It’s my birthday soon. As usual as I creep closer to sixty my mind retreats to the past as the future seems to be a place with a finiteness to it. I’m not necessarily avoiding the thought of my mortality it’s something that since the death of my father and the aging of my mother has been in my mind. Not necessarily for myself but for others.
Damn this aging thing can get to you. As I drove around today I was thinking about my formative years, involvement in protests, strikes, campaigns, sit ins, walk outs, festivals, concerts, hitchhiking, hiking, carousing, art, poetry, books and music, graffiti and civil unrest and a huge dose of thinking I was the center of any relationship I happened to fall into, love and lust and pain.
So based upon common thought after all of that I should be settled down in the suburbs comfortable in my conservative life after my radical years. The middle class settled life should be my domain and I should be looking with disdain on those less fortunate than me.
Instead I’m sat here helping plan a leadership retreat based on the need for mindfulness for non-reactive decision making and restorative practices for the non profit I help run. Valuing clients and partners and the idea that we are supposed to be doing more positive in the world than negative.
I’m also simultaneously considering crop rotation in the garden, having weeded and cleaned up the greenhouse putting a new cover over the old frame as the old one had started cracking and become fragile, as well as considering starting to collect windows to build a new greenhouse from recycled materials.

This morning as I sat with my young team at the residential program I run I was being encouraged to grow a skullet as David Crosby had passed and somebody needed to carry on that venerable haircut. We eventually got to the real business of figuring a way to help one young man be successful at the work experience job he had taken on clearing trails in the forest, he was struggling with safety using a Pulaski axe around others, at times getting lost in his own world, we had to take some time to remind his employer what it was like to be 14 again. He needs a mentor not a monitor one therapist stated and this struck home.
This afternoon I spent time with a different group of idealists as they strategized how to find recovery housing for an undocumented mother so she could be reunited with her children. Negotiating what can, cannot and should not be disclosed to various agencies. Translating federal and state rules. Soon her kids will be with her and the real work starts.
Then I realized that on my 14th year alive I bought this record. I can’t say that I am still comfortable with all the lyrical content present on it but it is a glorious sounding record and actually heralded the start of the 80s for me when I started choosing my own music to listen to and that itself was a strange trip. I also started writing my first novel and poems and decided to become a rock star.

Not sure how much of that I completed.