November 18, 2020

November 18, 2020 

Memento Vivere - Remember you must live. I just discovered this counterpart to the all familiar Memento Mori - remember you must die. The later A common phrase seen on grave stones and numerous other funerary artifacts. It is the stark reminder of our mortality, that our days are limited, and we all ultimately have an expiration date. 

At the surface Memento mori flirts with nihilism - nothing matters, for we will all die and all our accomplishments will eventually vanish into the heat-death of the universe. But dig deeper and you hit the crux of existential meaning: life is fleeting, every decision is important by virtue of the fact that we can only make them once. Our solitary life is all we have, so make the best of it. 

But memento vivere speaks to me it’s a more direct affirmation - particularly now in these pandemic times when it seems most of our lives are dedicated simply to survival. Shelter in place, avoid other people, stock up on supplies, and devise strategies to defend yourself against disease and political unrest. 

Personally, I need this motto now - Remember to live. Confronted with my own mortality I feel myself getting older, being less active, less motivated. Each doctor visit brings me a new procedure, a new drug, a higher dosage, not to mention follow-up appointments to perpetuate the cycle. My brain is often stuck in survival mode, on autopilot, failing even to recognize this mid-life cliché. 

Now, more than ever, it seems important to remind myself to live, to find pleasure in my experiences, indulge my curiosity, and not just perform the same routines, habits, and rituals - avoiding death - Memento Mori. 

As a self proclaimed hedonist, it seems the counterpart makes for a better mantra - Remember you must live - Memento Vivere.

November 7, 2020

November 7, 2020 

I don’t recall having such a sustained feeling of optimism- I mean, perhaps before the pandemic? But I think earlier still - like 4 years ago on the night before Election Day when we (thought) we were about to elect the first woman President. Since then it’s been a long March through kübler Ross to get to this tenuous and uncomfortable acceptance. 

I wonder now, how the Trump supporters will navigate their own Kübler Ross journey. At the moment denial is strong. Mostly I fear for when they enter their anger phase - especially the heavily armed ones who also might turn those weapons on themselves as the depression sets in. Meanwhile among the more seasoned members of the GOP, it seems many have already entered into the bargaining phase. 

I wonder of course when or if we can get to a point of acceptance of each other - to see ourselves as we truly are, with all our flaws and not the heroic or demonic pictures we’ve painted. Biden probably is best suited for that task (honestly, I have to check my own desire for vengeance and purges). He’ll be viewed by some as a Corporate tool, a pawn of Capitalism, as well a revolutionary socialist by others. There are many wounds that need to heal, some reaching back centuries. 

It’s still months away till Inauguration Day, much to process, plan, and prepare - but today it seems doable in a way it didn’t before.

November 5, 2020

November 5, 2020 

Here we are, in the midst of Schroedinger’s election - the votes all cast and yet there is no “winner” until they are all counted. Sitting in this no-mans-land, this purgatory, this liminal space I am both anxious and hopeful. Grateful that we haven’t seen violence here, but apprehensive about it’s coming. 

I’m grateful to be in California, in some ways it’s own nation state that aligns more to my own personal politics. I’m also grateful for friends in other states who are doing their best to taint them blue. I wonder about my foreign friends and relatives, reluctant to visit the states these last 4 years even before the pandemic shut down international travel. 

The wait is frustrating, but it also puts us in a sort of suspended animation. We’re paused, the campaigning is over, and the results? They will come, they will be disputed, recounted, and ultimately confirmed or rejected. 

In the meantime, I’ll go to work, walk the dogs, and scroll through my feeds. I could probably make better use of this time, this moment of pause at the brink of uncertainty. Then again, maybe this is just a moment to savor, to take a breath, to be without a long-term goal, a long exhale, to reflect and prepare. It will not last. 

October 30, 2020

October 30, 2020 

Fucking Beethoven. 

Music can be a gut punch. A swell of emotion that shatters you and leaves you bawling uncontrollably as you try to make sense of the feelings you’ve been suppressing for so long. My glasses filthy from my tears of hope, fear, joy, despair... 

One moment, in a restaurant - celebrating - of all things Oktoberfest - on the night before Halloween - the full moon - the blue moon - and that last weekend before the election. Our friends two tables back, both acknowledged and missed as we recounted all the friends we haven’t seen or touched in so long. 

Then, getting into the car and there was the Ninth. The 4th Movement. The Ode to Joy. Only this was the alternate version, the Ode to “Freedom” - the version that swaps out “freude ” for “freiheit” the version conceived for the fall of the Berlin Wall and German reunification. The true end of the war. A point almost equidistant from the fall of Nazism and now. 

I sang and Lisa drove, I sang until I started weeping. Beethoven. Fucking Beethoven. The Ninth - the CD we bought before we had a CD player because this was the song we wanted to first hear in its digital perfection. The hope for a future full of progress - of pristine music if nothing else (jet packs anyone?). I wept. I wept until I was empty. I miss so many people, living and dead. 

I still want to unlock and cling to this joy, this optimism for the future - but I’ll suck it back up for now. Dry the tears and clean my glasses. Pour a glass and wait. 

Freude

October 29, 2020

October 29, 2020 

5 days to the election. Within a week it seems that things may finally change - but honesty we know that’s unlikely. Election day will only mark the beginning of the next round of conflict that will likely bleed into January if not later. 

I voted already. This year filled with the angst of making sure my vote would count. Distrust of the mail, a desire to vote in person, but Covid, but lines, but the fear of armed militias roaming the streets. I opted for a drop box - deciding on one by the Blue Line, where there is a manned police substation - presumably a deterrent to tampering, arson, or bombs. Still, I tracked my ballot like an Amazon package, anxiously checking the website until my ballot showed up and accepted at the registrar. 

I can’t remember an election more fraught - though 4 years ago I also opted for a drop box. This year though - conversations of should we own firearms? how much and what should we stock up on? do we need to keep some plywood at hand to board up windows? 

At night we’ve been catching up watching the Mandalorian - a fun romp, but a story that advances each episode with new enemies to kill, or surviving attempts to be killed - is it any wonder that that has become our go-to for conflict resolution? Friday a new episode of The Great British Bake Off drops, and I look forward to watching a competition in which everyone is sad when someone’s batter doesn’t properly rise. I need more models like this, where everyone aspires to be good and no one ever says, “I didn’t come here to make friends.” 

Most of the things we worry about never come to pass - I hope this remains true.