Decrepitude

September 25, 2013

All things, good or bad, eventually come to an end. The driving force of the Universe is change. Every moment, every thought, every life, and every single one of our possessions will one day cease to be. Most heat-breaking of all, my twenties have ceased to be. Two days ago I turned thirty.

I spent my big ‘three-oh’ in a solitary mood. I was with my thoughts, and didn’t speak a word all day. I was at a meditation retreat, and talking was not allowed. I meditated for 11 hours every day, including my birthday. Over the course of the ten day retreat I lost track the days and nearly missed my own thirtieth birthday. Not that it would have mattered. To be at a Vipassana retreat is to observe change, and develop an understanding of the impermanent nature of all things. In fact, Vipassana retreat is probably the best way to spend birthdays which might otherwise cause an existential crisis.

Birthdays have never meant that much in our family. As a youngster it was a rule that my brother and I could have a large birthday party only once every four years. All other years we kept it simple. We could invite our respective best friend over to play and celebrate along with the family, and my mom would make the occasion as ceremonious as possible. I often helped with making the cake, and my mom would put out decorations. We’d open presents, sing Happy Birthday, and my brother and I gleefully accepted the challenge of making wishes come true. We walked around all day secure in the fact that it was our special day.

During our teenage years my parents increasingly hazy memories combined with adolescent apathy to turn birthdays into a transactional affair. My parents could never recall when our last “big birthday” was, and my brother and I were more interested in going out and getting hammered than in connecting with the family. We got a year older, collected a check, and significantly improved our case for why we could eternally blame our parents for turning us into fucked-up adults.

“A house by the ocean? Vacations in the Caribbean? College paid for in full? But, I would have traded it all for fond memories of my birthdays.” – My brother and I, forever.    

My mother was the doer of all things domestic, so naturally her birthday was habitually forgotten. She threatened to move her day of celebration from whenever it is to the 4^th of July so that we’d have an easier time remembering. She gave up on that project when she realized that men are chronically enfeebled when it comes to noticing things of import to woman, even when the hint is as subtle as the sky being on fire.

My father’s birthday comes just two days after mine (Oh, happy birthday Dad :-), and so it was easily remembered. I’m not sure what kind of celebration he expected to take place, but if I had to guess I bet he expected kingly accolades, with his royal subjects – that is, the rest of the family – parsing him around the clock for being such a good provider, which he was. But enthusiasm for birthdays in our family fell far short of that. He was also a very difficult person to shop for. With all the money he saved by skimping on our birthdays – a practice he called “budgeting” – he could already purchase everything he needed. He was no great receiver of gifts either. Upon opening a gift he would inspect it, and promptly inform the giver about where they went wrong. Valuable information, you know, for selecting the next present to get him.

Had I even a rudimentary understanding of compassion at the time I may have thought about the situation differently. We all knew he had grown up in a troubled household. An alcoholic mother, an icy father he saw only once a year, and on his own since his sister left for college when he was twelve. We might have surmised that he never received all that many gifts in his life, and perhaps he never learned what participating in family was all about. However, my brother and I were teenagers. Instead of “being the change we wanted to see”, as Gandhi would have advised, we preferred being angry and punching holes in the wall.

“Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the only person to get hurt.” - Buddha

Unlike my poor mother, all of my birthdays have been recognized by friends and family alike. Hence, they must all be counted (there is an upside to everything mom!). No matter how under-celebrated this most recent birthday was, I am forced to admit that I am indeed thirty. I’m not bemoaning this fact as a sign of being old. I’m fully aware that I still feel quite young because I am quite young. However, my twenties are done and over with. Gone forever.

Physical signs of ceaseless change in the universe appeared right on cue. I shaved my head a few months back, and was shocked to find undeniable evidence that I am beginning to go grey. From what I can see it’s only a few small patches so far, and it didn’t bother me much. However, as my hair grew back in I gradully noticed what appeared to be evidence of a receding hairline, and for some reason that was cause for great alarm.

