Age and Culture

Today I turn thirty. Yikes! I never thought I'd be this old. I'm okay with it...well, as okay as anyone can be, I reckon. But it does seem to conjure up old memories when I had to defend my age and culture.

So, I thought - for fun, mostly - to post a blog and the responses I wrote when I turned 25. Originally, the post had something to do with the Olympics. I guess I'm still learning to cope.

Me:

The Olympics are underway, which is a lot of fun. I'm not sure why I like the Olympics so, but I really enjoy watching them and, also, the nationalism they seem to result in.

I was watching Shawn White's spectacular performance on the half pipe the other night and found myself cheering out loud.

It was wonderful.

Immediately following the snowboarding was a tribute to Michelle Kwan, which, honestly, I didn't have a whole lot of interest in, but watched anyway.

The "tribute" started off by saying, "When did Michelle Kwan get so old?" Michelle Kwan is only 25 years old - consequently, an age close to mine. The program went on to tell how, in not so many words, Michelle Kwan should basically lay down and die because she'll never again be the legend she once was.

Needless to say, this pissed me off.

I'm not a Michelle Kwan Fan Club member, but I think that, at age 25, she still has lots of things she is capable of doing. She, like myself, is early in her journey of life. Who cares if she never skates another competition or wins a gold medal; these things are but dust. I know it's very audacious of me to say, but maybe her life isn't as shallow as the Olympics. Shame on her critics for suggesting such a thing.

And shame on us, as Americans, for not valuing our youth and not teaching that the most rewarding things in life are not things at all.

Andrew:

Are you working on your sensitivity to your age? This is not to discount anything you've said above (I think you're right). But I don't think I've once heard you mention your age without at least wincing, or ruffling your feathers. The fact is, Wade, you're not old, and I don't know why you're afraid of being thought you are. (Incidentally, someday, like all of us, you will be old, and then the question will be, Can you be okay with that?)

Sorry. This blog is not my soapbox.

Me:

Nice job, Andrew. You sat your soapbox on my self-esteem and jumped on, you fat lard. :)

I think age matters less and less as it increases, which would be wonderful if all of your friends and associates were the same age, but mine are not. Age seems vastly important to a 21-year-old who is measuring herself against her peers, and the basis by which the world turns to an 18-year-old who is using it to set goals for himself. To me, this idea of using age to measure oneself against others, by any means, be it age or ability or status, is downright pitiful. So, excuse my wincing and ruffling of feathers when I feel like my value in a group is determined by my age.

In all regards, I'm quite happy with being 25, so long as my age is not used to determine what I'm capable of as a person or as a human being. I have a much better grasp on who I am and what I'm doing here now, than I would have ever dreamed of having in earlier years and I wouldn't trade that for anything, not even youth.

In American society, age is very important and, in a lot of unfortunate, but possibly practical, ways, defines who we are as people, if not our social status.

I almost didn't post this because I was afraid it would sound like I was defending myself, which I'm not. I'll admit to learning to cope with my age.

Andrew:

Aha, I see I misinterpreted and underestimated you, my friend. What I suspected was merely some sort of neurosis turned out to be a well-thought-out diagnosis of culture - one that cuts all too keenly to how I see and judge the world.

From the time I became socially cognizant (around 6th grade), I can remember judging myself and others in the way you described above. In groups of friends, people's ages were very important to me. I could feel safe (i.e. dominant) around those younger, and should recognize my inferior status around those who were older. (When I write it like that it sounds incredible, but that's basically the way it worked.) Even in my first years of college, I remember feeling safer around those who were just a bit younger than me, and threatened around those who were older. I probably still fight that tendency to some degree. You're so right about the pitifulness of this situation! How ridiculous we are! Yes, age makes us different in some ways, but it does not set our value and decide our worth!

In the same way, I fall into comparing myself to others physically, intellectually, artisitically... When I'm "better" than those around me in these ways, I feel safe. When others shine brighter, my value is threatened...

Me:

Oh, there's still neurosis - believe me, lots of it.

