Gratitude

In certain circles I inhabit, gratitude is a huge issue. It’s really good for me to keep this in mind as I contemplate Thanksgiving Day—the day we set aside to be grateful. I need to keep it in mind as a general principle, because I am generally not particularly grateful for this day in its own right.

As I’ve written here before, I have a complicated relationship with Thanksgiving. Those uncomfortable feelings about the holiday, coupled with a complicated relationship with my family of origin, made more difficult by the ubiquitous images of the mythical perfect Thanksgiving gathering often leave me a bit in the doldrums come Thanksgiving day.

The day carries so many “I can’ts.” I can’t dismiss the thought that what we celebrate here is the beginning of a long period of genocide, the appropriation of a continent, the theft of space from a people because we wanted it for ourselves and had the power to take it. I can’t magically manufacture the family I wish I had out of the one I actually have. And I can’t halt the reality that lives decline and end around us or the fact that this is troubling even when (or maybe especially when) our relationship with those lives has been complicated.

So it was no big surprise when I awoke this morning in a funk. A talk with my partner helped, hugs helped, a piece of pumpkin pie for breakfast helped. And then, predictably, a walk helped.

It was actually a lovely day, the blue Colorado sky streaked with high clouds behind the scraggly, bare branches of cottonwood trees and the tall grasses along my route. 

Ice on the rocks, sculpted by water splashing in the cold air, and tiny snow plies among the fallen leaves reminded me that it’s really the end of November. Afterward, a short, happy visit with good friends finished polishing off the edge of the day. We closed the day sharing an easy turkey dinner with family. On the way home, we stopped by a short street we call “Santa Clause Lane,” where gorgeous holiday lights outline the trees starting on this evening every year.

  

Now, looking back, I find myself very grateful for many pieces of this day—a loving partner, a lovely walk on a beautiful day, good friends, and pie.

And then a feast of lights to end a day that started out feeling rather bleak. Nice transformation. 

Weather, Mars, and wildfires ... who knew?

I've always loved weather. I love the kinds of weather than many folks hate. I love wind. I love desert heat. I love snow, falling so hard I can barely see through it. There's something in weather about being connected to this huge cosmos, (temporarily) surrendering comfort to the openness of it. And there's something about its freedom—not my freedom in it, but weather's freedom from me, from us. Its indifference to our wishes, its refusal to yield to our control. It schools us, humbles us. Reminds us of our inevitable limitations. And usually welcomes us, provided we enter on its terms and not our own. I'm reminded of the message on a friend's t-shirt: "Skiing is the ultimate dance, and the mountain always leads." To paraphrase: Weather is the ultimate dance partner, and she chooses the music.

I mention my love for weather as an entree to another topic—actually, two other topics, both weather-related. But lest I lose your interest because you're thinking this is going to be nothing but an overdrawn, totally naive paean to weather, let me qualify my enthusiasm. I also recognize the terrible side of weather's indifference to human wishes and human interventions. And I have to admit that my affection for weather has been challenged in recent years by the stark realities of its extreme versions both locally and worldwide: record drought, record wildfires, record rains, record tornadoes, record flooding, record hurricanes, record typhoons ... the terrible side of weather.

Weather is unquestionably a force in our lives, both marvelous and terrifying. And knowing more about it can only help. Fortunately, balancing my naive affection for strong wind and dessert heat are calm, scientific approaches of folks like the atmospheric scientists at the University of Colorado and at the National Center for Atmospheric Research (NCAR), both located in Boulder, right next door to my weather innocence. Which brings me to my actual topic: My concept of "weather"—the kind I love or curse—is so much narrower than "weather" science tells me it could be. I learned this by happenstance. In the past week, I've read about two scientific undertakings that happily merge my interest in weather with other topics about which I am just about as enthusiastic: space and fires.

First, and most immediate, is today's launch of a new Mars orbiter whose scientific payload is the MAVEN, which stands for "Mars Atmosphere and Volatile Evolution Mission" (I know, the acronym is a stretch, but it actually does describe, in an obscure sort of way, what the orbiter will do). I actually just watched the launch live on NASA TV. The timing of the launch was crucial, because Mars isn't sitting still waiting for us to send a spacecraft up to visit. So missing this time window might have sunk the mission. But off it went on an 11-month trip to Mars, where it will put itself in orbit and hang around for a decade or so.

