Fire Burning Brightly

Now that I've spent time with my youngin's and their partners during the holidays, I'm feeling the generational divide in a new way. It's been growing on me, and this has put it in stark relief. It really started with my smart phone, though.

I tried. I really did. I had it for two months. I learned to use the touch screen, even though it was awkward and made texting so much harder for me. I even used the predictive text. Over time, I didn't miss as many calls from not being able to figure out how to answer them, and there were fewer times that I had to turn the damn thing off just to make it shut up. I read part of a Kindle book on my phone --- that felt like a win. I looked at facebook and even answered a few emails. But it was always like carrying around a really annoying stranger in my pocket.

I finally gave up and went back to my old phone. Ifelt as though I took off the high heels and put the sneakers back on. What a relief!

I lasted two months only because I was determined not to be that old person who couldn't adapt to new technology. But I've since realized that it was but a symptom of a larger condition. It's not just technology, it's everything and everyone. I'm shuffling along in my old familiar paths while new roads and buildings are being built all around me. And for the most part, I hardly notice them.

It sounds sad and pathetic, being left behind, but it's actually not. At least it's not for me. It's a very peculiar thing that I never understood before. I'm not what I consider old, by any means, but I'm definitely no longer in the thick of things. And that is all right. I thought, when I was younger, that it would be so depressing to start winding down. How could a person not spend all their time feeling regretful about what was over and done with, and apprehensive about the approaching end? There would be nothing to look forward to but decline and pain and death. That's what I thought.

What I'm experiencing, though, is quite different. I was watching and listening a lot last week with the kids, who are all in their thirties now. They're quick and witty. They speak a common language of pop culture that I know nothing about. They all have their iphones and a surprising number of their interactions involve the use of them in some way. I was on the periphery, which was a comfortable perch for me. I giggled at their silliness and competition, I listened in while they talked about their work, research, aspirations and travel plans. Their flames are burning brightly, which is as it should be.

Mine, on the other hand, is more of a rosy glow, a cozy stove on a winter night. While they are popping with ideas and innovation, I am in the stage of life more conducive to reflection and observation. Stepping off into blue sky is no longer appealing, but drawing connections and bringing thoughts together come naturally to me now. I'm not simply on the sidelines. I have contributions to make in the larger conversations, the deeper conversations. I have the privilege of being, as my mother was for me, a way-shower. I get to carry the lantern and illuminate the path ahead.

I may not know or care about apps and odd sounding musical groups, I may firmly eschew violent media in favor of comedy, romance, or explorations of the human tapestry. I can't hold up my end of table talk about the Walking Dead or Dead Milkmen (yes, they were dredged up at one point), but I do have a place and a voice in the life stories of the people I'm with.

I love the vantage point I have now. It's a little like climbing and climbing with eyes trained on the next move to avoid a misstep, and then suddenly coming to a high-altitude resting point. I can see so much more than I used to ---- I get the wider picture. I may be looking over territory Iwill never enter, but just being able to see it, and know that others are coming behind me who will use what we've learned and carry on, gives me satisfaction.

I did not understand how anyone, even if they lived to be 105, would ever be ready to let it all go, but I'm beginning to see it now. It was never mine to begin with. I really am just passing through. And while I'm here I not only get to do my part, whatever that might be, but I've been able to hang around long enough to re-order my priorities.

I love the fine bed of glowing coals I represent now, because without that foundation the fire would go out. So dance with the flames, all you youngin's, and don't be afraid of what's next.