therestlessnest

where life's not empty, it's restless.

Archive for the tag “Mt Rainier National Park”

Being Mortal in the Time of Trump

UnknownWhat matters most? That question has been like a three-word anthem for me this month, as I re-read Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End. The small Seattle church I attend is having a summer book club, of sorts, which consists of reading Being Mortal and getting together in small groups to talk about it over dinner.

The group I was in kept coming back to that question: what matters most? In Being Mortal, Gawande talks about a patient who decided that for him, life would continue to be worth living as long as he could enjoy chocolate ice cream and watching football on TV. Another patient, who knew her time was limited, wanted to be able to continue to give piano lessons as long as she could. But what really matters most—behind the scenes of those two and pretty much all of Gawande’s examples—is being with the people you love. Being able to love and be loved. That’s what matters most.

The other day, I was feeling a sort of low-grade emotional fever, triggered by Not Accomplishing Enough Work-Wise while wishing I could Just Go Swimming. My malaise was compounded by that other virus I can’t seem to kick: Creeping Despair.

IMG_0198.JPG          I decided to wallow. Just for a few minutes. So I opened Facebook. And there was the most delightful post from an old friend, describing how much fun she’d had hiking in Mt. Rainier National Park with her adult son. There were photos and captions loaded with mutual affection.

That’s what matters most, I thought. Love. The thoughtfulness of an avid hiker taking his mom, who probably doesn’t quite match his usual pace, up to Mt. Rainier, because he wants to share his favorite trails with her.

What is jarring, in this time of Trump, is to be reading a book that invites readers to reflect on the value of life, and the desire to live as fully as you can, with as much love as you can, until as close to the end as you can, while all the while the daily news is saturated with the casual and cruel devaluation of life. And the opposite of love: however you wish to characterize that. Is it hate? Yes. Too often. Is it also fear? Yes. All the time.

What we are learning, over and over, is that what matters most to some Americans is the right to buy and bear arms, including automatic weapons, with all that the word automatic applies. And in the darkest cases, the perceived “right” to use those arms. Against fellow humans. Apparently that is what matters most, to people who feel their 2nd amendment rights are more sacred than our right to take our kids shopping for school supplies without dying violently in a spray of gunfire. Or our right to go out on a Saturday night with friends and not be gunned down in cold blood. Or our right to attend high school—or elementary school—and live to attend college.

It is painful to think that while our reading groups have been contemplating what matters most at the end of life, our news headlines are braying the deathly drumbeat of rampant disregard for all of human life.

And it’s more than just gun violence. The same rampant disregard for human life is inherent in violent treatment of immigrants and in all the many forms of racism and bigotry that our president and his party personally encourage on a daily basis, egged on by the fundamentalist Christians who are more and more openly proclaiming their fealty to a white Christian nationalism that excludes pretty much everyone Jesus taught us to love.

However: there is a different kind of Christianity that is still strong in this country. I was startled to see the Washington Post point this out in a recent article about why evangelicals support Trump: startled because it’s so rare, though I hope it will become less so.

IMG-2885These other Christians are numerous, but a whole lot quieter. They are the sort of Christians who shelter immigrants in their churches, because they genuinely want to do the work that Jesus called them to do. They want to walk his walk, rather than be the noisy, attention-getting kids on the block, like the evangelicals.

Because what matters most to them is, as the prophet Micah famously put it: “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with their God.”

Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly.

Serve chocolate ice cream and football on TV to a dying man.

Hike in a mountain meadow with your mother.

Walk humbly with immigrants facing deportation.

Read Being Mortal, and talk about it.

And keep asking yourself—daily, hourly—What matters most?

9780525436058A few more end-of-summer book recommendations: Maggie O’Farrell’s I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes with Death, and Xu Xi’s This Fish is Fowl: Essays on Being. 41WiKzooBhLYou can read my interview with Xu Xi on the China-US Women’s Foundation website.

Seattle-area readers: Registration is now open for my Introduction to Memoir Writing class at Seattle Central College, which begins September 25. 

Advertisements

Beyond the Trail

IMG_1864  “End of Maintained Trail,” read the sign. “Travel Safely. Leave No Trace.” We had hiked the 3.1 miles up to Glacier Basin in Mt. Rainier National Park on a mid-June day that looked like late July: wildflowers everywhere, sky bluer than blue, glaciers looking decidedly underfed. I could use that “end of maintained trail” metaphor to riff about global warming, couldn’t I? But my mind is traveling in a different direction. More of a life direction. More of a… what it might feel like to get a scary diagnosis direction.

For 5.3 million Americans living today, that diagnosis is Alzheimer’s disease, and it may as well come with a trail’s-end message attached: This is the end of the maintained trail, pal. Sorry. Travel safely. Oh, and leave no trace of your fears and feelings because frankly, the rest of us can’t handle hearing about it. For their family members, the diagnosis message is the same: your life, too, will now proceed on unmarked terrain. There will be rocks, some slippery, others sharp. There will be immoveable boulders. Crevasses of anguish. The endless putting of one foot in front of another, as you wonder what lies around the next switchback or over that looming ridge.

The Alzheimer’s Association recently switched its awareness month from November—cold, barren, Printdark—to June: mild, lush and flooded with light. At first, I didn’t get it. November had always seemed like the perfect Alzheimer’s Awareness month to me. But I think the point is to get us all thinking about just how long the days are for people with Alzheimer’s and their caregivers. What a marathon this diagnosis is. What a steeplechase—a better word, with its implied challenges and roadblocks and muddy sinkholes.

June in the Northwest is often a steeplechase sort of month in which it’s never quite safe to plan a picnic or plant something that might not respond well to a sudden chill or storm. It’s a month in which you never quite know expect. The only thing you do know is that the days will be long, and one of them will be the longest day of all. And mostly, we view that as a good thing: those long, creamsicle Solstice twilights and sunrises; those nights that even at midnight, never seem fully dark.

logo       On this year’s Solstice, Sunday, June 21st, I’ll be participating in an Alzheimer’s Association event: a “Longest Day” write-and-readathon at Seattle’s University Bookstore. It’s our first year, so we’re not quite sure what we’re doing and we’re definitely not going to try to keep it up for all 16 hours between dawn and dusk. But for four hours in the afternoon, our goal will be to read and write in honor of someone we love who is a caregiver or is living with or lived with Alzheimer’s disease. For me, that will be my mom. I don’t know yet if I’ll write about her or Alzheimer’s—I’ve done quite a bit of both. Maybe instead I’ll write about some of the things she loved to do. Or her favorite books and authors. Or how she might have liked to fill a Solstice day if she were alive and well. ArleneYoung

Mom’s life was never much of a maintained trail. She scrambled and improvised all the time, which made her a great role model for her six children, especially as we tried to figure out how best to help her when Alzheimer’s began to rumble like an avalanche after a June rain. But she was an English teacher. She loved reading and writing. I like to think she really would be honored by a write-and-readathon, on the year’s very longest day.

1904066_484139051691653_1188410800_nThe Details: June 21, 1 to 4pm, University Book Store, Seattle, the Alzheimer’s Association’s Longest Day” write-and-readathon: Join us! or come for the Open Mic reading at 3pm.

Just in: a new review of Her Beautiful Brain from Full Life Care blog editor Kavan Peterson. I am so honored to be speaking at Full Life’s fundraising breakfast in October. You can buy Her Beautiful Brain from Amazon or any independent bookstore. Find a bookstore here. Order the Kindle version hereHBBfinalcover

 

Post Navigation