“Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale.” Hans Christian Anderson
A couple of stories ago, I wrote about experiencing the sun rise and described, as best I could, what it looked like. It was kind of poetic if you ask me. However, I really didn’t write what it felt like, because I think talking about your internal world is more complicated than describing what you see.
I know it began for me on my first sunny morning here, sitting out on my steps and feeling like I was meeting the ends of a circle I had naively begun drawing with my heart, as a very young boy, sitting on the stoop at 69-30 179th St. in Queens, NY. I didn’t have the vocabulary to think about my future, instead it was some far away, momentary mirage, gone in a child’s constant distraction.
This was before my father suddenly died when I was nine. Dreams became more scary, but before that incendiary flash, I was a little lamb of a boy, wondering how magical life was going to be for me. Everything was possible back then. Please, those of you who had much tougher beginnings, I apologize, but I only know what I inhabited my world. it was all I knew and I never realized how lucky I was, in spite of that loss.
These past mornings, embracing the sunrise, I touched that little boy. I felt me in him and him in me. I wanted to tell him we made it. I know it didn’t take him long to start worrying about the future. We were easily the poorest family on the block, after my father died. I am guessing it was that way before, too. Bless my Dad, he worked his ass off, wanting to be his own boss, keeping a failing business barely afloat until his heart drown in it.
Growing up and graduating from the stoop, I was fearful about my future. I applied to only one college, because it was the only one we could afford. I had no idea what I’d do and it was not a slam dunk to get in there either. I got in and after giving up on pre-med, I just started doing the dog paddle in the “pool of I dunno”. Fear was the engine that drove my through my twenties and into my early thirties, when the water finally drained out of the pool of conformity.
The little boy had no idea this was all going to come cascading down upon him, a victim with no sense of the infinite possibilities, once you replace fear with faith, quieting the mind and invigorating the heart.
In these past few weeks, I have discovered Sunrise Therapy. Every single morning, I am flooded with gratitude and I reach back in time and hug that little boy. I want him to know we fucken made it. I am in one of the most beautiful places in the world and long ago, fear became a casualty to a kind of love of life I never imagined possible so many years ago.
I have learned a lot about aging along the way. There is a lot about aging that is a private time, an appreciation of internal beauty, not requiring that kind of external validation we seem to need when we are younger and still growing into our security, our lessons having been learned, at least by some of us.
To me, mimicking youth is like a societal comb-over, perpetuating some kind of long ago ideal. I know, you are probably saying to yourself, “ Where the hell is he going now?” You would be right if I professed to be a writer, but I am just a guy sharing some stories. I am not remotely concerned about being good at these telling of tales and it’s not why I do it anyway.
Here is the truth. I had decided earlier in the week, I wanted to write about my sunrise experience and how it reached out to that little boy so many, many years ago. Then, I read The Rolling Stones are going out on tour next year and they are being sponsored by AARP. I felt embarrassed as an original rocker from the Sixties, when it was their brash youth that captivated my peers.
I remember being at a bar called Mike Malkins. It was somewhere on East 79th St in the City. I would get stoned and head up there, from the East Village where I lived. You couldn’t move once you walked in. I would hear the Stones singing I Can’t Get No Satisfaction on the juke box. I never gave a thought to getting older. Rock ’n Roll would always be young.
Even before that, I saw the Beatles at Shea Stadium in ’64. I was part of this huge club of youth, believing it would last forever. What else was there that mattered? There was actually an incredibly popular saying, “Don’t trust anyone over thirty.” Being young back then was a very powerful time. This was years before I lost my way in the land of expectation.
After the murders of Dr. King and Bobby Kennedy, young people were hell bent on disrupting the Democratic Convention in ’68. They even nominated a pig for president. The sound track for that time was the music of groups like the Stones and our music was about rebellion.
So, I now go back to sitting on the steps, fully embracing the sun rise, drawing a line from my heart today to the heart of that little boy. I want to tell him not to be afraid of getting old. I want to tell him about the idea of grace, changing your life dance to fit your time. I love how Fred Astaire seamlessly re-choreographed his moves to embrace his changing body. I always see him in my heart.
Around 2,500 years ago, we actually started believing in and looking for the fountain of youth. We are still looking for it. In its absence, we have created an entire industry, geared to reinforcing our denial of the inevitability of time. Is it really necessary to see sixty year old women, with nothing but time and money, posing topless? Do you actually think a 50+ year old Rock has that physique without steroids? Embracing where we are is the challenge, not who we were.
My advice to my young self, who has now metamorphosized into my grandson, my muse, don’t be afraid. Lead with your heart and be like Fred Astaire. Clinging to your past will only keep you from embracing this moment and the grace you have earned.
The Rolling Stones sponsored by AARP. Are you fucken kidding me? Rest in peace Charlie Watts. Thank you for keeping the beat alive, with such grace.
Blessings
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Too Lazy To Read, Then Listen