Assuming all goes well en route, MAVEN, whose lead scientist is at CU, will be studying Mars weather (ah, there's the connection!) in an attempt to figure out what happened to the water that clearly used to flow on Mars. Now, this undertaking may seem really remote (well, it is really remote .... but I mean it in a different way here), but this information could tell us a lot about how Mars evolved differently from Earth, losing the atmosphere that retained water and therefore sustained life. This in turn, will tell us something (more) about how planets nurture life—important information as we try to determine whether life exists (has existed, will exist) on other planets. If you've followed at all my interest in cosmology, you can imagine why I find this fascinating, especially with the weather connection, another passion that you now know about. Weather! on Mars! How cool is that?

The other unexpected weather connection I just learned about is a link between weather and fire. Not in the way you might think. This isn't about how fire is affected by weather—factors like aridity, heat, and wind. Instead it's about how fire actually is weather. This time, it was scientists at NCAR (working with others at the University of MD) whose thinking stretched my own. Fire behavior has always been the province of forestry scientists, who have tried to explain (and, ideally, predict) how fires will act based on phenomena related to forests and weather—type and distribution of fuel, terrain, natural barriers, humidity, wind, and so forth. But it seems that when atmospheric scientists brought a new perspective to the question of how wildfires behave, the game changed. It's testimony to the value of interdisciplinary work (and to the problem of academic "silos") that their different "eyes" saw something new. 

It turns out that fire behavior looks a lot like weather, perhaps especially like thunderstorms. As the fire consumes fuel, it produces moisture and heat, which rise—much like heated air in a thunderstorm. This draws in air at the base of the fire (much like thunderstorms do), creating multi-directional winds of the sort that may cause wildfires to "blow up" and that catch firefighters unprepared. The combination of this model of wildfire behavior and improved satellite weather data may change the future of wildfire management. If so, this view of fire as weather may save some lives.

I've always loved weather. It's one reason I love Colorado—the weather here is so varied and so changeable, so wonderful and so humbling. So free, despite our wish to control it. It turns out that the very word "weather" has the same quality. It just keeps morphing, changing. I love that about language. It's so free, despite our wish to control it.

People mover reset

Recently, I wrote here about a recurring theme—the idea of a "people mover" that transports folks along through life, with each generation replaced in due course by the ones behind them. That particular post, named "Why we need the people mover," may have left a misperception that I want to correct. So, here's my understanding of what some folks may have (mis)understood ... along with an attempt to understand why my meaning may have been unclear ... all followed by another try at what I really meant to say. Which isn't as complicated as it sounds.

First, here's what I fear folks may have heard/read in my words: "Old people need to realize that it's our turn to rotate off the end of the people mover, pack up our old-fashioned perspectives, and get out of the way of younger folks behind us." In short, I fear that people may have understood me to be saying that life in old age is worthless. We aren't contributing anything worthwhile, and we're just falling more and more behind the times. So we may as well step off the busy route of life and leave the space and the resources to other (younger) people.

This was not what I meant to say. So how did I manage to convey that message?

Well, here's one thing I wrote early in that blog that I realize could easily have given people that impression. "At some point," I wrote, "it’s our turn to get out of the way … as it will be everyone’s turn, with time." Oops! That sure sounds like I meant "it's time to get out of the way," since that's exactly what I said. Poor wording, poor placement. Poorly said.

Now, it's also true that elsewhere in that same blog, I wrote this: "My daily aim is to do what I can to stay engaged, to learn at least some of the skills that the new game asks of me—enough to have fun, even if I don't master it all. Enough to avoid sinking into a curmudgeonly critique of everything that represents 'kids these days'.” And in a subsequent blog, I wrote, "Delving into this book is exactly the sort of experience that keeps me surprised and delighted as life moves forward—a way of staying engaged instead of drifting." 

