HOW TO SURPRISE YOURSELF

How often do you surprise yourself?

A: More often?

B: Less often?

This isn’t a survey or a poll so relax.

However . . .

It seems to me the older we get the less surprised we’re supposed to be.

As if the vast life experience we’ve gained as baby boomers is spread among all of us.

As if being born between the years of 1946 through 1964 was a golden ticket.

Just know if someone is gray haired there are certain expectations.

Some are met, some are made up:

 

I’ve been everywhere, man.
I’ve been everywhere, man.
Crossed the desert’s bare, man.
I’ve breathed the mountain air, man.
Of travel I’ve a-had my share, man.
I’ve been everywhere.

I’ve been to
Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana,
Washington, Houston, Kingston, Texarkana,
Monterey, Faraday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa,
Glen Rock, Black Rock, Little Rock, Oskaloosa,
Tennessee to Hennessey, Chicopee, Spirit Lake,
Grand Lake, Devil’s Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete’s sake.

 

You might even surprise yourself by going somewhere you’ve been before and seeing it through fresh eyes.

Like the beach, or your hometown.

This happens all the time because I always looked for community wherever I lived.

I found my small town everywhere.

From San Antonio to Philadelphia, Wilmington to Brooklyn, Sunset Park to Portland, I looked for familiar ground and found it.

Big cities didn’t start out big, and some of the earlier small town feel is still there if you look hard enough.

I wanted to walk to the corner store like I did the Roadside and the Log Cabin on Broadway.

A four story neighborhood was tall enough; I liked two story streets better.

Since I’ve settled down I see busy cities and know there are plenty of people looking for the same things, looking for community and familiarity.

Not everyone is slick and slimy and looking for a quick strike.

 

Get What You Need

I had a father in-law who had been everywhere, done everything, and driven everything on the road.

Ask him a question about anything and he had an immediate answer. Didn’t have to think about it.

The first time we met I was stunned.

Not by what he said but by the people listening and agreeing.

Could I be wrong? Maybe he is all he says he is?

I kept track of dates and places and later explained to my girlfriend how funny it was for her step-dad to fling everything on the wall to see what sticks.

She was not amused, but eventually came around.

Before we got married we agreed to make up tons of stuff to tell our kids and grandkids.

So far, so good.

I was the Lone Ranger. You can’t tell because I’m wearing a mask.

She would be the 101st woman out of the 100 most important women in history.

I climbed Mt Everest barefoot in a Speedo. I’ve got a small scar from a fall on the way down.

She was the first woman to win the Indy 500 and fooled the crowd by dressing as a European.

The kids all know better now and still have doubts about many claims.

So my plan worked: raise skeptical citizens who want to know more than what’s offered.

Like my buddy says: I want to see pictures and news clippings. (Hey Ray)

 

The Main Rule

Enjoy yourself?

By all means, enjoy yourself. But keep a few things in mind.

You are an example, good or bad, based on age. You are an ‘elder,’ which suggests wisdom.

At least know more about a few things than just watching about it on TV.

Be a know-it-all instead of a should-have-known-better.

That second line is the one that hits hardest: Is it later than I think:

 

Turning Twenty: “You’re not a teenager anymore.”

Turning Thirty: “You can wear a shirt and tie without feeling old.”

Turing Forty: “These are the fabulous years.”

Turning Fifty: “My oh my how time flies.”

Turning Sixty: “These are the new Forties.”

Turning Seventy: “There’s no turning back now.”

 

Turning Eighty: “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

Turning Ninety: “Finally, some improvement”

 

Carry On With Grace And Dignity

I’ve lived with the feeling its later than I think all my life.

I guess some get it and some don’t.

Like the urge to shop? I don’t get it.

With the ‘later than you think’ idea in mind, whenever I hear someone say, “my days are numbered” I jump a little.

I read that today from a Facebook writer I’ve been following for a while.

Turning sixty, days are numbered.

The normal response is to assure them that the best is yet to come, they’ve only just begun, and more chipper words to that effect.

I remember sixty like it was yesterday. Good years, those sixties. Yada yada yada.

But I don’t want to interfere with his flow.

Somehow this writer has found a way to talk about his early years in Coos Bay and the older girls around his town.

He calls them Coos River Beauties.

His posts show he was in awe of these girls, as he should be.

Who doesn’t remember going to their first high school varsity football game as a kid and seeing what looked like movie-star-beautiful young women walking around.

Now they have a name inspired by Joel Mansfield:

Bulldog Beauties.

Has a nice ring to it?