I’m suspicious that what I saw as evidence of thinning hair was actually surprised paranoia about my nascent grey hairs. I can’t tell what’s going on up there now that my hair has grown back in more fully. What I do know, and what this most recent Vipassana retreat reminded me, is that it doesn’t matter in the slightest. I was reminded that, so long as I maintain a skillful Vipassana practice, it won’t matter to me whether or not I eventually go bald; or whether I’m rich or poor, a success or a failure, recognized or repudiated. It’s astonishing what diligent mind training can do. I won’t change the external reality, but it will change how it is interpreted.

I left this retreat feeling quite unknotted. I’ve witnessed how a considerable proportation of the things we worry about are constructed in the mind. We then live with the experience of problems we have created. The patent insanity of generating considerable angst over the unstoppable loss of non-functional hairs becomes clear. This past retreat was my sixth such ten day retreat. Every time I go, and every day I practice, I am able to deconstruct some of the problems in my mind, and I no longer experience them as problems in the external world.

I’ve had some really great experiences at my Vipassana retreats, and one of them has been temporary freedom from all worry. For fleeting moments I could drop it all. I could have died right then and there, free from all fear of annihilation – happy, content, overflowing with love for all that has been; love for everyone I ever met, and those I have not. Overflowing with compassion for people who get angry, sad, nihilistic, anxious, or fearful; compassion for all the needless suffering in this world, and compassionate understanding that suffering is inextricably tied into temporal existence. But also, I’ve developed an understanding that with some kind of mind training there might be a way out of such suffering.     

These kinds of experiences have all been temporary, but they can give one direction in life. I have experienced the knowledge that I don’t need to attain anything in life. A great surge of fear washed over me when that experience was over. Could I really just let go, and live a life that impressed nobody? Was a really free to stop caring about what others think? Did I really need more than is necessary? Is it possible, without being brash, foolhardy, or arrogant, to let go of everything, including the deep seeded fear of certain annihilation? A veritable heaven on earth seemed to be the reward, but the metaphorical pearly gates open slowly, and only with effort.    

I’ve been sorting out these kinds of issues since I quit poker two years ago, with varying speeds of progress. Finding the right balance of ideas is challenging. I don’t intend to run away and meditate forever. I think I could help more people if I didn’t do that. However I’ve noticed that, during this past year in particular, I’ve been hesitant to take bold steps towards dedicating myself to either lots of meditation, or helping others directly. I’m still fraught with all kind of pointless worry from time to time. My mind waders endlessly, and has trouble deriving conclusions from conflicting information. I have my insights from meditation on one hand, and my own personal wants and desires on the other. I think the insights are gradually gaining ground, but I don’t for sure.

I’ve imagined scenarios that might strike a balance between my spiritual insight, and life in the modern world. However, a good meditator has the benefit of observing his own insane fantasy’s from time to time. Underneath every desire to start this big organization, or that big charity, are my private highlight reels of being recognized, praised, financially successful, and generally looked up to for being such a great guy. Perhaps this is just one way the mind motivates itself to right action, but I have my doubts. Such a desire to help – while good at some level – clearly has its roots in selfishness. The aim of most spiritual traditions is transcending the Self, not reinforcing it.   

Some of my friends asked in e-mails how I felt about being thirty. The more I think about it, the less I have to say. Thirty is thirty; forty will be forty, and eventually I will cease to be anything at all. So it goes. Change will come, has come, and will continue to come. Being that I’m helpless to stop it, I think I’m going to go with it.

There are, I think, better and worse ways to enjoy temporal existence, and I’m starting to learn how to dance in accord with the rhythm of time. You can have things, but you can’t hold on to them forever. Best not to be attached. You can want things, but the bucket of desire is bottomless. Best to develop an understanding of what is truly necessary. You can enjoy things, but these experiences are also impermanent. Best to dance with equal grace, compassion, and love for each passing moment.