Substance ~ Frankl on growing old... (a repost)

This afternoon as I was composing an email, the quote below from Frankl came to mind which prompted me to look up the quote on my blog, having recalled that I had written about it in the past. The same quote had also popped into my brain yesterday, prompted by Ben Rector's song, The Richest Man in the World. 

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Substance - Frankl on growing old...

3/14/18

"I should say having been is the surest kind of being." ~Victor Frankl

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In a previous blog post I quoted a paragraph on "transitoriness" from Victor Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning.
Not until a day or so after I blogged that paragraph did I read beyond it in the book.

As I read...
My heart grew wings.
My being was lifted.
My cares were lighter.
I felt at peace with the past and the present and the future.
A line from John Denver's song Rocky Mountain High rolled through my head, "you might say [s]he was born again."

Frankl's main theme on life is finding one's purpose and meaning, even in suffering.
The question is not, what is the meaning of life?
But rather, what is an individual's purpose or meaning?

In the Life's Transitoriness section, Frankl shares an analogy of a person figuratively tearing off calendar pages day after day and writing a few notes about one's life on the back of each torn-off page, and then filing the page neatly away with its predecessors.

When I read his analogy I thought, "I've done that, literally...with journaling."
In that moment, my journals meant something.
They have substance.
They aren't meaningless and nothingness.
It's okay that they sit on my book shelves.
It's okay that I don't commit them to ashes, as some well-meaning people (and I mean that sincerely) have suggested.

Frankl's words give my past a substance I don't think I'd previously felt.
In a sense it's like one can live in the past, present, and future simultaneously.
All three happen almost simultaneously.

Below I've transcribed the section entitled Life's Transitoriness from Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning.

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Life's Transitoriness

Those things which seem to take meaning away from human life include not only suffering but dying as well. I never tire of saying that the only really transitory aspects of life are the potentialities; but as soon as they are actualized, they are rendered realities at that very moment; they are saved and delivered into the past, wherein they are rescued and preserved from transitoriness. For, in the past, nothing is irretrievably lost but everything irrevocably stored.

Thus, the transitoriness of our existence in no way makes it meaningless. But it does constitute our responsibleness; for everything hinges upon our realizing the essentially transitory possibilities. Man constantly makes his choice concerning the mass of present potentialities; which of these will be condemned to nonbeing and which will be actualized? Which choice will be made an actuality once and forever, an immortal "footprint in the sands of time"? At any moment, man must decide, for better or for worse, what will be the monument of his existence.

Usually, to be sure, man considers only the stubble field of transitoriness and overlooks the full granaries of the past, wherein he had salvaged once and for all his deeds, his joys and also his sufferings. Nothing can be undone, and nothing can be done away with. I should say having been is the surest kind of being.

Logotherapy, keeping in mind the essential transitoriness of human existence, is not pessimistic but rather activistic. To express this point figuratively we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reason has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? "No, thank you," he will think.

"Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy."

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[Victor Frankl developed "logotherapy" which is "a form of psychotherapy that is based on helping clients to find a sense of meaning and purpose in their lives."]

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The Richest Man in the World by Ben Rector...

When I get to heaven

And we're lined up outside the pearly gates

We're all walking, small talking, mingling

I already know what I'm gonna say

When we all trade stories

Of what we did with our lives

I won't say that I played music or could sing

When it's my turn I think I'll smile

Say I was

The richest man in the world

Father to a baby girl

And two boys that I know love me

Was famous to a few good friends

And beside me 'til the end

Was my wife who is so lovely

And I don't know who could ask for any more

I'm the richest man in the world

The richest man in the world

I may never live in Montecito

I'll probably never own a jet

And the sands of time will wear down all the fame and fortune

Til I don't have any left

I don't want some great big funeral

I don't want flowers on my grave

Just play this song or have someone write this somewhere

I'd like to let the record state

Here lies the richest man in the world

Father to a baby girl

And two boys that I know love me

Was famous to a few good friends

And beside me 'til the end

Was my wife who is so lovely

And I don't know who could ask for any more

I'm the richest man in the world

The richest man in the world

You can spend your whole life wanting what you don't have

Or you can find the beauty in the things you do

So I am, the richest man in the world

Father to a baby girl

And two boys that I know love me

Was famous to a few good friends

And beside me 'til the end

Was my wife who is so lovely

And I don't know who could ask for any more

No, I could not have dreamed of any more

I'm the richest man in the world

The richest man in the world

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TDS1 and TDS2...

