Somewhere in Peru, an aged schoolbus with no working windows (all permanently open or closed) roughly winds its way along a jungle road, picking up villagers on their way to or from the market. Loaded with baggage and animals and children and laughter, it is a loud, bumpy, and uncomfortable ride, yet so much a part of the community that every passenger experiences a warm familiarity.
So last week, I could have squeezed my way onto that subway train, surrounded on all sides, hands full of grocery bags, deeply “engaging my core” to keep my face from pressing up against the window: instead, I chose to wait 10 minutes for the next train, because I just couldn’t do it. The doors opened at the station and there was about a foot of space left in the car. I did not experience a warm familiarity, although it was 92 degrees and I suppose standing shoulder-to-shoulder is as familiar as strangers get.
But I just… couldn’t.
I believe that I am middle-aged now.
It’s not my back or my knees, it’s my perspective. The glass isn’t half empty or full as much as now it’s dirty and I’m gonna have to wash it by hand because it’ll break if I put it the dishwasher and I don’t have one of those sponge/stick things to properly clean it so I’m gonna have fold a regular sponge in half lengthwise and kinda dial it around aggressively and then shake it like a bartender to rinse it out.
I don’t always wear matching socks anymore because I wear Doc Marten boots so who’s gonna ever see ‘em? and my daughter stopped wearing matching socks years ago and look how happy she is.
And I just can’t with the rushing and worrying about everything, and I have acquiesced to the fact that my waist is below my tummy now, and not straight across it.
On E-Bay I’d be listed as “used, but in good condition”.
That’s middle age, right?
I’ve been watching a lot of those home renovation shows on tv. Those shows are fascinating, celebrations of tools, skills, and imagination. My favorites are the ones where they just move some things around, take down a wall or two, and voila, new space.
I think it’s cheating when they do a full demolition and just rebuild a new house there… that's not renovation as much as architecture. It seems like cheating, the DEMO route, because you’re just destroying old and making new, not improving on what’s there already. If you take it all down to the studs and build something different, it’s not as impressive when the people who live there come back and say “I don’t even recognize it! It doesn’t even look like the same house!”
Because it isn’t. Sure, the house can have “good bones” but we’re more than our bones.
Ok, well, yes, I see it as a metaphor. I do, yes.
We all have good bones. And we can renovate ourselves without replacing ourselves. The Earth has good bones: there’s a lot to work with, some really great features, impressive details, a natural flow: seeds are planted, flowers spring up, then Jack Frost brings his demolition crew to blank out everything. But we don’t get All New Trees every spring. The planet builds upon itself, expanding the growth of the years before, thriving less on re-invention than evolution.
Age doesn’t “demo” youth, it feeds into it, deepening its roots: youth gets stronger and smarter with every passing day, able to weather the winters and cherish the summers. And then, when we no longer require any more discouraging hot and crowded commutes, we can toss out all that urgency we really never needed and make room for the pop hits of 1973 in those 10 minutes we have on the platform until the next train arrives at the station.
Renovate.