Zoomer Chronicles: A Door Opens

     Just now, I responded to a survey from Macy's.  I left my name number, and my willingness to address a problem.
     Several months ago, Zoomer and I tried to leave Macy's Department Store.  First, Zoomer had great difficulty navigating the clothing racks that masked the handicap door open button.  Once we found our way through the forest, we wheeled back to the door to exit the store.  Before we could get out safely, the door started to close on us.    
    We were stuck.  I sat there for a bit.  How is the best way to move?
    Slowly and deliberately.  Slowly, I back up.  I press the button again.  We hurry to get back into position.  We got through the door.  But, I was scared. How much I can I trust this door?  How much can I trust this door to get outside?
    I recognize that Zoomer and I have been together since mid-April of this year.  Many, many individuals have navigated these issues for years.
    There is a balance to be found between being frustrated, and seeking a constructive resolution.  I think I am closer to the constructive-resolution end of the continuum.
    Wintertime.  I don't know whether I will move more toward frustrated end of the continuum, or beyond frustration.  Memories of last winter--last winter's snow, particularly--concern me.  I don't know whether I will be able to get out.
   I don't want to become embittered by fear, and be blinded to the glory of a fiery red maple tree.

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 Human Inventory

    Long before computers automated the inventory process of goods, a relative inventoried the goods of several grocery stores.  Many years hence, a more sophisticated world has demanded a more advanced inventorying.  Valuations are conducted by many professionals, who begin where the automated inventorying leaves off.  Valuations established a working value by which business, or the lives of divorced individuals may move forward to more profitable--more fulfilling--lives.
    I have known two professionals who engaged in inventorying and valuations.  I find myself in the midst of a different--very humbling--sort of valuation.  I am being called to itemize how I live my daily life.
    How do I live my life?  Can I 1. perform this activity independently; 2. Can I perform this activity with the use of equipment or adaptive devices; or is it true that  I cannot perform this activity.   
   Dress;  voluntary bladder and bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene; toilet; feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you; bathe (tub, shower, sponge); transfer from bed to chair.
   I feel comfortable with each today.  Yet, it is daunting to see those very real prospects as a part of my future is akin to the decision to get a power wheelchair--to opt to receive a head rim that I could use at the time in my future when my left hand might no longer be capable of manipulating a joystick.
     That is humbling, to say the least.
    You will go to college.  You will learn to live independently.
   I answer the questions with those words in my lifelong memory.  I have achieved the first.  I continue to achieve the second.  The future?
    I know how I have lived my life until now.  I have seen deterioration of my body in the last ten years, especially in the last two years.  But, the future.  Seeing its truth presented before me in black and white--starkly--that is humbling.
    So, how do I live in the present, such that I make the fullest use of my own abilities currently?  How do I live in the present, such that I do not endanger myself--my physical capacities--for the future?  How do I live in the present such that I position myself--prepare myself--for the future, with all of its humbling prospects?
    Responding to the current valuation, I thought that my visceral response to it was the section regarding activities of daily living--ADLs.  I am not partial to any acronym--clinical jargon--that abbreviates individual human beings.  To some, activities of daily living--ADLs--is a foreign word--an unknown quantity.  To others, it is a clinic scheme used to organize the occupational therapy needs of an individual.  Yet, to me activities of daily living--ADLs--represents a test that I can still pass independently, or with some equipment, or adaptive devices.
  These are humbling questions.
  Will there be a day when I cannot perform this activity--any of the activities of daily living? 
   Dress; voluntary bladder or bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene; toilet; feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you; bathe (bath, shower, or sponge); transfer from bed to chair.  These are tasks in a list--elements at the heart of dignity.

Three Young Lives

     I have never given birth to any children...not that I remember, anyway.  I am 51.  Maternal instincts are not within my self-concept.
     Yet, something quite unfamiliar is beating in me--the impulse to knock some sense into the heads of three guys, who have yet to make firm declarations of their life pursuits.  To call them "boys" is inaccurate.  They are in their 20s, and lower 30s.  Don't get me wrong--I love these guys.  Yet, "young men" exceeds their current beings.  Certainly, "men" is beyond of the reach of these individuals today.
     In my 20s, I was an Idealist with a capital "I."  Work pulverized my Idealism, replacing it with necessary Pragmatism, with a capital "P."
     A tone is creeping into my thoughts.  "When I was your age...,"  "Listen to me, I have experience...," "Mom and Dad worked hard to live the life they enjoy now,"  "There is a point at which you need to put issues from your past in the past OR transform those issues into forces to serve you and others toward a better future...."
     When I was in my 20s, and early 30s, I am sure my parents were thinking some of those same thoughts.  They had lived through my father's year in Korea.  They raised three children.  They were involved in professional associations, and served in public office.  They were active in their community--dedicated to creating a better world.  Not with bravado.  They did so with simple, clear acts rooted in deep convictions.
    My grandparents of their son and daughter.  It was a different time.  They were proud.  Their children had exceeded their achievements.  One grandfather completed the eighth grade.  When he sought certification to be a public accountant--a CPA--Pops went to a high school instructor.  He tested his way to deem his worthiness to pursue a career.  He did not test out of responsibility to education, he was tested into--proven to possess the requisite passion for--a career in accountancy.  One grandmother followed the work of her time--a teacher.  Ray--I'm too young to be called Grandpa--was rooted in the family logging and papermill work.  Later, he worked on the railroad.  One grandmother volunteered her gifts in a state hospital.  She fulfilled expectations of her time--motherhood.  Yet, I wonder.  Had times been different might she have unwrapped her gifts--made her way into medicine?  We will never know.
     With all of that said, I don't know how to stifle the tone in my thoughts.  Where is Archie Bunker when you need him?
     I do not know what contributions my three young guys will make to the world.  They have the intellect.  Yet, to date, they lack the aptitude to apply their intellect--to make use of their gifts.
     Technology has marvelous applications that improve many people's lives.  Yet, my three guys do not know the meaning of "white noise."  They lack the recognition requisite to tap technology's marvels.
     They like settle for white noise.  They like don't listen to the world around them.  They like don't look to see where they may offer themselves--their gifts.  Are they guys of their time?  Only with time may we know.
     Never have I conceived a child.  I am not a mother.  Yet, an unfamiliar impulse is beating in me--an unfamiliar tone is creeping into my thoughts.

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?