Thanks for the well-thought-out comment and questions, Andy. I think I appreciate that about you the most, that is, your ability to challenge my thinking and push me a little. Kudos

Monkeywrench Gang

I just got a new book from the used book store, one I've been wanting to read for some time: Edward Abbey's The Monkeywrench Gang.

And so, I thought I'd leave one of my favorite Abbey quotes for the world to ponder today.

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.

May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets' towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you --- beyond that next turning of the canyon walls

--Edward Abbey

Man...I wish I was as cool as Edward Abbey...

Summer Mix :: 2010

I just finished the latest version of my Summer 2010 mix and I thought I’d share it with you. Admittedly, it’s a little cliché, with loads of tracks you can sing along to…but that’s what summer’s about, right? I say (and this is a point of contention among my friends) that a summer album should be eccentric, but something you can pop the top of your Jeep off and jam to while driving down the local strip. You know, something that turns heads and get people bopping their heads. And also something you can chill by the fire with. Yeah…ahhhh…Summer, I heart you.

Summer, 2010 :: Forever Young

1. Zac Brown Band :: Chicken Fried
2. BNL :: One Week
3. Bob Marley :: Three Little Birds
4. Youth Group :: Forever Young
5. Coconut Records :: Summer Day
6. Jason Mraz :: I Melt With You
7. Xavier Rudd :: No Woman No Cry
8. Matisyahu :: One Day
9. Michael Franti :: The Sound of Sunshine
10. Janelle Monáe :: Tightrope
11. Bon Jovi :: Livin' on a Prayer
12. Karl Wolf :: Africa
13. The Gaslight Anthem :: American Slang
14. Dave & Marissa :: From worst to best, you're first
15. James Taylor :: Fire And Rain
16. Lior :: Landslide
17. Hackensaw Boys :: Sun's Work Undone
18. Antje Duvekot :: Long Way
19. Peter And The Wolf :: Where Summer Goes
20. Audra Mae & Forest Rangers :: Forever Young

The Adventure Begins

I wrote something on my hand last night before I fell asleep, something that seemed important at the time and that I wanted to remember in the morning. It was probably to remind me to pay a bill or something, but now it’s just smeared all over my forehead. I must have had a rough nights sleep, which happens from time to time with me. My mind races while my body sleeps.

A little ink on the forehead doesn't really hurt anything though, does it? Will the woman at the coffee shop look at me any more cockeyed than normal? Eh, maybe I'll make some coffee at home today and write a little post for you, validating my blogging apprehensions.

+++

It feels funny to blog again. I closed my first blog down five years ago, after life and relationships got complicated. I was starting a new job, my parents were getting divorced, I broke up with my girlfriend (Or did she break up with me? humph...), and I was settling into a nice little pool of bitterness. My writing was turning out to be less about my thoughts and feelings, and more about writing for comments and popularity - being edgy, and, quite frankly, cruel - which wasn’t really me. I decided it wasn’t a healthy thing for me to get online and work my crap out with the world watching, not that the world really cared.

But now, I’m in a healthier spot.

Beside my profile photo, it currently it reads, “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. But if you like what I read, maybe we can change that.” This is on purpose. I changed blog providers, email addresses, and got rid all of my old material (although I hope to reference it from time to time). Even my name, “Wade Hopper”, is an alias.

Please don’t take offense to my anonymity, I’m sure you are lovely and worth getting to know, but this go around I want to stay anonymous and write with more authentically, which might mean less of a personal following.

But, if you like what you are reading, please come back and read again sometime or follow me (although metaphorically only, please - for your own health - I'm terribly clumsy). This should be an interesting adventure!

Now, off to find a mirror and my deciphering kit (everyone should have one) to figure out what this smeared bit on my forehead is all about.

Be well, critters

Wade

To Be More

The fog hung on the tops of the mountains today, disguising them in a way. The mountains here in The East aren’t that big. Compared to mountains of substantial caliber, like West Coast mountains, like Mt. Hood and Rainer and the Tetons and whatnot, our mountains are small and worn out and, if I am to be honest, fairly dull. But today, with the fog lingering at their crest, you couldn’t tell where the tops of the mountains ended and the sky began. If you didn’t know better, if you were a stranger from a far-away land or something, you might have thought that these mountains held some sort of grandeur beneath their cloudy halos.

