can be machine-washed. I make meals with five or fewer ingredients. I love fitness though, and I will spend hours every week either working out or reading about it. You may like fashion and be willing to handwash or dry-clean clothes. You may like to cook, and relish preparing intricate dishes. And you may not want to know a thing about exercise. But we all get the same 24 hours. Shouldn’t be strive to spend as much of that time as possible doing what we love most?

If we are diligent and intentional in our decisions, and then disciplined in our behavior, I think we’ll feel that we have enough time to do what we want. I’m not sure we’d still be human at that point though. . . .

Waste

There were two things my children could do when they were younger that guaranteed that I would lose my temper: say “I can’t,” and waste something. “I can’t” will most certainly come up another day, but waste has been on my mind quite a bit.

Actually, it’s always on my mind.

That waste is bad is an a priori statement to me. Waste erases whatever time and whatever energy that went into producing something. And it also aborts whatever else could have been produced with the time and energy that was tossed away. We lose twice: we junk something of value, and we are without the alternate uses of the resources that produced it.

I know waste is inevitable. But I heard today that we throw out almost half the food we produce. Half. That shouldn’t be inevitable.

And I am as guilty as anyone. I do our menu planning and most of our grocery shopping. And on a weekly basis we throw out vegetables, fruit, meat, and a lot of leftovers that spoil because the food plan was too robust. Soups that looked good in the store didn’t find any takers in our house, and their expiration dates passed while they were in our pantry. We’ve opened our share of tortilla chips gone rancid while they sat in the garage, because they were the second half of a buy-one-get-one-free promotion that came at a time when we only wanted one bag.

But we waste more than food. Electricity cools empty houses. Cars idle in parking lots. We’re oblivious to time as it passes while we scroll further down our Facebook feeds. We have dreams, we make plans, and then we leave them to wither.

And I’m as guilty as anyone. I want to do better. But can I?

Blame exhaustion from our busy lives. Blame our disposable culture that encourages us to get rid of things when we tire of them. Blame our distractions. But really, blame ourselves. We choose what we do, and we own our choices. I hope I can do better.

Politics

Our politics is rife with emotional conflict these days.

Republican vs. Democrat. Progressive vs. conservative. Flyover vs. coasts. Our perspectives have hardened, and there is not an inch given to anyone who has a different view.

I studied economics in college, and I believe that free markets use resources more efficiently than any other economic model. I’ve worked in corporations for decades, so I’ve seen company leaders make many decisions, and every one of the decisions I witnessed were made ethically and reasonably and with no intent to deceive or harm people. I think a healthy economy is important because it is the most effective way to improve the financial situations of the most people.

I consider myself politically progressive. I usually vote for candidates who promise to fund schools at all levels, invest in infrastructure improvements, purchase more park lands, extend unemployment benefits, and provide health services to low-income people regardless of status. Even if those actions will sometimes put stress on the economy and require greater tax payments from me and others at my income level (or above it).

As important as I think a healthy, robust market economy is to us, I think it’s more important for us to do what we can to help all members of our community be well and be whole, so they are more likely to achieve their goals and, in so doing, contribute to our society. My financial well-being doesn’t mean very much to me if other people are in misery. This is particularly important to me right now, given where we are in the history of the United States and the rest of the western world, where people’s suffering is justified with “we can’t afford to [fill in the blank].” We can’t afford to welcome Muslim immigrants because one might harm us. We can’t afford to help people without health insurance because that requires more taxes. We can’t afford to protect our water and air and workplaces because it reduces the number of jobs available. If I gave credence to any of these statements – and I don’t, because I think the cost argument is both simplistic and exagerrated – I would still choose to welcome the immigrants, provide health care, and protect our resources and our people. Jobs and money and financial security of the haves aren’t justifications to deny others the things they need to live a secure life so that they can pursue their dreams and contribute to our communities.

We can afford to treat everyone equally under the law, we can afford to treat everyone the same with regard to Constitutional rights, and those of us with means can afford to give up more of that wealth to help our communities run more smoothly while providing the tools and support for people to make constructive lives for themselves.

Apparently we just don’t want to.  And that profoundly disappoints me.

Change

Change is in the air. It’s always in the air. Change is omnipresent.

But there are two kinds of change: the change that happens to us, and the change we make happen.

It’s said we resent the change that happens to us. Lack of control, I guess. I see it differently.

An amazing world has unfolded in front of us with no effort on our part: smartphones that keep us continually connected with the people we care about, cars that safely and comfortably take us where we want to go, access to convenient flights all around the world, medicines that dramatically improve our quality of life in the face of illnesses both acute and chronic, hundreds of channels of entertainment that come from everywhere on the globe. We don’t like some aspects of our lives when they change: the new traffic light that slows my commute by a couple minutes a day, the neighbor who painted his house an unflattering color, the new boss, the new PTA president, the new layout at the grocery store – we complain all about these little changes while we take the newest advances that actually change the way we live as a birthright.

It’s the other change that interests me at the moment though. It’s daunting to try to make change in the world. The investment of time, energy and emotion is enormous, and the outcome is uncertain. And in our world, where we’ve been accustomed to beneficial change just happening, having to face situations that cause us great discomfort – and I’m thinking specifically about the current political situation in the United States, where a government with the minority of votes controls both the legislative and executive branches – is a big-time gut check. If you’re not happy with the current situation, what are you willing to invest to try to change it?

There are seminal events that happen, events that fire the imagination or awake the passions of multitudes of people. But those don’t really create any change. They are the flashpoints that start the processes that lead to change, but to actually change the world we must find focus, determination, and dedication. We need deliberate, sustained action, day after day after day after day.

Do we have the requisite resolve in us? Time, as always, will tell.

Death

I am 56 years old. I am going to die.

I’m not sick. In fact, I’m active and healthy. I’m not a reckless driver. I haven’t had a premonition of my demise. I don’t really know why it’s been on my mind, but my death has been a mental presence for more than a year.

I read Being Mortal about 18 months ago. I read When Breath Becomes Air about 2 months ago. Were the thoughts there, or did the reading put them there? I have no idea.

Yet I know I am going to die. And so I’ve been thinking about what I can do before then. What I want to do. Whether or not I have the requisite courage to try bold ideas I have, or whether I will settle for meeker paths.

I am smart. Maybe even very smart. I really want to help people be happier, which I think means being healthier. I am curious, and I’m observant. I see what people are, and I don’t begrudge them what they are not. I see things clearly that many other people don’t see at all.

But I’m reluctant to impose, and I think asking anything of anyone is an imposition. I am shy unless I know you. And writing the previous paragraph makes me feel like a self-impressed jerk. Can I do anything but meek?

My questions aren’t about value: I feel conscientious enough that whatever I do I do well enough – or even better than that. I am competent in many things. But I care about relatively few things. So my questions are about how true I can be to my own values. My current skills – and my confidence – don’t align with my ambitions. I tell my children to be brave, to pursue their ambitions, that they will develop the knowledge, skills and experiences that will lead to success in their goals. But I’m 56. With obligations. Do I have time? Do I have energy?

I believe it’s never too late for someone to do something new. Do I believe it’s never too late for me?