“Never judge a book by it's cover,” they say. I guess so.

I was watching this younger kid, about 22, scribble diligently on graph paper mathematical formulas. I didn't recognize half of the symbols he wrote down. He had his nose down and didn't look up until he was done. It was a good twenty minutes of focused ciphering.

He reminded me of one of those blue indians in Avatar. No, he wasn't “blue” but he had a similar hair style and he was painfully thin. A malnourished goth with pale, milky skin. He was equipped with a pinched looking face and a wardrobe that said “goofy urban guerrilla.”

“Weirdo.” I thought to myself. Yeah, I, like you, am judgmental.

Being curious...and nosy as other people's business is definitely my business too, I had to ask him what he was working on.

“Uh...I'm writing code for a game I'm designing. I'm using Perl 5.16 language this time. I' m trying to condense the syntax so it flows and can execute as it's fastest rate.”

I immediately think, “Ok, this kid is bullshitting me."  If he was honest, I'd quickly dismiss these efforts at “gaming” as another geek fantasy.

Back to scribbling he goes as I'm not interesting enough for him.

A short time later we're outside and I ask him what he does for a living. He answers “I code for a biotech company out of Boston.” I then start to reevaluate this kid as I get more and more specific information.

“I used to work for JP Morgan, but I quit as they were a bunch of assholes. Never work for bankers!” he advises me. “These corps want the best people, but NEVER want to pay for them.”

I hear “JP Morgan” and I have to ask, “Did you code for high frequency trading?”

“Yep, I did some of their algorithms. The ones I saw a lot were badly written, so I had to condense a lot of them."  

I'm looking at this skinny morose looking kid and can't attach him to JP Morgan and Wall St. I have to give up my stereotypes and inaccurate judgments, once again.

*****

I've just started reading Neil Young's “Waging Heavy Peace.” It's autobiographical and it's full of his experiences as the 60's era bloomed around him. It's a nice bird's eye view of that time from his perch.

I'm not to far into it yet but what is great about reading is that you can at times, relate.

He tells of his early days touring unknown local joints around Canada. The towns he plays are those you've never heard of, neither have I. If you think there's nothing in the prairie lands of Nebraska, you haven't seen “out there” till you've been to the Canadian prairies. The word isolation doesn't do justice to the feeling of isolation you get standing in the frozen nowhere,  60 miles outside of Regina.

Anyway...

He speaks of something I know full well. Envy. He tells of running across other musicians who are touring, trying to make it out there in the barrens of Canada. He came across Don McClean (American Pie) and he thought:

“These were the early days that left such a mark on me. I was always fascinated and impressed by these groups and artists. I was so envious of them for being from the States and on the road.”

Some of the groups he came across were further ahead of him. In comparison, he knew instinctively that he had further to grow as a musician. He wanted to be where they were.

I was never a musician. I tried. I sucked at it. I never had the patience nor the coordination to stick with it long enough to enjoy the fun that would eventually come of it. So, my envy was borne from seeing friends and others grow in leaps and bounds in regular life.

One summer, while I was 15, I never did see much of my new schoolmates at St Rays. We just didn't live close enough to one another. So I ended up sticking around my usual local neighborhood friends. When I returned to school in September, as a junior, I was floored to realized the three people I knew from last year had received their driver's licenses.

I didn't have one. It never crossed my mind to attain one during the summer vacation.

I was seized by jealousy. I felt I was 1,000 miles behind these guys. By the time I got home after school, I was bugging my brother to teach me to drive and filed away for the paperwork at RI DMV.

Within three months I could proudly show my license.

It is a big deal, for 16 year old guys anyway. It's a mile marker. I had to have it once I found out some of my peers were advancing ahead of me.

There was the time when some of guys actually started having real girlfriends. Not the hit or miss variety but long term. I'd watch a couple, lost in their own world, having this unspoken conversation with one another via touch and looks and it was new to me. I had no way to translate what was being “said.” Though I knew of it somehow, understood it enough to know I wanted that too.

I then became motivated to get that as well. I had to learn the ropes to get there and the desire was my energy.

I like the word motivate. It means “to move.” Simple really. Want something, start moving to get it.

I speak of youth, where you compare your progress in life to those around you and it's pretty easy to tell where you stand. Not that “keeping up” for it's own sake is a reason to live but that the comparison can motivate you towards what you want and not necessarily what others are aiming at.

What am I envious of today, at 49 years of age? I had to actually sit here and brainstorm a bit. At 11AM this Sunday, I can say this, nothing.

Ah sure, I can be envious of smaller things, a car, a boat, a bigger boat or a house on Mount Desert Island in Maine. But those are tangibles. They're not, what I call, “paths for growth.” I've always believed that the chase is better than bagging the elk (goal) your after. Sure, I want to achieve the goal but for some reason, once I have it, I'm left without direction or purpose. So, I start another chase.

Endlessly becoming.

When young, chasing is what you do best as you need to attain certain skills in order to live. The first and foremost is to stand on your own two feet economically. This isn't always easy as outside forces can screw up your plans, like hedge fund oil speculation that rockets your heating bill past Mars. But if you get the jist of this particular game, you'll survive and perhaps even enjoy parts of life as well.

Or raising a family, that's another chase, if you want it.

Most people, work paycheck to paycheck surviving and the questions of making your life meaningful rarely come up. That doesn't mean that they never think about it, it's just that they have other pressures that occupy their minds. But I can tell you this, they do think of it. Not all blue collar life is about getting to the next paystub. They do eventually think of what they have done with their lives and wonder what to do next.

But once you attain nearly some or all of these very long term goals, then what? Do you sit on your ass? I see many retirees going bonkers trying to do that. Not only that, most of your retirees aren't rich enough to travel and vacation on the Rhone river. There are tons of financial commercials showing well off, graying couples living in their Golden Years, walking a beach in loose white clothing, but chances are that ain't going to be you.

So do what? Become a greeter? “Welcome to Walmart!” That doesn't cut it.

Nearing 50 is strange ground to me. Since there is no reason to train for a long life ahead of me, to buy a car, a house, raise a family or build a corporate empire...what now? And for those of you who have families, your goal is to empty your nest and make your fledglings fly away. What then?

Getting fat from Early Bird specials at McD's and going to Foxwoods might be fun for a week, but I figure it would bore me to tears eventually, probably you too.

Actually, I do know the answer. It's the same answer nature has had for humanity for every age range. Nature tells 20 somethings to build a life, start a family. 30 somethings to continue it and retool. 40 somethings to get ready to kick your young out of the nest and learn to love predictability. And...for those of us over...the answer is...to mentor the young, any young; for those that will listen. That's the meaning then.

Jesus, I go from a few sentences from Neil Young to this. You see, I've adopted my brother's real reason to write. His was called “Throwing ideas at a wall to see what sticks.”

 

 

 

 

 

Neil at 65 Years Old