Do you use your imagination? Ask: What if? Suppose this instead of that? What then?
More specifically: Imagining present-day you confronting an earlier self. This hoary, creaking, unhealthy yet articulate ancient, married for 63 years, father to two daughters both over fifty, retired these last 28 years, reduced mainly to writing and thinking (moodily), walking the streets of immediate post-war Bradford and coming upon 16-year-old Robbo – tall and gangling, still given to crying, tortured by the chemical changes of adolescence, well-read but way past his intellectual competence, agonised by the presence of girls of the same age, now in work but – for now – no more than a gofer.
This pitiful loser might well irritate me so much I’d cross the road. Shouting: Grow up miseryguts; the only medicine for your fever is experience. Time must pass.
Octogenarian RR is at least aware that older doesn’t necessarily mean wiser. Or more sympathetic.
Imagination allows us to tinker. Old me slips, falls, has difficulty standing up. Robbo helps me. We sit together on a convenient bench. Potential irritation is dispersed; I dimly recognise the turmoil within this unpromising, acne-ridden teenager.
In my much-modified Bradford accent I say: the only certainty is that things will change. Not necessarily for the better. But, unless you recognise these changes, you’re doomed to dissatisfaction. National service was unpleasant. But the incidental effects – hard to perceive then – changed my life and my character.
You will yearn for things but reject them as impossible. Too much hard work. It may be necessary to go in harm’s way to profit. Hence the USA
Young Robbo may be unhappy but he has a sharp tongue. Says, “And old age can become boring.” I nod. He walks away, unmodified.
I rewind my imagination and start again.
When reading this, all I could think of was 'context'. Stepping into another's moccasins, even if they were your own, can be eye-opening. I found an old friend at age 56 from school, and we spent a great deal of time sharing stories of 'how' the past changed our supposed real selves. Problem is, the 18 year-old version is a real self, no matter how much we want to put them in the 'bin'.
ReplyDeleteSandi: The aim is to use one's imagination, thereby freeing oneself from facts and reality. In effect create a story about oneself. Otherwise the scenario I cite (tripping up, falling, being helped) is factually unlikely - in reality, at age 16, I would never have helped an elderly person in trouble; I was far too shy, too inward.
DeleteThis post relates to others urging other bloggers to go fancy-free from time to time. Many seem to think that if nothing happens in the material world, there is nothing to write about. In fact, at any one time, thousands of scenes are passing through our minds.
I loved reading this, the idea of sitting on a bench a talking to my teenage self. What words could I say to her that might change the trajectory of her years? Perhaps we would just sit and comfort each other, holding hands, remembering and dreaming.
ReplyDeleteNewRobin13: Changing the trajectory of someone's life is only one option if the world we are contemplating is an imaginary one. I've mentioned your fascination with clouds. Conceive of a cloud that takes on the shape of something that triggers your imagination but is only in existence (in that shape) for a few seconds. Yet you were there to record that impression. The cloud is predominantly dark and menacing perhaps reminding of your former president; you allow yourself to be re-assured by the brevity of its existence. An unreal situation, but, for a moment, imagination allows you to escape the depressing nature of reality. But don't stop there. Imagine that cloud to be anti-Trump entity that could temporarily swallow him up - while in the midst of one of his horrific rants. Ah, yes. Comfort yourself via vivid thoughts of your own making. Don't use my example, create your own. The world is your oyster.
ReplyDeleteI haven't reached your age yet but so far old age is anything but boring.
ReplyDeleteellen abbot: Boring was the judgment of my 16-year-old self and was intended (by me, aged 87) to hint at my teenage ignorance. Since age 75 I've written four novels, a book on learning to sing at 80, forty short stories, three dozen Shakespearean format sonnets and - since 2016, with the help of my online singing teacher - built up from scratch a repertoire of 83 songs with Schubert predominating. Apart from my blog, which started off in 2008 as Works Well, morphed into Lorenzo da Ponte and then became Tone Deaf, I also launched a blog in French which - I have to confess - was an abject failure. For three years I edited and published a local community magazine which eventually financed its own production costs. Cancer may eventually knock me off my perch (three ops) but for the moment I'm still in touch with my imagination. This afternoon, using a wire brush, I weeded my brick-laid front garden and hated every moment. In Japan I ate caramelized grasshoppers and 100-year-old eggs, turned black, but I was still gainfully employed then. You will be reassured to know my circle of friends is almost non-existent.
ReplyDeleteNon existent are we...now write a passage about hurt feelings RR while I get in touch with the rest of the gang.
ReplyDeleteFed: Saved from eternal ostracism by the qualifier. Even so I 'd like a few hints about the names of those who constitute "the rest of the gang."
ReplyDeleteComing late to the party here. Makes me wonder what I might tell my 16 year old self. I'm afraid I might interfere with the future and destroy the world.
ReplyDelete