“Old age,” said Louis Kronenberger, “is an excellent time for outrage. My goal,” he said, “is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.”
I’m not into outrage myself, but I know what Konenberger means. I am into poking the bear in the eye sometimes and waiting for their screams.
I am intrigued by the idea of being iconoclastic, someone who irritates people or stirs them up by challenging cherished ideas and institutions, conventional wisdom. I set out to make people think and laugh before the concept of humor sinks and drowns beneath the news.
Love is controversial.
I seem to irritate people without even trying, and sometimes because I am trying.
Age has freed me from worrying about what other people think. This appears to stun and even enrage the people eager to tell me what to think.
I can worry about what people think or choose not to care what people think. I can prattle on the things I can’t do anymore, or I can do some things I have never done before. I’ve never been so accessible. I suppose it’s a writer’s dream.
One of the curious things about blogging is that when I make a mistake, a score of people will descend, often indignantly, to correct me. But I can write a 2,000-word essay on something of great importance to me, and none of those people will say a single word about it. There is something in people that loves to correct other people but doesn’t love to read, another of the anthropological things you learn when you put your work out in the ether.
The latest mistake occurred when I stayed up too long to write about Cindy the Goat Lady the other day, and I confused lambs with kids in my sometimes unsound mind. I heard about it all day, and none of the people who rushed to correct me had a word to say about Cindy and her remarkable goats and life.
Some posts sought to be helpful; some were pompous and jeering. When I read these messages, I get this magical feeling that I am growing more extensive, and the people who correct me are shrinking before my eyes. I try to imagine spending my time correcting the mistakes of people I don’t know.
I can’t do it. Those are not the shoes of other people I can stand in.
Tomorrow I will get a whole bunch of messages from angry hens clucking about my writing this and daring not to care or feel sorry about my mistake. But I’m not playing the game or following the rules, as usual. My age is the reason for that.
Dominic said this mistake was a big deal and implied I should be ashamed of myself for not getting it right.
My first boss as a journalist said the same thing to me that Dominic did; he died when a truck ran over him while he was chasing a prostitute down the street while drunk.
I never knew what to make of that.
I guess the script calls for me to be ashamed and chastened and apologize. But I’ve never been good at following the script.
I don’t care. It’s not what I choose to worry about, given so many other choices, and lo and beh,ld; it’s my choice. I am free now, like breathing the freshest air.
The importance of this isn’t what you might think. I make mistakes all the time and will make more. It’s a signature trait of mine. It gives many people pleasure and work. They don’t seem busy unless they spend all of their time correcting mistakes.
The kids and their mommies and daddies didn’t seem to mind.
The goat mistake was a dozen posts ago; I don’t even remember writing it. I’m still getting messages about it, though, days later.
For me, the future is the sweetest part of getting older because I can choose what I want to think and what I want to worry about, and what I don’t want to worry about. That, I am coming to understand, makes me an iconoclast; I’m ignoring cherished beliefs, and day by day, I’m seeing how this fits me.
At my age, the future must be grasped with enthusiasm and determination. As the big clock goes down, things get more intense every day – the clock does not ever tick upwards.
Most people live with the conviction that anything they can’t do now, they can do later. As I turn 75 (60 seems young), I am coming nose to nose with mortality. There is an end to time. The future means something new and something different. Life is what I make of it.
But with that comes the freedom to decide what I will fill my time with. For me, it’s not about arguing, apologizing, second-guessing, or resentment.
Joan Chittister writes eloquently about a new state of mind simmering to come up in me and live.
“There is a sense of urgency that comes with the awareness of time,” she writes, “the thought that there is so much else to live that I have known until now. There is so much air out there that I have not allowed myself to breathe. There is the rest of my life to be lived that I have been denied until now, ignored till now, unaware of until now. Like every other age of life, old age is a learning time. It may be here that we learn best what life – mine and yours – is really about.”
Amen.
Well said Jon! I just got The Gift of Years delivered and am excited to begin reading. I enjoyed the post about Cindy and Larry! I love that they dared to dream and then to go for it, it is refreshing! Keep on writing and sharing beautiful stories and pictures! Many of us out here just love your blog! Blessings to you and Maria 🙂
Josie, she reminds me of you..
It’s hardly “days later” since you confused kids and lambs: it’s not even 24 hours later. Your sense of time is odd!
Bradon, I’d reply in a witty way if I knew what you were talking about, or if I cared…I really don’t. Do yourself a favor and go find something meaningful to do. Life is short.
How much I cherish your writing — your humor, your insights, your love and compassion, your photographs, your joys as well as your sorrows. You’ve introduced me to your beloved Maria, your friends at the Mansion, your doctors snd nurses as well as your animals and the bewitching beauty of your farm with all its foliage. Why some miscreants are quick to correct you is beyond me. I am too busy connecting with you. Thanks, Jon, for all your generous and articulate sharing — and I believe I speak not only for myself but for most of your readers.
Thanks Kallym that is a lovely message..
I like what Joan said about life and time, I’m 70 and have come to a fork in the road , Either sit and and relax or live like there’s no tommorow, i choose the latter,
By the why care if a. word was wrong. Everyone knew what you meant, It was obvious, Life is too short,
I laughed out loud at the story about your first boss – Dominic beware!
A few years ago I was on a cruise with a friend of more than 40 years. She has always expressed her opinions strongly, but in close quarters on the cruise she was telling me what to do more than usual. In frustration I told “I really don’t care what you think!” And she said in a huff “that’s obvious!”.
No more was said and our long term friendship continues, but it felt really liberating to say what I did. I don’t tolerate people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do at my age (70).
Hurrah for you (and me)
Thanks Lois, it is liberating to speak one’s truth, isn’t it?
I love not only your blog, but the responses to it. Hooray for Laurie and Josie! Spelling and punctuation don’t matter as much as the content and folks can just get over the nit-picky stuff. I’m 81 and have a degree in journalism, so I have the credentials to write what I think. Good for you!
Very nice Valorie, thanks for getting the soap…I love mine..
I loved your posts on and photos of Cindy, her husband, and their goats. I even bought some soap, which arrived yesterday. My hands thank her for making it and you for introducing her. Goats fascinate me.
Me too, Valorie, I’m eager to go and see her again..The goats were sweet and very well cared for..thanks for getting the soap…
I read your ‘mistake’ calling kids lambs and immediately just read kids instead. So what! My daughter is dyslexic and whenever I read what she has written I just automatically read what she meant (unless I can’t figure it out – then I ask her) rather than what she had written. I love reading your blog, it evokes all kinds of thoughts, feelings, opinions in me. Those are about me, keep being iconoclastic.
I just started reading Joan’s book this morning. I am fascinated by this aging thing. At 72 I can do what I want! Keep doing you!
I love your philosophical essays on aging. If we’re lucky (or unlucky?) we all will walk the path through aging and decide what we can make of it. In our youth-obsessed culture, your blog is a breath of fresh air.
Funny, I saw the “lambs” and thought maybe just an honest mistake, or maybe that the goat folks might call the kids lambs. I never once thought about writing to correct you, knowing you from your writings. I figured, who cares? The blog about that wonderful, hard working couple and their beautiful goats and very cool soap, etc., was very informative, fun and interesting! Life’s too short to get caught up in corrections that really don’t matter. You go, Jon!!
Thanks Georgann, the problem is that I have sheep, and this is where dyslexia comes in, words get exchanged…no big whoop I’m used to this and okay with it..