Exploration

Exploration 1
Where am I on my journey in life?

"Where am I on my journey in life?" Here's part of my answer just as I reached the age of 76.

I am beginning to feel quite old. "Old," to me is a good word. Old books. Old wine. Old friends. For the most part, I have enjoyed each of my ages. I enjoyed most of my childhood. Most of my adolescence. Most of my young adulthood and middle age. Now I'm enjoying most of my old age. I've met some people my age who seem determined to be middle-aged forever. Even if they were able to finesse old age, it would be a shame to miss such an important season of life; it would be like repeating the second act of a play and never getting on to the third act, where there is a chance for resolution and perspective.
My life is good. I continue to do almost everything that I have been doing except now I do less of it and I do it slower, but then I am no longer in a hurry to get some place. Some parts of me don't work as well as they used to, but because I have grown more tolerant of things that are as they are, I complain only on Mondays. I remind myself of the words of the third Zen patriarch: "The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences." I still have preferences, but I hold them more lightly than I once did.

When I visited my old Iowa hometown, I wondered how it would have been to have lived my whole life in those familiar, friendly surroundings. Instead this campus has become my familiar, friendly village -- one in which I am now beginning my forty-eighth year. I have watched my colleagues grow and age with me; some have retired and some -- including one of my dearest friends -- have died. Occasionally, students appear in my office to convey the regards of their parents who were themselves my students. (I used to tell these sons and daughters to ask their parents for their old notes because I never change my lectures; however, I stopped saying that because some seemed to half believe me.) One of these days a grandchild of my first generation of students should appear.

Working for a decade as a volunteer with people with life-threatening illnesses has given me a real sense of the precariousness and preciousness of life. I want to make the most of the years that are left to me -- to wear out, not rust out. Although some days I only pretend to work, a leisurely retirement and trips around the world are not for me. I don't want to see new places. I want to do new things that pull me out of my comfort zone and keep me growing.

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