It’s funny how I have changed my thinking over time. I am not sure that the process of adulting actually made me wiser, but it certainly caused me to see the world a bit differently than when I was young and eager to step independently into the real world beyond the reach of my elders. In spite of my bravado I was filled with so much uncertainty about the future and how I felt about myself. I tried to hide my self consciousness with smiles and jokes about my appearance and awkwardness. I pretended to be confident when in reality I had no idea what I was doing. I dove into the world headfirst and hoped that I would not hit my head on a hard surface or drown.
I was filled with the romance of fairytales and love stories while also worrying incessantly that I would never find my Prince Charming. I watched movies like The Heiress on my family’s black and white television screen and worried that I might become a spinster without the added safety net of falling back on the wealth of my family. I wondered if my future would become a melodrama or if by some miracle love would come into my life like it did for Katherine Hepburn in The Rainmaker. I fell in love with Burt Lancaster because his character in that movie appeared to be the miracle worker that Hepburn’s Lizzie needed to escape the dreariness of being an aging spinster. Somehow watching that film filled me with hope that I too would one day be loved.
The Rainmaker was a romance novel come alive for my young girl mind. Lizzie was a plain woman leading a dreary life caring for her father and brothers on a farm in Kansas. She saw life slipping away from her as she seemed not even able to attract the attention of the unassuming Sheriff File. She watched the men in her household fulfilling their dreams while hers appeared to be slowly dying until Starbuck, a flim flam man who promised to make rain for the drought stricken town, came along. He romanced Lizzie with tales of fantasy that made her feel beautiful. Her soul came to life and suddenly both Starbuck and File proposed to her. When she chose the quiet and steady File I was quite disappointed when I watched that film as a teenage girl. Later as a middle age women I felt that there was no contest that old reliable File was indeed the better choice.
We need the daring fire in the belly feelings of our youth or we might never be able to fly away from the nests of our families. The young are filled with dreams and possibilities just as I was. We see ourselves changing the world, creating our own stories of courage. We take chances because we are walking into the unknown. We learn from each experience and fine tune our desires to become more practical and temperate. We begin to value people who are steady and dependable. We learn who and what to avoid to keep ourselves safe. We become more and more like the adults that we were once anxious to leave. We rewatch old movies or read books again with new perspectives that bring us to different conclusions than we might have had at an earlier time.
Still, there is something so incredibly important about treasuring the willingness of the young to experiment and try new ideas, places, ways of living. The world would be a rather dull and predicable place if we all settled into adult routines without ever questioning the value of them. Inventiveness brings progress while caution questions the value of things that are shiny and new. The ends of the spectrum working together have the capacity to create something quite special. We really do need both.
As a student of literature I used to wonder why so many literary critics deemed Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad to be one of the greatest works of fiction of all time. I attempted to read it while I was in high school and was unable to get even halfway through the pages. Later in college I trudged through it only to believe that its metaphorical dreariness was overblown. Eventually when I was middle aged and moving toward retirement I read it once again with the eyes of a lifetime of experience. I felt a sense of awe at its remarkable casting of human nature. I saw the genius of the story and the journey into the human experience. I was in awe and unable to stop thinking about how fittingly the author had tapped into the heart of the kinds of instincts that we humans sometimes possess.
I suppose that my own journey through life has taught me that it’s good to retain much of the cockeyed optimism of my youth. I would be sad and lonely without it. At the same time I have learned to temper my enthusiasm with wariness lest I be taken in by people pounding on bass drums while asking me to believe in make believe. I have developed a sixth sense for danger that allows me to be mostly unafraid. I appreciate the dependability of the people in my life. I am more attracted to the Files than the Starbucks but I know that many Starbucks in my youth really did help me to find myself and be brave enough to tackle life.
I tip my hat to the young who are earnestly creating their own stories. I hope that their journeys will be more wonderful than heartbreaking. I would like to think that they will find their own wisdom just as I have. Life may not be a fairytale but we certainly need rain and sometimes that only comes when we are willing to believe in the unbelievable.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 