TDS, or Trump Derangement Syndrome, is a derogatory term used by MAGA disciples to make fun of people who supposedly respond to Trump by displaying hysteria, overreactive anxiety and depression, paranoia, and more hysteria.

TDS isn't original. It's original predecessor, BDS or Bush Derangement Syndrome, was coined by Charles Krauthammer in 2003. He defined it as "the acute onset of paranoia in otherwise normal people in reaction to the policies, the presidency—nay—the very existence of George W. Bush."

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On eX-Twitter, I sometimes read posts from MAGA disciples. Here are people (many who claim to be Christian and many who post anonymously) expressing anger and outrage via ridiculing another's physical appearance, name-calling, foul language, arrogance, and our baser human attributes. Would they express the same if they used their real names as opposed to hiding behind an anonymous handle?

Perhaps one reason a person may feel justified to regularly display their outrage in this way is because their dear leader does the same, thus normalizing this type behavior as a legitimate and appropiate (Christian) response to those who disagree with or criticize the doctrine or the leader. It's a group dynamic thing; I engaged in similar rationalization during my 28 years in a fundamentalist Bible cult. 

I've had the thought that these same MAGA folks who shout "TDS!" must suffer from Democrat Derangement Syndrome or Liberal Derangement Syndrome. I imagine others have thought that as well. As I thought about those labels today, I wanted something a bit more clever, playing off the TDS acronym. What about "Trump Disciple Syndrome?" Which brought me a chuckle. 

How would I define it? People (many) who at one time were understanding, empathic, and tender-hearted become fearful, easily offended, and rageful at those who disagree with Trump or call him to account.

Trump Derangement Syndrome can be TDS1.

Trump Disciple Syndrome can be TDS2.

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I watched Trump's inauguration speech. I don't have either TDS1 or TDS2, but I found the speech disturbing. And I found myself, as I watched and listened, again feeling familiarity. It brought to mind Wierwille and Martindale, the first two presidents of The Way Internataional, and probably hit upon something a bit deeper -- the throes of indoctrination. 

One of The Way's main themes is Word Over the World, which really means Way Doctrine Over the World. As I watched Trump and then Sewell's preachy-prayer, I thought (among other things), Oh great. Now we have USA Over the World. 

But that's how the USA was founded. Colonization. Strip the native cultures away to "civilize" (Christianize) them. Then when Musk spoke later about planting a USA flag on Mars it became, USA over the solar system. 

Having stated the above, some with TDS2 may accuse me of suffering from TDS1. Fine, except that I'd have to disagree. I know all too well the symptoms of depression, anxiety, and paranoia. I first experienced those symptoms back in high school; they had nothing to do with politics. I have experienced them off and on since that time, but again, not due to national or world politics. That's not to say I haven't felt anger and even disgust at Trump's dehumanizing behavior and words. 

Trump says he's gonna drill baby drill. 

Will he do it responsibly, taking into account our dear planet's health? I doubt it, but maybe I'll be surprised. (I hope so.) 

With more fracking, will Earth respond with more earthquakes? 

With more drilling, how much more oil will be spilled in our precious, already suffering oceans? 

Will RFK Jr. speak up on behalf of our planet? 

Will there be anyone under Trump's influence who will stand up for Earth? 

That said, if we don't stand up for Earth, She will let us know...

Perhaps via destruction of mankind's irresponsible tinkering with Her most so-called precious commodities...

Ickies and shutters...

I lay on the couch watching the idiot box on mute; I regularly mute commercials.

This one? A commercial advertising online purchase of US stamps.

A gymnast cartwheels, handsprings, and gracefully maneuvers through an office, flexibly with ease distributing mail to its proper destinations. 

I thought, I used to be able to move like that...

 

As a child I loved to run and jump...

Tag was a regular pastime, especially Werewolf and Sardines...

Tackle football too; pick-up games in our neighbor's back yard, elementary school-aged boys and girls...

Bicycles galore; we'd line the street and race down the hill...

Snow sledding down that same big hill in the winter; sometimes in a train as we lay on the sleds with arms outstretched and our hands holding the back rails of the sled in front of us. The last person in the train got a whipping wild ride...

