I am still running in this race. For those of us who are older, it seems to take much of our strength to show up every morning and run the course. It seemed easier when we were younger, full of the energy of youth. We have forgotten what it was like when we were discovering who we were, who we were going to be. Surely, that was a struggle, even if it was a different one than we face today as older people.
There are mysterious things about this race. Who are the winners? What does winning mean? The rewards don’t necessarily go to those who arrive soonest at the finish line. Maybe it is more like a relay race, in a family sense. Lots to think about.
I have a grandson, more than one, in fact. All of them are fully engaged in finding their way in the foot race in which all of us living on this planet are engaged. As are my granddaughters. Seeing the challenges they face, the stories they tell me about what they are doing and what they are planning, bring memories of my own beginnings. I see how competitive the world they are inhabiting is. I see how some of them are so conscious that their every move, every decision they make, everything they do, right or wrong, is recorded, and will affect their future possibilities. These children, in their mid-teens and early 20s, are struggling with perspectives we did not awake to until we were 10 or 15 years older. How about that kind of pressure!
I think of the path I have followed, growing up in Winnipeg, moving away to make my fortune, seeking to put my own personal mark on the journey I was taking. I was so determined that I had to be the only architect of the life I was building. Was I foolish not to be a seeker of advice? I threw myself recklessly into that life, confident that, come what may, I could overcome any obstacle to my desires that might appear in my path.
I never worried about missteps. I never worried about making wrong decisions. My life was a tabula rasa, a blank slate to be shaped as I wished. Of course, my grandchildren probably think that whatever they are doing is right, too. Many of the decisions we make in the days of our beginnings have a dramatic impact on our future.
I am not complaining. I have had a glorious life. I may not have realized all the potentialities – I have not conquered like an Alexander, created language like a Shakespeare, envisaged shapes like a Moore, painted visions like a Picasso. But, like most of us, I have delivered some blessings for my fellow human beings, and I am content.
I have seen the mountains of America, Europe and Africa, and their valleys. The waters of Canada and Brazil have roared before my eyes, and in my ears. I have had a good share of the delightful places and times the world has to offer. And I had the chance to spend some of my life with the woman of my dreams.
On my travels, during the race I have run, I have learned how fortunate we are, and what real misery is. I know what the view from Dublin is like, and have witnessed the views from New York, Washington, London, Paris, Rome, Johannesburg, Cape Town, Hong Kong, Singapore, Sydney, Khartoum, Cairo, Vientiane, Bangkok, Dakar, Ougadougou, Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro. These were some of the places I lived in and visited.
Like many of us, I did not make the most of my potentialities as a consequence of my decisions. One day, I heard Neil Young say, in a television interview with Charlie Rose, that our pasts are like an overcoat. When we put the coat on, it tells the world who we are. Or the world chooses to see us as we appear wearing the overcoat of our past.
Sometimes, we wish we could shed our past and take a new direction. I’ll tell you a secret. We don’t need to do that. We can be new people any day we choose. The past we wear like an overcoat, that we have the choice of shedding, can inform the choices we want to make, but it doesn’t have to limit who we are today, and will be tomorrow.
I am not the economist that I was, the manager of people that I was, the public relations speaker and writer that I was, the researcher and marketing consultant that I was, the real estate broker, the financial advisor, the whatever I had to be. Now, in beautiful Vancouver, I write stories and poetry. I have played with clay until the faces jumped out at me. I meddle in the stock market. I try to talk to my kids often. I try to be present for my Bride. We try to make our home a friendly place.
Today, I try to be a better husband, a better friend, a better parent; some things, perhaps, that were lacking quality in my past. I am still running the race. It is sometimes a little tiring, and I have to exercise to build my stamina – but I hope to run it well, right to the end.
Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.