I’m sure these mountains love days like this, where the mixture of rain and humidity create a partial mask, adding mystery and depth, where the heat of summer wears off and the coolness of fall takes its place. They must be sad, in a way, too, because they know that in a few short weeks, they will shed their summer gowns and be left naked and ugly and alone. It’s almost like a spell is cast upon them each year and, doomed to say goodbye and die, they have one last glimmer of hope and life and newness before they are extinguished.

Living a Better Story

On a rainy day last week, I watched the film Julie and Julia and, despite my best effort not to, found myself identifying with the sappy twig that Amy Adams plays, not because I’m a sappy twig, but because of the “life crisis” she so clearly struggled with. In the film, Amy Adams’ character, Julie, is unhappy with life - her job, her home, her friends, her relationships in general, etc. - stemming from the fact that she was on the cusp of turning thirty and hadn’t really accomplished as much as she expected to in her twenties. So she decides to cook and blog through Julia Childs' cookbook in one year, which brings her a sense of fulfillment, career opportunities, and new insight about the importance of relationships.

It wasn’t necessarily a unique crisis, I suppose, but as I prepare to turn thirty, similar feelings are creeping up in the back of my mind. I have a good job, friends who seem to tolerate my company, a loving community of faith, and I’m building a house. By all worldly standards (except for finding a wife, which - believe me - I’m working on), I’ve got it fairly figured out.

And, it’s not that I’m scared of being an adult. I actually really like being an adult. I like that my clothes fit me, that I know enough about things to have a conversation with a carpenter one minute and a lawyer the next minute, that I can buy beer, that I’ve done enough stupid things to know the line between safe and unsafe, and that I am taken seriously. These are the things that you spend all of the years in your twenties trying to achieve, whether you even realize it or not.

I’m beginning to wonder, though, if the crux of this crisis lies in the fulfillment we gain from living a story worth sharing with others. I recently read A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, by Donald Miller, which is a thought-provoking book where the author tries to unpack what it means to live your life as a narrative, including taking an active role as a character in your own story, stepping up to conflict, and seeking out other elements to make your life more rich and full. Miller relates segments of his own life-narrative to validate his points and, convincingly, persuades readers to think, act, and make decisions based on how they will affect the story of their life.

The sad part is that I get story; I’ve studied story in English classes, for heaven’s sake - round characters, flat characters, exposition, climax, resolution, etc., etc., etc. - but, just like a mediocre novel, I feel like I’ve got the elements down without having them work together to create a story I’m proud of.

It probably has something to do with my inability to foster relationships properly. I’m likable and even charming at times, but I do put substantial effort into keeping people at arms length relationally. It’s almost a survival thing, though. I mean, we all have sad stories about relationships that have gone sour or parents who didn‘t love us enough, but for me…well, they scare the life out of me. Even my closest friends know that I need a little space in order to work out just how to deal with them from time to time.

My pastor was talking about stewardship last Sunday, saying that holding yourself back relationally is poor stewardship because we are, in essence, God’s gift to one another. And this makes a lot of sense to me, but relationships are also really hard. And, let‘s be honest here, a little hesitation could save you an incredible mess to clean up later. But I can’t decide if the hesitation (or, more realistically, the stalling) is legit.

I think I would live a better life if I were better at relationships, if the characters in my life story, including me, knew how to love and to be loved and to interact authentically. I’d like to be less guarded in my relationships and to build new ones without worrying about the side-effects. I’d like to change my character into one who gives more and loves more, which sounds hard, but is still probably a hell of a lot easier than cooking 354 Julia Childs recipes in a year.

So, I’m considering Donald Miller’s “Living a Better Story” conference (www.donmilleris.com/conference), September 26-27. I am especially interested in dissecting my character in Session 2 (The Character of a Character) and learning how to foster relationships in Session 4 (Engaging Conflict).

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.