Friday was Veterans Day. I had the day off so I drove 90 miles down to Orange County to see family and friends. Totally overwhelmed recently while coaching my daughters tennis team and teaching six classes, I had not been there since we returned from the Caribbean in mid-August. A visit was long overdue.
So I dropped her off with her cousin at my sister’s house, and I was pretty sure the two 15-year old girls would talk for the next 24 hours straight, excepting a few hours of sleep. Then I went to go visit and walk with my dad, dine with dad and brother, sleep at my brother’s for the night – then breakfast with a friend I‘ve known since fourth grade, walk and lunch with dad, a second lunch with a college buddy, pick up my daughter, and then drive back home.
It was a good visit. But after talking and visiting so much in one day, and driving some five hours through LA freeway traffic, I returned home exhausted the next day.
I was troubled, too.
My father is aging. This presents various challenges, obviously, and watching him get older is difficult emotionally. And he is doing much better than many of his peers. My beloved Uncle Bill (my father’s brother) is declining inexorably while suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Each day he loses a bit more of himself, disappearing into oblivion, and soon he will neither know his name nor his closest family members; it is unbelievably sad. My uncle is a Catholic priest, and one would think he would face death with courage and faith. But no, as his brain reverts to a state of childishness, he is afraid of dying in a way not unlike a child. There are semi-constant tears accompanied by a constant fear. Others from my father’s generation are losing their driving licenses and ability to live independently. They are retreating into a sort of geriatric helplessness, not unlike childhood. Some wear diapers, poop and piss dribbling down their legs, like babies. One of my dad’s good friends should wear a diaper but doesn’t; it is heartbreaking to see this. Those in declining health are on a declining path which will only get worse until they die. The saddest thing, which I have witnessed now numerous times, is that the process does not get better. Towards the end it is misery and more misery as a person’s health declines. It gets worse and worse, until finally it is a relief to everyone (the dying person not the least) when death ends it all.
Is there anything sadder?
So I got a full dose of hearing about all the health problems from those I know from my father’s generation. That was a lot to hear and process.
But then I also got another earful from my buddies about the difficulties of their children. Many of my lifelong friends have children with serious psychological illnesses such as schizophrenia, autism, etc. Many have adopted children who suffer from the effects of fetal alcohol syndrome or drug abuse, or from parents who traumatized their infants and before the State took their children away and offered them up for adoption. The bottom line is the same: these young people struggle in life, and it appears they will probably never be able to live as independent adults. My friends will be taking care of their adult children at home forever. It is exhausting. They say as a parent you are only as happy as your most unhappy child, and I think this is true. The teeangers and young adult offspring of my friends are struggling mightily, and my friends therefore struggle, too. One of my friends had an adult daughter committed to a mental hospital just three days previously. She was schizophrenic and suicidal. I recognize the prognosis for such patients is not good.
So much bad news was a lot to absorb. I felt sorry for my buddies and their children who were struggling so much.
So I saw difficulty with aging parents and their peers who could be difficult. I saw difficulty with difficult children: it is like a double whammy for many of us in middle age. No wonder this time of life can rank worst on the “U-shaped Theory of Happiness.”
So by the time I have talked-talked-talked with friends and family, and then drove-drove-drove to Orange County and back through frenetic Los Angeles freeways, I was frazzled and exhausted. Don’t get me wrong: it was wonderful to see and check in with friends and family. That was the point of the two days, and my visit had been overdue. But it was a lot to take in.
So Saturday night – yesterday – I found myself sitting there more than a little bit sad. I was tired. It was dark – six days after we switched the clocks back and the sun sets at five o’clock. It was also cold. My soul felt a bit lacerated from so much bad news, and I was tired and cold in the dark. It was as grim as it seems, and I felt demoralized. It seemed as if the world was shitting on my family and friends. Not all of them, by any means, but many of them. And I could not really do anything to help. Not really. Other than be a good listener and offer any emotional support I can, I could do little. My spirits were low.
But I had some time to myself for a change.
So I went to the garage and performed my Tae Kwon Do palgwe forms – a sort of moving meditation, which allows me to connect mind to my body in a sort of moving meditation. I could get a sweat going, while focusing on my breath, and that allows me to get out of my mind – while performing the striking and blocking movements I can control my breathing which allows me to control my heartbeat which allows me to control better my emotions. At some expense I installed plastic workout flooring in my large 2.5 car garage, and this serves as a perfect space to practice martial arts at home. That evening I took full advantage.