The problem, it seems to me, is the psychological gap between that first comment ("get out of the way") and the others ("to stay engaged, to learn..."; "surprised and delighted as life moves forward"). That gap is too easily filled by all of the stereotypes about aging that cause the first comment to stand out and the others to fade into the background. Let me explain what I mean.

I've written before about the concept of implicit attitudes—the non-conscious beliefs we all walk around with that shape our experience, even though we don't know it. We all learned negative attitudes about various groups—at least if we were conscious and paying attention. We're sponges. So we all have racist, sexist, abelist, classist, ageist ... attitudes, even when they are about groups we belong to. So, I—like everyone else—have ageist attitudes. I try to be aware of them, try to unlearn them, but they're still there. Lurking to trip me up just when I thought I was safe, like writing my own blog. I suspect it was just these non-conscious attitudes that popped out in my language "time to get out of the way"—even though I didn't mean it in the way it can so easily be taken. Other folks may have been caught by the same goblin, hearing the idea of the people mover as an invitation to check out of life. Because that interpretation is exactly what my language invited.

A listserv I belong to recently featured an article on stereotypes about aging and how those can be self-fulfilling prophecies, how they often disguise subtle forms of ageism. For instance, messages to old people to "get out of the way" and "not use up resources that are needed by younger people" actually convey troubling messages: Old people have nothing to offer, so they're "in the way." Old people do not deserve to have their own needs and dreams fulfilled, so they are "wasting resources" that should go to others.

Honestly, at a conscious, intentional level, this is not what I meant to convey. My actual meaning is clearer in the latter two quotes above—but those got lost as we all stumbled around in the implicit attitudes that my earlier language evoked. So now, let me attempt to be very clear about what I actually meant to say all along:

As I look behind me on the people mover, I see generations of people coming along who see a different world than the one I have known, the one that shaped my life. And I especially notice these differences when I encounter massive changes in how life "works"—things like the ascendancy of online education, the replacement of monthly print newsletters by regularly updated websites, and the reframing of the very meaning of "privacy"—the changes I mentioned in my troublesome blog. But I don't see these changes as bad things at all, challenging though they may sometimes be. On the contrary, I see them as the very positive, very exciting affirmation of the necessary nature of the people mover: There are generations coming along behind us who are re-shaping the world—and rightfully so! It's a good thing that the world is changing. Imagine how sad it would be if it weren't. It is their turn to define how life will look for them. And it's not our place to tell them that it's wrong.

This does not mean that we should step aside. Be silent. Be disengaged. And it does not mean that old people have nothing to add, that the best we can do is watch. In my mind, it's actually a challenge to do the opposite—to live fully, to honor the life I've experienced so far, and to continually construct a new one that draws energy from this new world. That means continuing to learn, staying engaged and forward looking, facing head on the changes that challenge me to change, too. And it means thinking about what I can bring that draws from my own experience, from the "old world" I know so well. It means being open to opportunities to be a model, a mentor, a teacher of sorts.

Margaret Mead, the brilliant cultural anthropologist who changed so much of our thinking during the 20th century, wrote about (among other things) relationships among generations. She argued that in a culture like ours where change is so rapid, the older generation can teach the younger not what they need to learn, but the importance of learning. They can show them not what to value, but the importance of having values. Not how to love, but the importance of loving. That, I think, is our enduring role as we look back from our place on the people mover.

That's a far cry from "getting out of the way" in the sense of giving up and checking out. Instead, it means "getting out of the way" in the sense of letting go of our assumption that we know what the answers are and instead enjoying the opportunity to demonstrate the importance of seeking answers, even when we haven't a clue what they will be.    

Leonardo's notebooks

About a year ago, there was an exhibit in Denver that featured the inventions of Leonardo da Vinci. I went three times. I (am) was so intrigued by this man’s mind—his amazing creativity across a whole range of domains, his ability to imagine contraptions into existence, his incredible powers of observation. I kept going back, and each time I saw new things.

Well, my partner spotted my fascination with all things Leonardo, so she just gifted me with a book called Leonardo’s Notebooks: Writing and Art of the Great Master. And today, wonder of wonders, I actually found myself with a spare hour to begin reading it. I was so enthralled by this book, I figured I needed to pass on my excitement—much as I did last year, dragging other folks to the exhibit.

