Years ago, when I lived in Ann Arbor, I was given a questionnaire that spoke of "taking stock" of your life. I was not sure what that meant then, but I do now; for just as spring is the time for new beginnings, and fall is about storing up, the later - for those old enough - is also about "taking stock." For me, this usually is shrouded in a gauze of nostalgia, of remembering past summers, friends and lovers and good times, things I think are past simply because summer is now past.
This year, I have to admit, it is also tinged with a dose of depression. At my age, there are few great things that I am likely to accomplish. At this age, seen through the bifocals of fall, it is more about failures, of poor choices and lazy attitude that have led to a mediocre life. It is not part of my usual disposition, but here it is. As it is not part of my usual disposition, my first reaction to this is, to hell with it. How better can we waste our time than to worry about things that have not been and can never be?
But it remains, and it reminds me of the last blog, of Levi-Strauss's contempt for the northerner as he bustles about every fall to lay in stock. I now see his reason. It is not only because of the seasonal variations of the north that we do so, but because the variations have caused social expectations that massage our emotions. For instance, early winter is a time of excitement because of the holidays we have placed in it, not because of the cold; and spring is a time of bustling, not because of the new green so much as our (historic) reliance on agriculture. The emotions raised are largely contingent on the social aspects of the seasons rather than the seasons themselves. We, our core emotional states, are manipulated by the expectations of those around us. In spring, the good man tills the soil; in fall, he places the fruits of his labor in the barn and, if he is successful, has this to boast about. If he is not successful, he not only places his family at jeopardy for the winter, but shows himself to be inadequate before all his neighbors. Everyone, then, gets to "take stock" literally, and assign themselves to a position on the social totem pole.
This has led us, in this post-agricultural age (for most), to access ourselves still in the fall, even as our barns are no longer built. And while this taking stock might adequately represent our economic fragility, it usually does more: we assess ourselves with the eyes of our neighbors, with our social links and ultimately with our greater society. Today, one is not a failure simply because one has not cultivated his crops properly; instead, one compares oneself to a social ideal that had been set within ourselves before we could remember, before we could carefully choose which expectations we valued. Our values, then, often become the values of those whose values we do not consciously wish to share. Against our will, we assess our "barns" with others eyes, and often come up short. Perhaps, always come up short.
I have just finished one book and am reading another, the latter titled Mama Koko by Lisa Shannon. It is about a woman from the Congo who married an American and came to live with him in Oregon. Years later, another of several bloody episodes has erupted in her natal home, this time perpetrated by the brutal Lord's Resistance Army, a different take on the current zealots of the notorious Boko Haram. The woman flies with the author to the city of her relatives, and we relive the horrors of the past as well as the horrors of the present. I am not yet finished, but there, the people only wish things to go back to normal; there, they only want to go about their chores, planting crops and dancing with friends and relatives. They only want it as it once was, now and then, without war.
The other book is The Summer of Deliverance by Christopher Dickey, son of author and poet James Dickey (Deliverance). I ordered the book because, back in 1971, James Dickey came to our school as a coup for my English teacher, who had been a college friend. During lunch the day after his arrival, my teacher came up to me with horror in his eyes, to ask that I introduce Dickey as he entered the dining hall. With a 17 - year old's bravado, I glad-handed him in, only to see this tall, somewhat fat man staggering towards a far-away table, supported by my teacher. He was dead drunk at noon. Later, we learned that he had gotten horribly drunk at the faculty reception the night before, until the host had hid the liquor. He then wandered the town looking for more, walking into a stranger's house and causing, as can be imagined, quite a stir.
Dickey's story is far from unique. He had sought fame desperately and gotten it, but his life had run out of control. His first wife died of alcohol, drinking with him as company, but also to forget his frequent affairs. His second wife became a violent drunk. His children all suffered. As he died, he still had a barn far fuller than most of us, but the 'house', the family, was in ruins. The book spoke of a final deliverance, but we know that the damage done by his quest and his success was permanent, forever.
Whose assessment do we choose? In the Congo, I would be seen as a success, with a full barn and a decent family. From the steps of academia, or the golden ghetto of Greenwich , Ct., I would be seen as a putz, a light-weight. I have taken the harsher views. But neither are truly correct. Self-assessment should ideally be the work of the private will. Is an impoverished priest working with the poor a failure? Is the thrice-married rocker with five platinum records a success? Socially, we think we approve of the former, but, in the darkness of the social unconscious, we really approve of the latter. Both views, though, might not fit; both might not fit YOU. For in the end, it is not about the social view of success, rich or poor, but of the success of one's inner goal. Happiness is to be found, I believe, with finding this inner goal, this imprimatur that I believe we all have stamped on our souls from the beginning. It is about finding self, first and last. The Greeks had it right - to thine own self be true. The trick is in finding it; the trick is not to be tricked, to not size up one's barn from another's perspective.
