You are human

Hello Monday. It’s the fourth Monday in Quarantine time. We’re staying healthy at home as much as possible. Thanks to a kind neighbor, our garden plot is tilled and ready for planting. This afternoon we’ll plant snap peas, lettuce, kale, spinach and chard. It will be good to have fresh food right out our back door.

 

I’m adjusting to the new normal. I’ve found what works for me to stay more centered is to only check the news once or twice a day, to only check reliable sources and to not engage in debates on facebook with people who do not believe in science.

 

I believe in science; I believe in the power of objective facts, hard data. I do not believe in cosmic woo, magic, or the ability to defy the laws of nature. I’m perplexed by people who believe being spiritual, enlightened, holy, or self-actualized means no longer having human experiences. We are human beings, in a human body that is designed to last a finite amount of time.

 

We experience the world through this body. I believe enlightenment means coming to terms with this, understanding that we are sometimes well, sometimes ill, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, sometimes angry, sometimes grief stricken, sometimes wailing, sometimes gnashing our teeth. Sometimes we smell bad, sometimes we say stupid things, sometimes we fail, sometimes we succeed fabulously. All of it, everything we experience is part of being fully human.

 

To those of you who think you won’t get COVID-19 because you are “covered in the blood of Jesus,” or have “vibrations too high for a virus to infect me,” or will “pray it away,” I wish you good luck. What Iknow is that several clusters of illness in Kentucky (and elsewhere) have been caused by people insisting on attending religious services in defiance of orders not to congregate. In one case, sick congregants were encouraged to come to service. We are human. You are human. I am human. We are governed by the laws of nature, by our biology and our anatomy.

 

Prayer won’t save you, the blood of Jesus won’t save you, high vibrations won’t save you, incantations won’t save you, burning incense won’t save you, praying to idols won’t save you. These things might make you feel better, and if so, by all means do them, but they are not a substitute for common sense and for listening to what actual scientists say. Practice physical distancing, stay home when possible, glove and mask properly, don’t gather for any reason with anyone outside of those with whom you already live. The life you save could be yours.

Your Expressions matter

I read an interesting article on the Huffington Post site this morning that has scary implications for the future. No, it wasn’t a political article. It was about the fact that large numbers of millenials are having cosmetic procedures. In 2018, 25% of people having cosmetic procedures were younger than 34. Many of these folks are driven by the altered images prevalent on social media. While actual surgery is on the rise, the use of cosmetic procedures including fillers and botox has exploded. The use of botox in particular has some scary unintended consequences.

 

Empathy, the ability to understand the feelings of another, is one of the prime drivers of compassion and caring. Scientific studies have shown that one of the prime drivers of empathic responses comes from the ability to notice and mimic other people’s microexpressions. Microexpressins are small facial movements that last less than a second. Humans (and some non-human animals) are able to pick them up and respond to them, by mimicking those expressions. Generallly, we are not consciously aware we are doing this, but this micro mimicking helps us feel compassion for another.

 

This is particularly powerful between infants and their caregivers. Babies early on learn to pick up cues from their primary caregiver’s reactions to their own expresssions. These microexpressions include movements of the muscles surrounding the eyes and mouth, including forehead muscles.

 

Those who have had botox have limited or no ability to move these small muscles. Studies have shown that people who lack the ability to mimick the expressions of others feel less emapthy and have less compassion for others. So, I wonder what the world will be like twenty years from now when large numbers of people (still mostly those who identify as women) are unable to feel compassion and empathy for others. What will happen to our society? Will this lead to futher inequality and separation, because only the wealthy can afford these procedures? Will it lead to child neglect, because caregivers are unable to empathize with their children? My mind wanders and wonders.

 

Underlying all this is an increasing intolerance for anything that falls outside the narrow range of what social media considers acceptable. It all makes the movie Logan’s Run seem less like science fiction and more like prophecy.

Do It Now!

Right now is the time to begin. Right where you are, just as you are. All those things you’ve been putting off until the right time, until after the holidays, until the weather is warmer, until your bank account is bigger, until you are in a relationship, until you are out of a relationship, until you have the right job, until you weigh less or weigh more, until, until, until.

 

Until is as denigrating as should. Strike it out of your vocabulary. Do it now. Who cares if you can’t do what you did when you were (fill in the age, weight, relationship status, etc.)? Who cares what other people will think? What matters is what you care about, what’s really important to you.

 

Today, make the slogan Nike popularized your own. Just Do It. If you were going to die in the next week, would you want to spend the time you had left, bemoaning what you haven’t done, what you might not be able to do, or would you just live? Live, live, live, right now, right here, without excuse and without apology. Be one hundred percent your glorious, beautiful, messy self. Do it.

Parents are people too

This morning a memory popped up on Facebook; a picture of my mother taken when she was pregnant with me; she was 40. She looks happy, carefree; not a look I saw often. When I was young I didn’t understand her unhappiness, nor my father’s distance. I am grateful that before each of my parents died I was able to see them as full human beings, independent of their role as “parent.”