So now I've entered a new phase of my enthusiasm about Leonardo. As you likely know, Leonardo da Vinci was a 15th century largely self-taught, multi-media genius. The exhibit I visited over and over last year featured his inventions, many of which anticipated (by centuries) later technological "innovations." I won’t dwell on those (although I could!) because I did that in an earlier blog. And then another one. I’ll just share a couple of pictures to remind you how grand this exhibit was.

  

 

  

At that exhibit, my partner and I also saw a movie that dealt more with da Vinci's historical context, his life, and his art (not that his inventions weren't "art"). He didn’t create many well-known paintings—although a couple are totally iconic:

But his drawings are legion. And, it turns out, so was his writing about art. Some of it borders on poetic ("And if you, O poet, tell a story with your pen, the painter with a brush can tell it more easily, with simpler completeness and less tedious to be understood"). Other parts border on pedantic ("The principle movements of the hand are 10; that is, forwards, backwards, to right and to left, in a circular motion, up or down, to close and to open, and to spread the fingers and to press them together").

This book consists almost entirely of da Vinci’s writings and drawings. The “Leonardo’s Notebooks” of the title refers to several loose collections of da Vinci’s drawing and writings—about 4,000 pages in all. The various “notebooks” are vaguely grouped by topic—but often cover multiple topics, even on a single page.

You may know that he wrote in “mirror writing.” This was not, it turns out, because he was paranoid about people being able to read what he wrote. Nor was it because he had some strange form of dyslexia or a neurological condition that made him see things backwards. Nope, it was because he was left-handed and had the same problem many left-handed folks report (or did back in the day of writing things by hand)—the ink gets smeared as the writer dragged her/his hand along “behind” the pen. But how amazing, whatever the reason! To be able to write both forward (which he also did) and backward. It’s a relatively small slice of his genius, but still …

The notes in this book demonstrate Leonardo’s amazing powers of observation—and his insistence that such careful observation is absolutely key to good art. For instance:

“It is indispensable to a painter to be thoroughly familiar with the limbs in all positions and actions of which they are capable … Then he will know the anatomy of the sinews, bones, muscles, and tendons so that, in their various movements and exertions, he may know which nerve or muscle is the cause of each movement and show those only as prominent and thickened, and not the others.”

To gain the knowledge necessary to be “thoroughly familiar” with all the bones and nerves and muscles and tendons and sinew, da Vinci, was a very careful student of anatomy. This is a bit surprising, as the Catholic Church, which pretty much ruled Europe at that time, forbade autopsies or dissection of any type. But apparently Leonardo had an “in” with the Pope and was allowed to perform autopsies to learn the details of human anatomy. And learn he did. In fact, he made many drawings of those muscles, bones, and sinew—and this precise understanding of the body’s parts allowed him to draw (and then paint) human figures that were remarkable for their anatomic precision and realistic movement. 

In fact, he seems to have been virtually obsessed with precision. Many of his writings go on in great detail about the precise proportions of various body parts to the total body size—and numerous drawings illustrate those principles. Here are some examples of his anatomical drawings, some of which will be familiar. These drawings are in the book, where they are easier to peruse in detail. The versions below are taken from google images, so pardon the variation in size and quality. Just to give you an idea ...

           

            

The same focused and detailed observation is also necessary, he argued, for drawing or painting non-human subjects. A few more (google) examples:

 

But it was not enough to observe the human figure carefully. Paintings often have multiple people, of course, so da Vinci also instructed painters about that:

“To compose [groups of figures] … when you have well learnt perspective and have by heart the parts and forms of objects, you must go about and constantly, as you go, observe, note, and consider the circumstances and behavior of men [sic] talking, quarreling, or laughing and fighting together; the action of the men themselves and the actions of by standers … And take note of them with slight strokes in a little book that you should always carry with you. And it should be of tinted paper, that it may bot ne rubbed out … Change the old [when it is full] for a new one. These things should … be preserved with great care, for the forms and positions of objects are so infinite that the memory is incapable of retaining them, wherefore keep these [sketches] as your guides and masters.” [Isn’t this amazing? What focus, what presence, what total single-minded attention to his work!]

