Zoomer Chronicles: A Fine Line

     This morning, I ventured out to review problematic intersections and issues in Downtown St. Paul.  The adventure heightens my attention to several facts.
    After having three drivers cut in front of me in controlled intersections--in a period of two weeks--it seemed I needed to draw attention to the overlooked safety issues. I want to be prepared for the yet-to-be scheduled time with a television producer to highlight--to focus, literally--attention on public safety issues.
     Several personal facts have come to light in recent days.  While I do what I can to highlight public safety issues for others, I need to combat internal issues.
     First, I have retreated from a healthy pace of travelling within the downtown area.
     Second, timidity and fear replaced determination and confidence--not riskiness, but confidence.
     Cooler weather intensifies my concern that I will be isolated by poorly-shoveled sidewalks, and ice.  I need to back up.  This will be my first winter with Zoomer.  Questions abound.
    What are Zoomer's intended capacities in the outside during wintertime?  Am I realistic to expect that I might have some outside travel capacities during the winter?  What will my limitations be?  What accommodations are open to me?  Are there additional safety precautions that might improve, or extend my capacity to travel outside during the Minnesota winter months?
    I know that I should not expose Zoomer to rainy weather.  I know that I should not expect to navigate ice.  
    I know that Zoomer can--will be able to--navigate the skyway system during winter months.  [The skyway system is a Godsend.  The system of enclosed walkways between downtown buildings--walkways located on the second floors of buildings--do wonders in curbing a paralyzing isolation that would occur otherwise.]
     As wonderful as skyways are, it is extremely important to get outside--to be exposed to the sun--to all elements of the out of doors.  Oddly, prior to Zoomer, having to be outside was not an issue, or priority for me.  I took for granted my capacity to get outside and be outside.
  Interesting what it takes to challenge one's values, and priorities.  Coming days and months will clarify what, if any realignment of values, and priorities occurs.

September 11...1948

     An oft-ask question is, "How will you be commemorating September 11th?"
     I commemorate September 11th with my life.  You see, on September 11, 1948, my parents were married.  While others commemorate the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and on Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the people lost, the first responders--I celebrate the wedding of my parents in 1948--63 years ago.
     I commemorate September 11th--with the pursuit of peace and understanding among people--each day.  How?  A cliche? No.
     Among people is not a nebulous term.  I pursue peace and understanding with each individual I meet, know, and love each day.  I am not a Pollyanna.  Not everyone shares my views and preferences on issues and matters large and small.
     I do not claim myself to be a proud American.  I wave no flags.  I wear no pins.  I parade no routes.  I do get choked up on Election Day--on- and off-year elections just the same.  I do get choked up on Inauguration Day.  Party matters not to me.  I am not a proud American.  I am a committed world citizen.
     By definition, I am no patriot--I am not patriotic.  I devote my energies in search of peace and toward understanding, rather than in defense of America, and seeking vengeance, or being vigilant against acts of terror.  I prefer to be vigilant for acts of peace.      
     I seek peace each day with each individual I meet that day.  I seek not complete agreement.  I seek understanding.  Different views, different preferences--different perspectives--invite me to deeper understanding.
     Seeking peace--seeking understanding--is not grandiose.  Peace and understanding are my daily aspirations--one person, one day at a time.
     I commemorate the peace and understanding that was married on September 11, 1948.  Happy 63rd anniversary, Mom and Dad.  Thank you for your example of love--your commitment to peace.

