BEING AND BECOMING

For everything there is a season,
and a time for every purpose under the heavens…..
Ecclesiastes 3:1

I don’t know about you, but I have always treasured stability–the normal in my life–knowing there is someone who loves me and wants to be with me. Also, I need a place to call home, a work that creatively engages my body and soul, and enough material wealth to provide the essentials of daily life. I don’t need the excesses of fame and riches, the abnormal of what I have described above. Some may think this is a recipe for living a boring life, but I think, and feel, that it has provided the base for me to become who I was meant to be in this world–Grandpa Jung’s idea of individuation.

Recently I had lunch with my two grandchildren, one fourteen and the other nineteen. The nineteen year old brought her reusable straw because she wanted to show her concern about plastic waste in our world. She will be a second year student at Temple University this fall and is thinking about a major in public health. She told a story about a woman who spent ten years working as a public health specialist in third world countries before she married and started her own family. My grandson, who will be fifteen in two weeks, has expanded his view of the future past the idea of being an athlete. He spoke about a college major in astronomy. These young people are full of becoming stories.

I like to think today that my interaction with life is a different form of being and becoming. To understand what I mean by “being”, let me first say what it is not. It is not a form of “mindfulness”, that awareness of breath, body and the immediate world around us. I don’t have a problem with that kind of being, but my understanding of being is broader. It has a social context where I explore a relationship to the other people in my world. For example, being is important when I am involved in a conversation with another person. I have to enter intently into listening to what the other says, not thinking about what I want to say. The same is true when I perform as an oral storyteller. I have to be in a relationship with my audience, whether it is five or five hundred. I have to feel their response to my performance and tailor my story to it. This sense of being is also present when I sit down to write a story: the chair where I sit, the keyboard and screen, the music I listen to as I write. These physical contexts, and many more I could describe, come into play when I interact with the world where I choose to be. So, in a real sense, I am no different from my grandchildren, I am still becoming, but in a more nuanced and less obvious way.

There is a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time pluck up what is planted. Ecclesiastes 3:2

This process of becoming and being is central to human life. The development of human consciousness has made us aware of the process. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it has also made us aware that we will not live forever–at least not in this unique form of physical body and consciousness. We all must die. I appreciate that the Preacher in Ecclesiastes connects death with the idea of planting and harvesting. The creative life is the process of planting seeds, giving birth to something new. Sometimes you see in your lifetime the fruits of your labor, you “pluck up what is planted”. It can equally be true that you will not be the one to harvest the fruits of your labor; you will die before the time is full. When this is the reality, it is important to make sure you have planted well, tended the crop and allowed that it is another’s right to “pluck up what is planted”. This kind of life requires a stronger sense of being than becoming.

Men have no advantage over beasts; for everything is emptiness. All go to the same place: all came from dust, and to the dust all return……So I saw that there is nothing better than that a man should enjoy his work, since that is his lot: who can bring him to see what will be after him?” Ecclesiastes 3:19-22

It was about thirteen years ago that I decided to stop promoting my storytelling programs for children and start to work on stories for the last third of life. I did not make this decision because I had lost my enjoyment of my work with children; I made the decision because I felt there was something special to be discovered about growing old and dying.–the becoming part of this stage of life. Arthur C. Brooks, in a recent Atlantic Magazine article, describes it: “What I need to do, in effect, is stop seeing my life as a canvas to fill, and start seeing it more as a block of marble to chip away at and shape something out of”. For me the chipping away work involved the development of my “Jung stories” and starting a blog where I reflect on these last years of my life. I have volunteered my storytelling skills to various museums and presently I am involved with a group of neighborhood children to create pictures for one of my children’s stories. None of this work has earned money or much notice, but I have enjoyed these years of reflection and sharing with others.

So getting back to my treasured “normal”–or as Nancy’s mother called it, “that happy medium”–I don’t know that the preacher in Ecclesiastes, or Mr. Brooks, would agree with me. Nevertheless, I have tried to live a life that is routine and normal: I get up every morning at 5:30 A.M. to work at my desk. By 11:00 A.M. I am ready for lunch and a short nap. By 5:00 P.M. I stop working, fix a meal, watch the world news on PBS and have my first glass of wine. Dinner is at 6:00 P.M. with my beautiful wife. Often we eat, converse and drink wine until past 8:00 P.M. By 9:30 P.M. I am ready for bed. This normal routine is interrupted by the variety of life, but we are happy and quick to return to our set pattern.

There are other forms this normal routine takes in my life. I like a regular day of the week set aside for house cleaning. As my Pennsylvania German ancestors would say: “Time to read up the place”. For me that means: clean the bathroom, change the bath towels and bed linen, sweep the floors throughout the house and dust the furniture. Special attention is given to the kitchen where I scrub the floor, clean the countertops and stove and get rid of those things in the refrigerator that have been left open too long. And, as I work, I enjoy music on the CD player–often one of Nancy’s recordings of a choir singing Christian hymns.

So, as a human being of seventy-seven years, I have discovered my “being and becoming” in these normal and routine activities of life. I understand that others may find my life boring and uninteresting–I do not–I wake up every day ready to engage the world I find before me and to become who I am meant to be down to the moment when I take my last breath of air!

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