And the details and realistic poses of the figures in his drawings are testimony to how seriously he took his own guidance.

   

Other sections of the book present his notes and drawings about perspective and visual perception, anatomy and physiology, botany and landscape, physical science and astronomy, architecture and city planning, sculpture and metalwork, inventions and experiments (the focus of last year’s exhibit), and assorted other topics ranging from poetry and art to war machines. The book closes with Leonardo’s contributions to the practical wisdom and philosophy of his day—a section I can hardly wait to read.

I’m not sure what my point is here. Partly, I was just so energized by spending some time playing in this man’s mind, and I wanted to share the excitement. Partly, I suppose, writing about this book seems like a bit of an antidote to my last blog, which may have seemed dour or fatalistic. In truth, delving into this book is exactly the sort of experience that keeps me surprised and delighted as life moves forward—a way of staying engaged rather than drifting.

So, maybe you can consider this blog simply an invitation. If you’d enjoy a glimpse into a remarkable mind—and I really mean a remarkable mind—track down this book. Just looking at the pictures will keep you happily amazed for some time. And then, if you have the time and interest to devote to Leonardo’s notes, I think you’ll find that you’ve met genius in black and white. And sometimes sepia.

Why we need the people mover

I haven’t written for a while—too busy—so I’m hoping that grants me license for a long-ish post this time. I hope, because this qualifies as long-ish. Here's a colorful photo to entice you to read on.

I’ve written before about this idea of life as a “people mover.” We all get on at birth, and the contraption moves us inexorably forward, sprinkling us with experiences along the way, until we rotate off the end, to be replaced by the next wave of people. This seems absolutely right and appropriate, as well as inevitable. At some point, it’s our turn to get out of the way … as it will be everyone’s turn, with time.

I’ve recently had another—and different—encounter with that sense of how life moves. It’s been made up of many and diverse pieces. But they all have, to my mind, a common message: the people mover is essential for us all. 

Here’s a smattering of the experiences that got me thinking about this:

• The quarterly newsletter for the LGBTQ section of my professional association just published its last edition. Henceforth, folks will rely on the website to keep in touch with what’s happening in the organization. Certain long-standing features will be lost, and the news will no longer reach folks who don’t use the Internet. To be honest, I’m sort of sorry for the change. I like the newsletter and read it regularly. Besides, the editor is a friend who has spent a lot of time and love on this. Still, this is the direction of news media of all sorts. And the folks who are now in leadership positions come from the Internet generation … and that will remain the case in the foreseeable future. Those of us who would cling to (or cherish, pick you own word) the old format need to let go. We need to let the folks behind us take charge.
• There was a column in the New York Times this morning about the drastic changes that are occurring in higher education. (The title, “Innovation Imperative: Change Everything” sort of summarizes everything I’m trying to say here.) The emergence of MOOCs (massive online open courses) that allow anyone, anywhere to log into a college course and take it–for free!—combined with the rapid growth of online courses run by individual universities (for credit and for a fee) as regular parts of their curriculum are already changing what “education” means. Sure, you lose some things, as some of us are quick to point out—the camaraderie of fellow students, the invaluable person-to-person interactions between students and faculty, the sheer joy of out-of-class conversations that bring knowledge alive, libraries with real books, and more. But look at how many people are able to have access to education who otherwise could not. And consider the breadth of courses anyone can take—courses on any topic, taught by people from around the world, at any time of day or night. Those of us who insist that just one form of education counts as Real Education need to let go. We need to let the meaning of education grow and morph with the aims and passions of the folks behind us.
• I recently read a Time magazine column by Randi Zuckerberg, sister of the founder of Facebook. Her point is more complicated than this, but basically, she argues that her generation—i.e., the folks behind us on the people mover—has grown up with a much different understanding of privacy than that held by previous generations. Specifically, she suggests that the line between our private and our public lives has blurred in this social media-soaked generation. More than blurred; she thinks the division has basically vanished. And she’s fine with that. She argues that people will be “three-dimensional personalities whose lives, interests, hobbies, and passions are documented and on display.” Many of us who grew up in the era before such public display of our lives was so prominent may resist this shift (as I do. Certain friends continue to prod me to get on facebook). Yet, we need to realize that our vision of “privacy” is different, is passé, is (I hate to use the word about myself) old-fashioned—not a value judgment; just an observation. Personally, I still insist that sharing my personal life with friends is not the same as sharing it with thousands, and I still prefer the former. But, resist though we may, our harrumphing has had no effect in stopping this shift thus far. And it won’t. Time to get out of the way.