Honor

     Honor.  Family honor.  Physical honor.  Personal honor.  Honor.
     Mere mention of the word "honor" elicits a call to have good posture--to stand at attention.  To limit our understanding of "honor" does a grave disservice to the word--to everyone involved in Honor's Service.
     I confess, I am guilty of affirming that limited definition.  Yet, recent events and life stages bring honor into question.
     Family crests.  Monuments.  Physical stature.
     None of these words engenders a spirit of forgiveness.  Yet, forgiveness is perquisite.
     Personal honor, and family honor are intertwined.  My counsel of a young man struggling to find his way in the world surprised me.
     How many of us, who are adults, yearned for something our parents did not give us?  Usually, that something is not material, although it well may be.  The form of something is not important.  The revelation of forgiveness is.
    My necessary forgiveness regarded questions that only I could answer by my own life experience.  Why did my peers not understand my disabilities?  Why did they bully me?  How could I stop it?  Those are impossible questions for anyone to answer satisfactorily.
     By nature, I am very hesitant to assert my views--however urgent I feel they are needed--face to face.  I am a coward--a coward's face.  Yet, I feel emboldened by the written word.  Writing allows the reader to absorb my words "in the structure of time," as the young man I speak of might say.
     I am learning to appreciate a different dimension--physical honor.  Never have I heard others mention it.
     Physical honor.  Graceful aging calls us to it.  As babies, we are born with a set of physical capabilities.  Whatever that set may be, it is our starting point.  We take no notice of what those capabilities are.  Why should we?  We have known no other way of living than with that particular set.  We learn our limits by testing them.  All-nighters, weight-lifting--childbirth, perhaps.  Depending on our life circumstances, aging alters that set.  Our permission is NOT required.
     I was born with the set of capabilities, which were described in part as being cerebral palsy, and epilepsy.  That was my starting point.  Seen as having limits, just as any other child, I tested them--believe me, I tested them.  Just ask my therapists.
     I did not understand my limits.  Aging has changed those limits.  Age forty.  Morning stiffness.  Age forty-five. Painful hips.  Strained walking.
     Each new limit called me to respond.  Before I could accept the somethings that were given to me--to my aging body--I had to take a very different action.  To my left hip, and my right ankle, I needed to forgive  them for the service they could not give to me.  I needed to forgive myself for yearning--for demanding--that  my left hip and right ankle could give me no more.
   Cognition of my body parts' service to me was and remains essential.  Acknowledgment.  I abused my body, such that some of my body parts are wearing out.  Vigilance.  Ever I must re-cognize  my body's service.  Ever, I must acknowledge--confess--to any abuse I may be inflicting on my body for selfish reasons--for vanity.
     A brace.  An electric wheelchair--Zoomer.  Forgiveness of my parents for being human--forgiveness by my temperamental child self.
    My counsel to the young man was a question.  Have you ever considered that you need to forgive your parents for not giving you what you yearned for-for what they could not give you?  Have you ever considered honoring what they have given you?  Have you considered honoring that they have given is everything that they know to give you?
    Honor.  Standing at attention?  No, not physically.  Honor.  Attending to the gifts that have been given.  Forgiving what has not been--what could not be--given to you by your parents?
    Honor.  Family honor.  Physical honor.  Personal honor.  Honor.

A Study in Words

     Many words come to mind as the debt ceiling debate.  Disgust.  Astonishment.  Frustration.  These are but a few of the words regarding how the debate is being conducted that come to my mind.
     I plead guilty to any accusation that I am obsessed with how words are used--how words are used in describing individuals, and interactions, most notably.  Words define the structure of a sentence--the foundation of a conversation.  The most important words are the subtle words--the words that are deemed acceptable.
     I have heard descriptions of this weekend's congressional proceedings.  I include both the House and the Senate in the term, "congress."  Sometimes, only the House is intended by speaking of "congressional."
     News reports have described actions in Congress this weekend as, "political theater."  Others have spoken with little fanfare of the "players" in the "game."  
     I cannot comprehend the economic figures being discussed.  I know what my political--governmental--spending priorities are, yet, my focus is elsewhere.  Some question what will happen if our nation's debt ceiling is not lifted.   As important as the answer to that question is, I am much more concerned about the words by which the debate is framed.
     Dumbfounded.  Whose life involves no compromise?  Whose life is ideal?  Do any of us choose the life circumstances we have been given to live?  Yes, we do have control--some control--over the quality of our lives. But, that is because we have chosen how we will live the circumstances we have been given to live.
     I don't like some of the compromises that my life circumstances have called me to make.  Yet, the alternative--not making any compromises--would be to paralyze me from living a meaningful life.  I am not willing to be so principled that I overlook the critical need for pragmatism.  Being willing to compromise--being pragmatic--is not a guarantee of getting the desired result--or the entirety of any desired result.  But, pragmatism, and compromise are unavoidable--necessary starting points.  Engaging in pragmatism, and compromise is the only hope I know of to preserve a high quality of living.
    At this point in time, we do not know the impact of the debt ceiling debate will be.  In my own life, the compromises I have been called to make to date have not been implemented for long enough to know of their impact on my life.  I do not know the specific compromises I will be called to make in the future.  The same is true of the U.S. Congress, and the President.  Yet, the price of not making compromises we are called to make is greater than making compromises, as a sign of being adults.

