Letting Go

Time for another jaunt through pop psychology about which I know very little (translation: I know nothing). Mom, of course, is welcome to read this as well. (Actually I really don't care if no one reads this. I think I'm writing it for myself.)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I never got a gold watch. I retired from three different institutions (at four different times – but that's another story) and I'm relieved that I did, but I never got a gold watch. One of those places, the Radiology Department of a medical school hospital, gave me a university chair (a physical chair, not an appointment) with a logo and a plaque. Good enough – though a rocker would have been more fitting than the regular type. I didn't like the other places all that much anyway.

But I did like the positions in which I served. I felt useful and responsible. So when I left I felt useless and not responsible (not irresponsible, but not responsible). At least in terms of those two hospitals. And if I were to go back now I doubt that anyone would recognize me. (That's OK. I know who I am.) All my accomplishments – and they weren't insignificant – would have been forgotten. They would simply be the way things have always been. From their perspective I'd be nobody. And the departments I headed would have the imprints of their current directors.

Times change for individuals as they do for institutions and societies, and self-image changes as well. I'm retired now, and my time is my own (except for doing what my wife tells me to do). I have no responsibilities. But there is a downside as well, the negative part of what goes with the territory. I don't simply mean that I'm getting older. That's true, and it has its downside as well, however I'm referring to something else. I've become nobody. Sure I take out the garbage and bring in the newspapers – I still carry out the activities of daily living – but, lacking a schedule and responsibilities, I'm adrift. Others get the credit or blame for all the things I used to do. The people I see and know greet me, but think of me as an old man with nothing in particular to do. And I think of myself in the same way.

One of the hardest things for an individual to do is to give up his view of himself. And it's hard for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that it requires self-examination. It requires one to reform his self-image into one more suitable for his new situation. He needs to (please forgive the cant – I don't like it either) reinvent himself. The recognition of the new image is integral to its acceptance. But it can't just be an image. It must be reality. It is reality.

That new reality itself, however, must also be understood and accepted. The classic example when I was young was the anxious mother bidding her “baby” farewell at the kindergarten door. (Now it's preschool and, with gender and family changes, it's one of the “partners” – assuming there's more than one – of one or more genders.) The farewell was accompanied by tears and reticence by both parties although the child usually recovered quickly.

The mother had to accept the idea that her child could survive without her; she had to let go and change her self-image and identity to that of service-provider for when the child came home, but she was no longer the center of her darling's universe. The same thing had happened when there was a baby-sitter. Tears from the child until the door closed, but Mom didn't think about it so much because when she came home she could still picture herself as the only one her child really cared about.

But as the years go by and our children grow up we become more of a commodity for them – provider of dinner or a car, perhaps the “Bank of Dad (or Mom)” – and often an embarrassment. There is college and the empty nest. That happens slowly, and we can usually accommodate as the years go by, but that doesn't prevent the sadness (along with happiness for them) as they eventually establish families of their own. Our lives have changed. We have to grow up as well, and accept the idea that our children are no longer ours. We're saddened both by their maturing and by our own aging. We have lost our youth. We're no longer relevant. It's time for a mid-life crisis, if we haven't already had one.

Life cycles do that. When we're young we're happy to let go of who we were in favor of what we want to become, but as we get older it's more giving than getting. That's even the case in our “outside” lives – lives beyond home and work. I used to set the tables for events at my synagogue. I'd get a telephone call or other message that an event was coming up and I had to prepare for a particular number of people on a specific day. It was a given that the job would get done. It wasn't a critical responsibility but it was mine. And everybody knew it. I don't get called anymore. Others see it as not wanting to burden me, but I see it as their perception that I'm too old (or infirm, or whatever) to have the responsibility. I'm grateful for their concern, however it seems to be a signal to me – they'll never ask again and I'd better get used to that fact. It's my new reality. “The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be.” Ditto the stallion – the old geezer. Enough is enough. He's over the hill.

But, as Yogi Berra said, “It ain't over 'til it's over” (or as Dan Cook restated it, “The opera ain't over till the fat lady sings”) and the changes need not be liked, only accepted. New goals must be set so there will be new achievements that can be sought. For many the need for purpose may be attained through volunteerism; whether it takes place in a soup kitchen, a social service organization, or some other project it gives the participant something to hold on to. It's a new piece of his identity. He has self-worth – the feeling that he's helping others. He's somebody. He's important. He has a purpose in life. Or, as Monty Python put it, he's “not dead yet.” (That time will come, and then my children will have to let go.)

But now, for me, the goal is writing, providing me with a pulpit from which to bully. I have definite opinions. They're all correct and I want to preserve them for posterity. Nobody may ever read them, but I have the opportunity to speak the Truth, and that gives me some purpose. That and taking out the garbage.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From Anu Garg's "A Word A Day" -- THOUGHT FOR TODAY:

Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you're alive, it isn't. -Richard Bach, writer (b. 23 Jun 1936)