Even as I have proven myself the fool in writing this, I feel better. I await the coming darkness with a bit more light. And spring - it will come again. FK
This year, I have to admit, it is also tinged with a dose of depression. At my age, there are few great things that I am likely to accomplish. At this age, seen through the bifocals of fall, it is more about failures, of poor choices and lazy attitude that have led to a mediocre life. It is not part of my usual disposition, but here it is. As it is not part of my usual disposition, my first reaction to this is, to hell with it. How better can we waste our time than to worry about things that have not been and can never be?
But it remains, and it reminds me of the last blog, of Levi-Strauss's contempt for the northerner as he bustles about every fall to lay in stock. I now see his reason. It is not only because of the seasonal variations of the north that we do so, but because the variations have caused social expectations that massage our emotions. For instance, early winter is a time of excitement because of the holidays we have placed in it, not because of the cold; and spring is a time of bustling, not because of the new green so much as our (historic) reliance on agriculture. The emotions raised are largely contingent on the social aspects of the seasons rather than the seasons themselves. We, our core emotional states, are manipulated by the expectations of those around us. In spring, the good man tills the soil; in fall, he places the fruits of his labor in the barn and, if he is successful, has this to boast about. If he is not successful, he not only places his family at jeopardy for the winter, but shows himself to be inadequate before all his neighbors. Everyone, then, gets to "take stock" literally, and assign themselves to a position on the social totem pole.
This has led us, in this post-agricultural age (for most), to access ourselves still in the fall, even as our barns are no longer built. And while this taking stock might adequately represent our economic fragility, it usually does more: we assess ourselves with the eyes of our neighbors, with our social links and ultimately with our greater society. Today, one is not a failure simply because one has not cultivated his crops properly; instead, one compares oneself to a social ideal that had been set within ourselves before we could remember, before we could carefully choose which expectations we valued. Our values, then, often become the values of those whose values we do not consciously wish to share. Against our will, we assess our "barns" with others eyes, and often come up short. Perhaps, always come up short.
I have just finished one book and am reading another, the latter titled Mama Koko by Lisa Shannon. It is about a woman from the Congo who married an American and came to live with him in Oregon. Years later, another of several bloody episodes has erupted in her natal home, this time perpetrated by the brutal Lord's Resistance Army, a different take on the current zealots of the notorious Boko Haram. The woman flies with the author to the city of her relatives, and we relive the horrors of the past as well as the horrors of the present. I am not yet finished, but there, the people only wish things to go back to normal; there, they only want to go about their chores, planting crops and dancing with friends and relatives. They only want it as it once was, now and then, without war.
The other book is The Summer of Deliverance by Christopher Dickey, son of author and poet James Dickey (Deliverance). I ordered the book because, back in 1971, James Dickey came to our school as a coup for my English teacher, who had been a college friend. During lunch the day after his arrival, my teacher came up to me with horror in his eyes, to ask that I introduce Dickey as he entered the dining hall. With a 17 - year old's bravado, I glad-handed him in, only to see this tall, somewhat fat man staggering towards a far-away table, supported by my teacher. He was dead drunk at noon. Later, we learned that he had gotten horribly drunk at the faculty reception the night before, until the host had hid the liquor. He then wandered the town looking for more, walking into a stranger's house and causing, as can be imagined, quite a stir.
Dickey's story is far from unique. He had sought fame desperately and gotten it, but his life had run out of control. His first wife died of alcohol, drinking with him as company, but also to forget his frequent affairs. His second wife became a violent drunk. His children all suffered. As he died, he still had a barn far fuller than most of us, but the 'house', the family, was in ruins. The book spoke of a final deliverance, but we know that the damage done by his quest and his success was permanent, forever.
Whose assessment do we choose? In the Congo, I would be seen as a success, with a full barn and a decent family. From the steps of academia, or the golden ghetto of Greenwich , Ct., I would be seen as a putz, a light-weight. I have taken the harsher views. But neither are truly correct. Self-assessment should ideally be the work of the private will. Is an impoverished priest working with the poor a failure? Is the thrice-married rocker with five platinum records a success? Socially, we think we approve of the former, but, in the darkness of the social unconscious, we really approve of the latter. Both views, though, might not fit; both might not fit YOU. For in the end, it is not about the social view of success, rich or poor, but of the success of one's inner goal. Happiness is to be found, I believe, with finding this inner goal, this imprimatur that I believe we all have stamped on our souls from the beginning. It is about finding self, first and last. The Greeks had it right - to thine own self be true. The trick is in finding it; the trick is not to be tricked, to not size up one's barn from another's perspective.
Even as I have proven myself the fool in writing this, I feel better. I await the coming darkness with a bit more light. And spring - it will come again. FK
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