There is something magical that happens when we can let go of what we thought our past should be and who we thought our parents should have been and, instead, appreciate them for who they are as real people. Both of my parents were complex. My mother was intelligent, funny, wise, thoughtful, creative. She could be kind and indifferent, full of joy and deeply sad, passionate, compassionate, angry. My father too, was intelligent, and also diligent, persistent, kind and indifferent, hard to read, stern and silly. I miss them both. My mother died in 1994 and my father in 2018. There are times I just want to talk with them, to hold my mother’s hand, to hear my father say, “Just over the next hill.”

How do you see your parents? Can you let go of your notions of should have, could have, would have and allow them to be fully human? Try it, you might like it.

It’ll Happen to You

I know I’ve written about this before, but here’s the thing, we’re all going to die. Might be today, might be in thirty years, but death comes to everyone. Avoiding the topic, pretending it won’t happen won’t stop it. There is no cheating death. If you look at death as failure than all of life is a losing battle. If instead you accept the fact that life has an unknown endpoint and give up trying to stop deat from happening, you can spend that energy on things that are life fulfilling.

 

So much of our medical system is based on staving off death; patients and doctors alike are reluctant to talk about mortality. Many people don’t receive the full benefits of hospice care, because no one will discuss with them the fact that they are dying. We don’t talk about death with our loved ones who are dying because we don’t want to upset them.The truth is, many people who are dying want to talk about it, but don’t because they fear upsetting their loved ones, so people suffer in silence.

 

Whether you die quickly or slowly, whether by accident, illness, murder, suicide or any other cause, you will die. So, instead of worrying about how and when it will happen, why not live? Why not live fully now? As Leslie Feinberg once said, “Live each day as if your hair was on fire.”

 

Talk about death. Talk about what you want when you’re dying. Talk about what you want done with your body after death. Take the stigma out of it. One day you will return to the nothingness from which you came. All your worry, panic, hoarding of love and money won’t stop it. Give up the fight and accept life now.

Love Your Body

Often, in spiritual circles I hear people talk about the body as if it is a hinderance. Sickness, injury, even death are seen as weakness, either a sign of moral failing or a bad conscience. Enlightentment means never being sick, never smelling bad, never aging. I’ve heard people contort their words trying to avoid saying, “I’m sick.” Rather they’ll say, “a virus is visiting my body,” or ” a cold is trying to enter me, but I don’t allow it,” meanwhile they are sneezing and coughing and wheezing. Other times I will ask someone if they have a cold and they will say, “Erase, erase, don’t put that out into the universe,” as if denying reality makes it not so.

 

Bodily experiences are part of what makes us who we are. Without the body we don’t have a human experience. What if today, instead of thinking of your body as something that fails you, instead of focusing on the parts of your body you hate, you begin appreciating all the ways your body lets you enjoy life? What if instead of denying your experiences, you experienced them fully, without trying to push them away? What if you gave up the notion that illness, aging and death are enemies that must be battled at all costs and that succumbing is losing the war? What if you completely gave up using war metaphors to describe life?

 

Today, think of all the ways your body allows you to enjoy life. I think of waking up this morning to the sound of Grail softly whimpering, because she was eager to start the day, and then to the soft touch of her nose on my cheek, to the feel of her fur under my hand as I petted her, to her particular Grail smell entering my nostrils. I think of the sound of coffee brewing, the smell of it, the taste of that first sip, feeling the warm liquid as it traveled the length of my esophagus. The sounds of the birds as I drank coffee, the feeling of Leon rubbing against my legs. The brilliance of the hundreds of shades of green adorning the trees on my walk.

 

Every day, you experience life though your body. Today, revel in it. Love it. Thank it. Your body is not your enemy. Your body is your friend, start treating it that way.

We’re Here

This past Sunday I had the honor of being part of the launch of a new initiative in Lexington, Ky which will advocate for older LGBTQ adults. A fabulous group of people made this happen. It was a wonderful show of support for the LGBTQ community in Lexington.

 

One of the local news stations was there and interviewed Vicki Stanley, Carmen Wampler-Collins, and I about the event. The story was broadcast on the 11:00 news and addition to parts of the interviews it featured scenes of the event including drag performances. A print version was posted to WKYT’s Facebook page. While the article garnered some positive comments, there were also many negative comments focusing on Christian bible passages, comments wondering why LGBTQ people couldn’t just keep their business at home instead of having to flaunt it in public. This came on the heels of a conversation I had with someone at the event regarding negative online comments about an Op-Ed she wrote about Pride Month.