And I felt a bit better by the time I went to sleep. My morale had improved. But I knew I needed to get in the pool and get a solid workout first thing that next morning. I wanted to be almost the first person there when the pool opened. I had not been in the pool since last Wednesday, and I needed to get a good swim. My body (and my mind) needed it. I knew myself well enough to recognize I needed it.
I was first to the pool today at my club. I arrived at 7:58 am when the pool opened at 8:00.
It was 48 degrees out. I knew it would be cold in my bathing suit. I knew standing there on the edge of the pool ready to jump in my teeth would be on edge. But I also knew once I got in the water and started exercising the heat released by my muscles would warm me up. Nobody who is sweating is all that cold.
For a few minutes, I had the pool all to myself. Two others arrived twenty minutes later, but at the beginning it was all mine. The scene at the pool was beautiful. The California sun was bright, even on this crisp autumn morning.
My left shoulder ached at the beginning of my swim. I still have a bit of tendonitis there, from an imperfect freestyle stroke coupled with having swam way too much during the darkest days of the quarantine lockdowns when swimming by myself was one of the few exercise options available. The tendonitis is an overuse injury, like most I have suffered in the past two decades. It can be managed. After ten minutes my shoulder warmed up and stopped hurting. I swam almost a mile, sat some in the jacuzzi, and then left.
By the time I arrived home, I felt much better.
In the past two days, the idea of light and darkness stayed in my mind. Last night it was dark and cold. My frame of mind was similar. This morning the light seemed bright at the pool – almost blindingly so. Maybe it is as easy as the new dawn raising spirits which were low in the midnight darkness of the previous night. Light and dark; optimism and pessimism.
Swimming laps can be a bit boring and solitary, but almost always I exit the pool feeling vital and strong. In contrast, competitive tennis is entertaining and social but I tend to limp off the court.
After my morning swim today I had a USTA mixed doubles tennis match in the early afternoon.
I was playing against a local tennis pro, and he was a rock-solid player. The match was tight, gritty, and a few points here and there was the difference. But my team won 6-4, 7-5. The big toe on my right foot was throbbing, and I knew the toenail was dead and would turn completely black and fall off in a few weeks: this happens in tight matches when I am red-lighting it. I was running down all shots and covering for my female partner. My quads and calves were close to cramping; my legs were gone. But I finished strong and was happy to win a close match. If I can play this local teaching pro again, the score will likely go the other way. I was relieved to come away with the win. I gave myself a 35-40% chance of winning. I was (pleasantly) surprised, but I was even more relieved. There were some twenty spectators watching this marque match. After my partner and I won, we guaranteed our team to go to sectionals representing our country.
When I came home that afternoon my mood was almost 180° opposite from where it was the evening before.
What is the take away for me? What lesson can I learn from the improvement in my mood over the past two days?
The cares and concerns of adult life will land on your back and weigh you down, Richard. This is inevitable. The dust of everyday life will clog your nostrils and seemingly dirty everything. Morale sinks. But like a powerful horse which shakes its flanks to dislodge the flies sitting on it before galloping away, we can shake off disappointments and worry to move forward with confidence. The best way for me to do this is through attention to my conscious breathing through physical movement – connecting to my body through exertion, in an attempt to get out of my mind.
This weekend it worked wonderfully.
So I will say this much to my future self in 2042: you are 75-years old, Richard, and there are people your age who are active and mobile, and those who sit on the couch and don’t move much. Until you absolutely have no choice and physically can’t, be the active 75-year old, not the sedentary one. Either get busy living, Richard, or get busy dying. Remember the lessons of Andy Dufresne from The Shawshank Redemption –
Stay strong in your body and mind, Richard, as a way of preparing yourself to endure what must be endured. What else can you do?
Because when you are 25 or 30–years of age, your body might feel good no matter what. But increasingly as you age you have to earn your sense of comfort and calm in your own body through sweat and exertion. “Use it or lose it.” A tennis buddy last week told me that for him “70 is the new 50.” Untrue. 70-years old is 70-years old. But 70-year olds who take good care of themselves are still plenty spry – this guy is still a solid tennis player, despite his age, because he works at it – and has worked at it for the past thirty years. But I have seen people his age whose bodies and minds are absolutely falling apart. Part of it is DNA, undoubtedly, but much of it is lifestyle.
Exercise, Richard. Calm. Peace.
When disoriented, look inward. Find your True North and remember who you are.
Patience. Endurance.
“This too shall pass.”
Perform your martial arts forms. Go swim in the pool under the sun, or ride your road bike along the beach.
Tennis with buddies, and a beer and laughs together afterwards.
Earn your evening dinner’s appetite and good night’s sleep.
Try again to do your best the next day.
Amen.
