Cogito ergo sum

There's got to be a morning after

We're moving closer to the shore

I know we'll be there by tomorrow

And we'll escape the darkness

We won't be searching any more

-- Joel Hirschhorn and Al Kasha, 1972

About 26 hours ago, at 1:03 a.m. MDT, I began my 60th year on this planet – outside the womb, that is. I took my first breath of mile-high Rocky Mountain air 59 years and 26 hours ago in Denver, Colorado.

My 59th birthday was swell. I received just the right number of messages and phone calls and dwelled on my chronological position in life for just the right amount of time and with a positive attitude and outlook.

I began the day in Maine and enjoyed a leisurely drive along the south coast – stopping to take pictures and a nap. I spent a short time in New Hampshire (all of the presidential candidates were in Iowa) before entering Massachusetts, where I spent a quiet afternoon and evening.

There was no birthday party, but a local scientist-cum-artist, was having a show here in the building and I helped myself to snacks (having missed dinner while on the road). I opted for soda pop instead of wine, but don’t feel at all deprived.

Every birthday, but most particularly those on which we can hang labels like “my 60th year,” presents the opportunity to address THE question: “Am I doing what I should with my life?”

Having had conversations with more than 1,000 people, all of whom are way past their 60th years, I’ve taken note of many whom I’d like to emulate – and many others I would not.

Though I’ve come to accept the likelihood that Bingo, crosswords, jigsaw puzzles, knitting and other repetitive and predictable activities do have a value in terms of keeping one’s mind active, they are not for me.

All of us fall into routines. This may help maintain sanity; it may anchor our lives and give us a sense of who we are and how we fit into the circumstances in which we find ourselves. But a life that is nearly all routine reminds me of Socrates’ conclusion that “the unexamined life is not worth living.”

I have a fairly strong hope – perhaps more of an expectation – that there is an afterlife. My basis for this is partly Descartes, partly Maureen McGovern and partly other notions that I won’t go into here.

Descartes is famous for, “I think, therefore I am.” I have failed at all attempts at meditation because I have been unable to focus. My mind has a life of its own and is in control. I can’t turn it off; and I can’t force it to focus only on one thing, or on nothing.

“Gail Sheehy, the author, who, at 68, is still guiding readers through life's passages, said today's 64-year-olds have a "360-degree view of life." They may believe in yesterday, but they also can't stop thinking about tomorrow.”

        -- Sam Roberts, NY Times, 2006
        -- Read article

Like most art, 1972’s “Poseidon Adventure” can be viewed as a metaphor. The characters struggle up to the bottom of the overturned ship defied logic and turned out to be the only strategy with a chance of success. Combining faith in their leader with enormous effort (including dealing with great loss and many setbacks) they make it through the night and discover that there is a morning after.

It’s not impossible to view life as not entirely unlike being trapped in an overturned ocean liner. Many others in their 60th year and beyond make endless circuits from their staterooms to the dining room and back – stopping only for bingo, card games, a visit to the beauty salon and to pick up a copy of today’s obituaries.

As for me, I’m going to take a few turns around the deck, hopefully meeting some interesting fellow travelers. I’m going to learn about how the ship operates and try to understand how it is navigated.

And during those times the ship is turned upside down, I’m planning to join the party that recognizes that sometimes “down” is “up” and we must defy logic and tradition if we hope to make it through the night.