Ponies and horses; mounting them "Indian style," meaning we ran up behind the pony and jumped on its bare back by using our hands and arms to springboard ourselves from and over the pony's rump. Other times, we'd hang upside down around a pony's neck. The ponies seemed to enjoy it as much as us kids... 

"Camping" outside; we didn't really camp, we just slept outside. Sometimes I'd sleep outside alone in our side yard. I'd star gaze and pray for an outer space being to reveal itself to me or whisk me away to another planet. One night as I lay in a state of quasi-sleep in my sleeping bag, I felt something in the bottom of it. I pulled my legs up in my half-sleep state and dozed back under. The next morning as I pulled back the sleeping bag to get up, a little mouse ran out. I laughed. It stayed warm all night long... 

Hiking, mainly the Blue Ridge Mountains. Oh, how I still love the trails and mountains. Even if I'm never able to hike them again, I did at one time. A plethora of memories. Wide open spaces, an ocean of mountains. Bear, deer, snakes. Coyote, raccoons, possums. Hawks, buzzards, songbirds. Snow, ice, sleet. Rivers, creeks, lakes. Blueberries, blackberries, mulberries. Trees, wildflowers, downed logs. Winds, sunrises, sunsets. And other hikers...

Basketball, swimming, tire swings, skiing, cheerleading, dancing... 

I loved to move my body...  

All those visions ran through my mind as I watched the gymnast on the screen. 

And then the thought, Hm. That gymnast may not even be real. She might be AI generated.

A slight shutter flowed through my body.

~*~

I reckon I've always been a quasi-Luddite...

When email began invading my life in 1999, I did not like it. But I eventually gave in...

This coincided with pay-at-the-pump gasoline.  I thought, Geez, someday we won't have to interact with humans at all to buy, trade, sell. As an act of rebellion, I'd walk in the store to pay. But I eventually gave in...

When flip cell phones arrived on the scene, I said "I will never have a cell phone." But then, I needed a cell phone to transact business as an MLM distributor for a nutritional product. So, in latter 2003, I gave in... 

After smart phones became the thing, I said, "I'll never have a smart phone." But then I needed a smart phone as a business owner of a pet sitting service. The maps app helped me map routes for myself and those who worked for me so we could visit clients in a timely manner, and some clients preferred texts as a means of communication. So, in early 2011, I gave in...

And now "artificial intelligence" is forefront on the invention train. I've thought of my blog as an act of rebellion; I own my typos, weird punctuation, run-on sentences, and unclear wordage. I recently thought that I may start looking up information in my hardbound set of Encyclopedia Britannica instead of depending on the screen for information. I say, "I'll never give in to AI (as far as composing my scribblings)," and maybe I won't... 

Right now, it feels quite icky...

Another shutter...

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In 1999 when Hubby and I were lay leaders in The Way, our leadership asked me, "Did you get our email?"

I was perturbed and answered, "No. I haven't checked my email."

"Well, that's how we are going to be communicating now. So, you need to start checking it regularly." 

Eventually I did...

But I did pen a poem, perhaps as an expression of rebellion...

Hm. Perhaps that rebellion was a seed, combined with lots of journaling, that eventually blossomed into my decision in 2005 to leave The Way after 28 years of loyalty...

Ode to Email 

  

Twas a middle-aged lady who lived in a house.

Her functions were many; she wasn't a souse.

She was secretary, cook, cab driver too,

activities planner, home maintenance guru.

Doctor, nurse, janitorial clerk,

counselor, teacher, overseer of work.

Just a few of the functions for which she stayed perk.

Then to add to her list? The computer pimple.

Pop ups and adds, wrinkles and dimples!

Upgrade! Upgrade! It makes your life simple!

But beware of viruses; you need that program too!

And identity theft; so, your name is who?

Got too much spam? Pay more and it's through!

First there was junk mail to take up her time

and now more info to boggle the mind.

This middle-aged woman stepped back and breathed deep,

"It's time to make simple this communication heap."

She decided, yes, her email to keep

but now only checks it every two weeks.

So, if her attention you immediately need

please call her by phone to get sooner heed.

me

1999

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Keb' Mo' with Keep It Simple...

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A couple essays, worth the read, imo....

The AI Curse is Coming for the Creator's Economy by Peco and Ruth Gaskovski

Intelligence in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction by Charles Eisenstein

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