Civic Responsibility

     More and more, as time goes on, I find myself much less ardent in my advocacy for a given cause.  Although if called to label myself politically, I would describe myself as liberal, that does not suffice to describe my perspective.  I am far more ardent an advocate for civility, respect, pragmatism, and civic engagement.
     I am a resident of St. Paul, Minnesota.  As such, I witnessed an irresponsible government shutdown.  Irresponsible--the negotiation strategies employed, rather than any of the facts that resulted in the shutdown warrant irresponsible.  Time elapsed.  Compromise prevailed.  Now, the Minnesota State government is open, and operational now.  I was not affected directly.  I am a friend of a state employee.  I am a citizen of Minnesota.  Yet, on a day-to-day basis, the shutdown did not have a short-term impact on me.
     Civic responsibility.  The debt ceiling negotiations.  I am not an economist.  I do not play one on television.  I am a citizen of the United States.  I am a recipient of SSDI.  Neither of these elements of me may have any part in the debt ceiling negotiations.  Yet, both elements lead me to reflection.
     Many people are heard to say, "throw the bums out!" in relation to officeholders, who vote for a given piece of legislation, or a given political persuasion.  I am not so inclined.  I vote on the basis of the current needs at Election Day, and the needs I perceive for the future.  I do not vote for a given political candidate as a vote against the opposing candidate.  Such an approach does not give anyone the mandate he or she needs to govern.  I do not engage in name-calling with regard to a given officeholder, candidate, or political movement.  To do so dilutes my integrity, credibility, and influence for my convictions.
     Principled pragmatism.
     Typical  of many college students, I was an idealist.  I was a passionate advocate for issues of personal interest, knowledge, and understanding.  Had life been perfect, I would have pursued paid work promoting the awareness of disabilities.
      With time--with the realities of career disappointments, among other factors--I became more of a pragmatist.  College ideals gave way to the need for a job, health insurance, among other things.
      Recently, I have listened with disgust to the individuals engaged in the debt ceiling debate.  Participants are so firmly entrenched in their principles that there is no room for compromise--for pragmatism.
     Principles and pragmatism need not be diametrically opposed.  In fact, they are intimates.  Principles are the starting point from which negotiations regarding any debate.  Yet, at the point that listening, understanding, pragmatism, and compromise are left out of the discourse, principles--however genuinely held they may be--lose their credence.
     Civic Responsibility.  Principles.  Listening.  Understanding.  Listening.  Pragmatism.  Compromise.  Principled Pragmatism.  Civic Responsibility.   These need not be complicated undertakings.  These are worthy of celebration.  When they prevail, we may inhale civility's breath.

A Convergence of Ages--Family Ages

     This weekend three generations spanning sixty years converged.  An evening gathering.  I sat, and listened as an aunt, and a daughter.  Though old enough to be so, I am not a mother.  My daughter's eyes were clarified.  No one may defy age forever.  My head knows this truth.  My daughter's eyes saw what the youngest in our gathering did not see--did not want to see or hear of his elders.
     Though I have been blessed with a strong bond with my nephews, life circumstances do not give me the vehicle necessary to convey the importance of working.  I am a poor example to my nephews of the commitment to the less glamorous parts of life--the substance of the working life.  Rarely am I speechless.  Rarely am I at a loss for how to communicate what needs to be said in a gentle, but diplomatic manner.
    I recognize the fallacy of the question, "What do you want to do when you grow up?"  Yet, there must be some such question that is not laden with condescension, and implications of disrespect.  What is the question?  I believe myself to be an open-minded person, who strives to avoid the pitfalls of being judgmental.  Yet, I am frightened by the cluelessness I am witnessing.  Is what I am experiencing just my time for what all "older generations" of youth experience?
    I guess if I am questioning what the proper question of those younger than I, then I should hardly expect to have any answers.  So, I ponder.

Perfection's Exhaustion

    Were you to ask me in younger days, I would have proclaimed myself to be an idealist.  I had principles that were contrary to the norm.  I was a fool enough to believe that I could conquer the norm with my enthusiasm.  To some degree, I did.  Yet, life's realities had other designs on me.
    I fought losing idealism as a compromise in my beliefs--a wholly unacceptable compromise.  I fought being a realist--a pragmatist.  That was an evil option I was determined to avoid at all costs.  I did not recognize what the nature or magnitude of those costs might be.

    This week I have spoke with a number of people, whom I think of as pragmatists--realists--reminded me of those two extremes.   Today reminded me to reevaluate how I understand myself.  

     Today's cold is having the unexpected effect of clarifying my misconception--of who the realists are, and who the idealists are.  One is not better than the other.  It is a balance between those two extremes that comes the closest to offering any modicum of fulfillment.  

     My friends express an idealism that I don't know how to reconcile.  Life is not perfect.  Seeking to find just the right life path to live one's principles does not guarantee a "happy"--a fulfilling life.  My friends are not alone in wanting to find that perfect life--that life without compromise.

     Being idealistic is exhausting.  It is not to say the investment should never be made.  Quite to the contrary.  Being idealistic is pragmatism's antidote.  Idealism is a vaccine protecting a person from being infected with cynicism.

     But, pragmatism is not the enemy--not idealism's antagonist.  I go to bed tonight exhausted by the idealist's demand for the perfect life's path.  I know no perfect pursuit, which is free of compromise.
     Is it possible that what we view as living a compromised life is in truth our perfection, rather than a pristine pursuit of an idyllic life to which we should aspire?