 

Here’s the thing. I’m old enough to remember Stone Wall, although I wasn’t old enough at the time to understand what it meant. I am old enough to remember well the push for what was at the time called Gay Liberation in San Francisco. I am old enough to vividly remember the assasination of Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone, an event which helped galvanize the Gay rights movement in San Francisco. I am old enough to remember when, in the early 1980s gay men in the Bay Area started dying of a strange, unamed disease. I am old enough to remember Act UP and a host of other organizations. I am old enough to remember the chant, “We’re here, we’re queer and we won’t disappear.” I am old enough that I didn’t feel comfortable coming out until I was 40, even though I knew in elementary school I wasn’t interested in boys.

 

We are not going away. I am Jewish and every year at Passover, there is a line in the Hagaddah that says in every generation they have tried to annhiliate us. Well, the same is true of LGBTQ people. I am here to tell you, We are here, we are queer and we are not going anywhere.

You’re never too old

So, age and ageism are on my mind again today. It’s funny all the ways ageism pops up. This morning I read an article about Paul McCartney in our local paper. Walter Tunis wrote, “Something other than cash has to be prompting a pop elder to maintain the kind of regimen that keeps him onstage in such a high-profile manner well past retirement age.” Paul McCartney is 76, so the assumption seems to be at his age he should just pack it in and be sitting in a rocking chair, drooling waiting for death.

 

Why are we shocked that Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger, Tina Turner and others are still performing in their 70s? As a culture we have to get over the idea that there is a retirement age, past which people ought to just give up and make way for younger people. My father, by his own choice worked until he was 92. He was engaged and vital, funny and thoughtful.

 

Again, I urge you to look at your language and your thoughts. Examine the ways in which you discount people because of their age. If you’re lucky, you’ll be old one day. How will you want people to treat you?

 

It’ll Happen to You

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. Not a popular subject I know, but it’s something that happens to everyone. We have a lot of cultural notions about how to live and how to die. Google the term “good death” and you will get a lot of ideas about what a good death is. There is the medical definition and then there is the popular notion, that a good death means the person dying was peaceful, cheerful, conscious, happy, surrounded by loved ones.

 

This is a nice fantasy, but not the truth for many people who die. Death is one thing, dying is another. Dying can be slow, messy, painful and, if the person dying is conscious, their death can often be made harder by the expectations of those close to them about their death.

 

We don’t often talk about dying. It’s taboo. That’s one of the reasons many people don’t get hospice care until just before their death, when they might have benefitted from hospice care for many months; people are too afraid to say “you’re dying.” I’ve talked to many people who hang on to “miracles.” “Oh, you can’t tell someone they’re dying, my aunt Carmela’s best friend had stage four lung cancer and she lived ten years.” We trot out the exceptions as if to say, if you try really hard and do things right you won’t die. Dying is seen as failure, framed in military terms. “Katie fought the good fight.” “Frank lost the battle with cancer.”

 

What if we gave up the notion that death is bad, and dying is worse? What if we talked openly and honestly with each other about death and dying, about our fears and our hopes? What if we stop seeing death as a failure and just accepted it as part of the natural cycle of life? What if those who were dying felt they could talk openly without being cajoled out of talking about it, without being judged, shamed, or told they’re being morbid?

 

As the old joke goes, “There are only two things certain in life, death and taxes.” I know some people avoid the tax piece, but none of us can avoid dying. Talk about it now. You might not die for another fifty years, or you might die before you finish reading this.

My Dad

One year ago today I was on a plane trying to get to California. I landed in Atlanta, turned on my phone and found many texts and phone calls. I was too late, my dad had died. He died peacefully, quietly. He waited until all the hospice people and assisted living attendants left the room. When I arrived, he was still in his bed, arms crossed across his chest, the way he used to lie when taking a nap.

 

He lived a long life; dying just six weeks short of his one hundredth birthday. But, I wasn’t relieved when he died. I was sad, heart achingly sad. I used to joke with him that he had to live to 120, because then I would be 80 and might be okay with him dying. He outlived all of his siblings, one of his children, two of his wives and all of his friends.

 

A year on I still get the urge to call him in the evening. I miss his wry sense of humor, his keen intelligence, his curiosity about life. This morning when I walked the dog it was raining and windy and it made me think of the time he took us to Valley Forge in the middle of winter, deep snow on the ground, the wind whipping. “This is what Washington’s men endured,” he said. He wanted us to experience history, not just read about it.

 

Morton Tallen was a complex, complicated, confounding human being. He could be kind and cold, controlling and generous, loving and mean. He cared deeply about serving others and loved his veterans more than anything else in the world. He loved cats and history, he loved baseball, he loved to hike and to read.

 

He didn’t believe in God, or in an afterlife. He believed he would simply cease to be at the moment of death. Sometimes I hear his voice, sometimes I see him when I look in the mirror, I know he is with me when I have to pull that wonky eyebrow hair, when I notice my hands are clasped and I’m rubbing my right thumb with my left, when I chew my cheek. I am grateful for his life and I am grateful I got to know him as a man, not just as my dad.