There have been others encounters, but I’ll stop there. In each case, I was struck with the sense that this game is passing me by, and it's right for me to let someone else play.

Now, I’m not saying that I no longer want to be engaged in “the game.” Nor am I saying that its passing me by is a bad thing. On the contrary. My daily aim is to do what I can to stay engaged, to learn at least some of the skills that the new game asks of me—enough to have fun, even if I don't master it. Enough to avoid sinking into a curmudgeonly critique of everything that represents “kids these days.” But my daily aim is also to welcome life as it is, not as I’d like to bludgeon it into being. The simple truth is that I am nearing the end of the people mover, and the folks coming along behind me don’t look, think, act, or dream in just the way I have. And they are, surely for better and for worse, the ones who get to choose the game these days. 

It’s a difference in perspective. I view these changes as a shift away from how I’ve known the world. The people behind me view them as a shift toward the world they will define and inhabit. I figure it’s their turn. Besides, in some sense, the task of absorbing change over a lifetime becomes daunting. There comes a point when I, for one, am happy to let them take my place. Some might call this giving up, giving in. I call it reality testing. Acceptance, in the Buddhist sense.   

But here is one shift that I genuinely wish I could be around for—although I am quite aware that some folks (perhaps many in my generation) have the opposite reaction to this change. It’s the demographic shift that is happening in this country, the political and psychological shifts that this change invites, and the promise of more to come.

I grew up in southeast Denver in a very white, very middle to lower-middle class neighborhood. I knew nothing about race or ethnicity (other than some blatant stereotypes that floated around my family and my social circle), was oblivious to class (ditto), and to religious diversity (ditto again)—and the same can be said for ability status, gender identity, sexual orientation, ageism, you name it. Gradually, thanks to a decent education and encounters with thoughtful and socially conscious folks, I began to get a clue about these issues—the many prejudices we/I carry, the dynamics that underlie them, and their human costs.

And now—just when I’m starting to “get it,” just when what we’re currently calling “diversity” is becoming the norm rather than the exception (“minority” will soon refer to white folks in this country)—I’m approaching the end of the ride. And behind me are all these folks I never knew, all the learning I won’t be exposed to. Now, I don’t want to sound Pollyanna about this massive social change. I am very aware that many struggles lie ahead. Many folks in this country remain wed to old notions about who is worthy and who is not. But opportunities abound for us, as individuals, to begin the process of undoing some of that, at least in ourselves.

For example, in recent weeks, I have attended the following events, each of which gave me a glimpse of a world that I don’t know well. Glimpses, it’s true. But every piece adds to the puzzle I never saw earlier in my life.

