Mr. Rogers November 23, 2019

There is a restaurant scene in the new movie “Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” in which Mr. Rogers, portrayed by Tom Hanks, invites his interviewer to take a moment to consider “all the special ones who loved us into being.” 

I was already in full-lachrymal mode by this point, but there, mixed in with the other diners, appeared the real Mrs. Rogers and members of the real Neighborhood TV team.  It was a fleeting but still moment, powerful to me as I too have been reflecting on the personal forces that molded me.

Mr. Rogers had that quality that I have come to appreciate from Zen Buddhism of listening, of giving one’s full attention to another person, of even being the vessel for the other’s grief, confusion, fear, or anxiety.  Fostering that connection is part of why I enjoyed the interview process so much when I worked for a genetics journal, and it is why I do not enjoy speaking over the phone with friends or family who multi-task during the conversation.  Mr. Rogers puts it to his interviewer, "Do you know what the most important thing in the world is to me right now?  Talking on the phone to [you]."

The movie profoundly resonates, too, in the transformation of the interviewer himself, who had suffered the loss of his parents, one through death, the other through abandonment.  How would he be able to forgive?  His dying mother, through a dream, allows him to release his anger by telling him that his anger isn't what she needs.  I love how Mr. Rogers phrases the issue, "to forgive is a decision we make to release a person from the anger we feel toward them."  How hard I have worked on forgiveness for past injuries, and indeed making that decision was the first step.  

Metamorphosen November 16, 2019

Yesterday I attended an open rehearsal at the San Francisco Symphony.  I was drawn to the rehearsal by the first act of Die Walkure, but also on the program was Metamorphosen, a work unknown to me.  Composing it during the summer of 1944, Richard Strauss had just turned 80.  According to our pre-rehearsal lecturer Peter Grunberg, Strauss was inspired by a poem of the same name by Goethe. Strauss was reflecting on his life, but also contemplating the disaster that the Nazis and WWII had wrought on Germany and the world.  In 1942 he and his extended family had moved to Vienna where he could protect his Jewish daughter-in-law from the Nazis.  He was bearing witness to “the twelve year reign of bestiality, ignorance and anti-culture under the greatest criminals,” as Strauss mourned the death of centuries of German culture and the “transformation of opera which is no longer alive in Germany”.

Grunberg said, “As one gets older, one can understand oneself and the world better.”  I hope that this is true, but I’m not sure it is.  In my experience, many people age and go to their grave calcified in their viewpoints, unable or unwilling to deeply examine their own lives and reluctant to open their hearts to the world around them.  I strive to not be one of them.

Reframing November 14, 2019

In the months of July and August, as I lazed about recovering from architecture school, I suffered from boredom and sadness.  Some of that was to be expected - the inevitable energy letdown after years of hyper-stimulation and productivity.  But, as I tried to imagine a new and meaningful existence for myself going forward, I couldn’t shake off the overwhelming feeling of loss and futility.  I felt myself starting to circle the drain, and something had to be done.

Enter the advice of a beloved yoga teacher who asked our class to conjure an intention for our practice.  Though I’ve heard this prompt many times, on that particular morning I decided to commit to to the intention of happiness.  But how to make that happen?

For too many years, I grieved my daughter’s addiction and the loss of two husbands through death and divorce.  Alanon, anti-depressants, and focus on architecture all provided some respite, but overall I was in continued despair over my loneliness, lost years, and past terrors.  

I realized that I needed to change my point of view.  Underneath the wreckage of loss lay the attachments that made those casualties so painful.  In fact, so much of my past life had been filled with joy and meaning that perhaps I simply needed to bring to mind those people, events, and good fortune that formed the fabric of my life.  So I made an effort to reposition my perspective, to reframe the way I look at my life. 

Reframing seems to be working. I find myself reflecting on abundant blessings: parents who loved me, two brilliant husbands who inspired and encouraged me, a daughter who energized me with her enthusiasm and humbled me with her compassion, a career that exceeding any expectation, and friendships that were both more plentiful and meaningful than any one person could imagine.  I am grateful for all of them.

It is delusional, of course.  How often have I seen the elderly who live in the past, recounting their stories of youthful adventures, of beloved lost family, or of career highlights.  Dwelling on the past has always struck me as a crutch, enabling one to endure the inevitable decline in abilities, home-life, and opportunities. 

Now, I am one of those elderly people.  And delusional or not, I remind myself on a daily or even hourly basis of the many personal riches in which I have been bathed over 66 years.  Reframing has lifted my spirit and fostered happiness.  Occasionally, I can even feel my heart steeped in joy.

The Transit of Mercury November 11, 2019

Last night I set my alarm so as not to miss the sunrise on Twin Peaks.  The fog over San Francisco was low to the ground, and when I arrived on the north peak, the sun had just popped over the horizon.  I had located my “eclipse” glasses from celestial events of the past – the transit of Venus in 2012 and the solar eclipse of 2017 – and packed them together with binoculars, a thermos of coffee, and the Monday NY Times in anticipation of the transit of Mercury.

I was very excited, in fact overly optimistic.   My binoculars were simply not up to the task of locating the miniscule black dot that was Mercury crawling its way across the sun.  Fortunately, another person had brought his homemade telescope to witness the event.  After a bit of fussing about, he found the spot in the scope, and soon a clutch of young MIT grads arrived for viewing, as well as a bicyclist who had previously worked at the Exploratorium and just happened to be passing by.  It was a little geek heaven overlooking our beautiful city, and it made me think that although I am not much of a chatterer in most situations, when the topic is science, I’m ready for conversation. 

Old in architecture school September 11, 2019

Apropos of my last two posts, I just read Old in Art School by Nell Painter, as it is our book club choice for next month.  (This on the heels of a summer dedicated to Ulysses –  oh my god, what a challenge!)

Painter’s path is much like mine.  We both retired from tenured faculty positions at prominent universities and changed directions completely in our early 60s.  Painter was a historian at Princeton and embarked on undergraduate painting studies at Rutgers, followed by a two-year MFA at the Rhode Island School of Design.  She is actually 11 years older than I am, so she has had more time to follow her path than I have, and to digest it.

Yet, I can see similarities already, the first being to acknowledge that what we have undertaken is arduous.  Oy, how arduous!  Art and architecture school can be challenging even for the young, but for someone enfeebled by fading energy, aches and pains, diminishing eyesight and hearing, and a general slowing down in thought and response time, these intense professional programs are not to be entered lightly.

She talks about being the “other”, and indeed we old-timers are decidedly different from our classmates in other ways, as well.  Unlike our younger cohort, we have the padding of an established home, health insurance, and a retirement income, not to mention the satisfaction of already having an accomplished career.  Because these assets automatically set us up for a cushioned fall should we choose not to continue, we can be perceived as dilettantes.  Painter bristles at the notion, but I get it. 

Still, there is a difference.  It isn’t clear to me if Painter has made it as an “An Artist” yet, with a capital A (as she refers to it), but she appears to spend a fair amount of her time painting.  Let’s face it: it’s a lot simpler to paint a canvas than it is to build a building.  Painting affords a lot more trial and error, a lot more rapid exploration.  Architecture, like science, is a community endeavor in that it requires a client, consultants, permits, builders, and a substantial bankroll to bring an idea to fruition. 

Hmm.  Perhaps I did not think this through.