Earl was in his 70’s now. He was used to not being seen anymore. One day he was waiting to buy his ticket for the Metro and he gazed at it and noticed that the ticket he got was for seniors, Disabled, and children. It was a discounted rate and he appreciated that. There was a separate ticket for Adults who had to pay the full fare. He was about 68 when he first noticed this and realized the depth of his irrelevance to society. He was no longer an Adult. He was other than the mainstream. This was both liberating and depressing.
It was liberating because it meant he could do anything he damn well pleased. He didn’t have to be an “Adult” about it, which meant that he didn’t have to be appropriate, diplomatic, or phony. He had squandered years, like all of the rest of the Adults, meeting expectations, being responsible, being productive, playing by the rules necessary to maintain his status as employable, worthwhile, semi-respected, full of shit, however, you want to describe it. Now that he no longer had to be an adult he could, instead, be what he always should have been: himself.
Now that he was himself, which felt wonderful by the way, he was also completely ignored by the society around him, which was more interested in Adults who were groveling after made-up goals that would not lead to happiness. There was also the fact that he looked old. He looked like what he was, a seventy-four-year-old man which seemed to mean he was no longer relevant to the world around him. People just didn’t see him, or if they happened to see his physical appearance it looked dangerously like they wanted to pat him on the head.
His outsides, it seemed, made his insides unrecognizable.
Inside, he wanted to say to all of the passing hordes, disguised by my shabby exterior, inside is a boiling cauldron of passion, of love, even of lust. Inside is a brave heart staring at the door of death in the most liberating way that just has to go to the bathroom more often than you do.
Stop, he wanted to say. Take a break. Let’s talk about important things. Let’s talk about the preciousness of this life, of this moment. Let’s talk about tears and heartbreak and love. Your spreadsheet can wait. Your portfolio is hiding your true existence. Your expertise is an illusion just as my was. Sit down, if you can, and just be for a moment. And if you can’t I understand because I couldn’t either. Because I was important back then. I mattered, I thought.
You are right of course. I am an urgent and eccentric old preacher who no longer has a pulpit. I hope that someday you will be the same. The day that may come far sooner than you imagine. I hope that when it does you will be as grateful as I am to no longer have to be an Adult, but just delight in being.
— DanielSouthGate
It was liberating because it meant he could do anything he damn well pleased. He didn’t have to be an “Adult” about it, which meant that he didn’t have to be appropriate, diplomatic, or phony. He had squandered years, like all of the rest of the Adults, meeting expectations, being responsible, being productive, playing by the rules necessary to maintain his status as employable, worthwhile, semi-respected, full of shit, however, you want to describe it. Now that he no longer had to be an adult he could, instead, be what he always should have been: himself.
Now that he was himself, which felt wonderful by the way, he was also completely ignored by the society around him, which was more interested in Adults who were groveling after made-up goals that would not lead to happiness. There was also the fact that he looked old. He looked like what he was, a seventy-four-year-old man which seemed to mean he was no longer relevant to the world around him. People just didn’t see him, or if they happened to see his physical appearance it looked dangerously like they wanted to pat him on the head.
His outsides, it seemed, made his insides unrecognizable.
Inside, he wanted to say to all of the passing hordes, disguised by my shabby exterior, inside is a boiling cauldron of passion, of love, even of lust. Inside is a brave heart staring at the door of death in the most liberating way that just has to go to the bathroom more often than you do.
Stop, he wanted to say. Take a break. Let’s talk about important things. Let’s talk about the preciousness of this life, of this moment. Let’s talk about tears and heartbreak and love. Your spreadsheet can wait. Your portfolio is hiding your true existence. Your expertise is an illusion just as my was. Sit down, if you can, and just be for a moment. And if you can’t I understand because I couldn’t either. Because I was important back then. I mattered, I thought.
You are right of course. I am an urgent and eccentric old preacher who no longer has a pulpit. I hope that someday you will be the same. The day that may come far sooner than you imagine. I hope that when it does you will be as grateful as I am to no longer have to be an Adult, but just delight in being.
— DanielSouthGate
Love it. I am close to that age, but actually, I do NOT feel invisible. Maybe my friendships, flawed as they are, keep me thinking that I have a presence. I did love this: "He had squandered years, like all of the rest of the Adults, meeting expectations, being responsible, being productive, playing by the rules necessary to maintain his status as employable, worthwhile, semi-respected, full of shit, however, you want to describe it." WHY do we do that to ourselves? All that time wasted. Even people who follow a path in the arts, something they want to do, get put on a production track, and can't get off. Accomplish something, anything, and the pressure is on to accomplish more of the same. ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteGlad and unsuprised that you don't feel invisible. I rarely do, but I do observe people looking straight through 70 and 80 year olds all of the time.
DeleteAt first you feel,”Poor Earl!” By the end you’re cheering the old dude on. Well scripted.
ReplyDeleteI think all of us senior citizens have felt this way. You just express it more eloquently than most.
ReplyDeleteEloquent. Our elderly are largely marginalized and rendered invisible. Go Earl: "just delight in being"
ReplyDelete