• We went to the Longmont museum to see their Day of the Dead exhibit. (Pictures of some of the altars in that exhibit are scattered through this blog.) I’ve vaguely known about this celebration (and it is a celebration) for years, but very little. This display consisted largely of alters created by local folks—individuals and groups—to honor particular individuals they knew, historical figures, the ancestors of group members, just a whole range of people. I learned about some of the traditional elements that go into an altar and the meanings they carry. Since then, this holiday has been highlighted in the New York Times and is the basis of a feature event at the Denver Botanic Gardens. Who knew …
• We saw the play “Just Like Us,” which is about a group of Latina girls, friends from childhood, who face very different options when they reach college age. Those who are not documented encounter a whole range of limitations—college admission, scholarships, jobs—and other people in their lives face even more dire consequences—deportation and likely permanent separation from their families, persistent fear of the police. I was somewhat aware of this issue because this is a topic I’ve explored some at conferences and such. But still, some of this, I never knew …
• We went to a play called “G.I.M.P. Nation,” put on by a small theater company (Phamly Theater Company) in The Laundry, a small theater in an out-of-the way corner of Denver. The actors all had a disability of some sort (visual impairment, early-onset Parkinson’s, Crohn’s disease, hearing impairment, radial club hand, and others). The play was an in-your-face challenge to temporarily able-bodied people to recognize their biases based on ability status and the human costs it exacts. Again, I have thought and learned some about this due to experiences in my own life, but this play brought new insights—e.g., how easily we patronize people with disabilities, when, that is, we’re not outright dismissing them.
• We saw the play “Book of Mormon.” My partner and I have done some research that involved becoming quite familiar with the LDS (Mormon) faith, so the content of the play was mostly familiar. What fascinated me about it was the play’s effort (successful, in my estimation) to be witty about Mormonism without its feeling hostile or denigrating. I realize that people who are themselves Mormon might feel differently. But I feel pretty protective of the LDS Church because of my close connection with it over years and my sense that the church is an easy target for derision in our culture. But despite this defensiveness, I found the play surprisingly respectful. The key message was that the packaging of beliefs is less important than the beliefs—and the core values of the LDS Church are like those of other faiths. It turns out that maybe people can be educated through comedy to recognize that. Who knew …
• And then, there was CU’s all-day symposium on LGBTQ issues, followed a week later by the annual student-led drag show. Now LGBTQ topics are an area where I feel quite in touch. It’s harder to surprise me in this domain because my partner and I think and talk about this stuff a lot, and we’re both quite involved in various aspects of the LGBTQ community. Still, several parts of the symposium were eye-opening moments for me. First, there was a panel of administrators from each of the three CU campuses, all trying to convince everyone how wonderful their work in this area is and how much more wonderful it will soon be. The surprising part of this was their very presence at the symposium and their clear determination to persuade us that they genuinely love LGBTQ folks. Imagine that happening a decade ago! The next enlightening moment was the student panel. Historically, panels of queer folks (especially youths) involve a string of people taking turns telling their coming out stories—usually focusing on how bad it was. But in this group, not one of the five panelists did a coming out story. Instead, they conveyed a great deal of comfort with their own identities—and a willingness to challenge individuals and systems that failed to honor those identities. Imagine that a decade ago! And then, a drag show that draws scores (maybe hundreds) of people to watch, a show laced with trans youth joining the LGBQ performers—all in a major university performance space and with the university’s blessing. Who’d have thought …

So, as you can no doubt tell, I’m of two minds about this whole topic of moving off the end of the people mover, about feeling like it’s time to get out of the way. I do feel that the case in many areas, and then there are the things I want to hang out for. Out of the way, of course, but still engaged.

Let me finish with this one other observation. It makes good sense that we resist our rotation off the end. It makes sense for us personally—who wants to become “irrelevant,” “old fashioned”? Who wants to disappear from the scene? (I really do get it, on a gut level. Notice the sub-title of this blog: “Resisting Gone.”). And it makes sense on a larger scale. The people behind us really do have the right/obligation to shape the world they will inhabit. And yet, there are some things that each of us won’t easily let go. For me, it’s the richness of what this society will be in a few decades.

But there’s more to this resistance. Most of us really, honestly believe that we (still!) have something important to contribute. Surely the experience of a lifetime brings some knowledge, some wisdom that could be helpful. But personally, when I invest too much certainty in the belief that I am indispensable, I try to remember that every generation has surely felt that way. Every generation has warned of the loss of their wisdom and experience … of themselves, actually. And yet, the world moves on without them. And it will without us.

This weekend, we went to piano/flute recital at an art museum in Denver. One of the pieces they played was “Oblivion” by Astor Piazolla. As they played, I closed my eyes and found myself drifting in a canoe down a wide, slow-moving river, lined here and there with dark trees shrouded in mist. Probably because of the title of the piece, my sense was that I was drifting toward oblivion. It was a peaceful feeling, and I carried it away from the recital.

I think I’ll save the image for moments when I forget that the people mover is a good thing.