September 26, 2013--Behind the Times

A friend from England is in the area. Siting with her yesterday morning on the top step of the house where she is staying, looking out into the sun over Muscongus Bay toward Monhegan Island, she said, "This is the only place in the world where I sleep well."

"Why is that? I ask because that's also true for me; and though I have my own thoughts about this, I'm curious why this is such a restful place for you."

Not taking her eyes off the waves lapping the granite ledge, she said, "Some of it has to do with the sound of the water. You know those sleep machines that play an endless stream of natural sounds as a way to free one's mind and help one sleep? There are birds sounds, whale songs, sounds of the wind and forest, and of the tranquil ocean. The ocean being the most listened to to induce a peaceful night. So right out my door here, without the bother of one of those machines, which to me seem so artificial, I find a natural form of calm."

"Maybe it's because our remote ancestors came from the ocean."

"You mean how the sea is the-mother-of-us-all sort of thing?"

"Well, we did descend from fish. There is overwhelming evolutionary evidence about that."

"I thought you Americans don't believe in evolution." She was tweaking me. "But, I know that's true and it may have something to do with being instinctively connected to the eternal that is so conducive to peaceful rest."

"There's something else," I said, "that works for me beside the ocean and air and sky."

"What's that?"

"The isolation. I should say, how I here feel isolated enough."

"That's a curious concept--isolated enough." She glanced at me then turned again to face the water and the horizon.

I said, "We don't live deep in the woods or isolated from neighbors. In fact, I like having neighbors. Even the occasional pesky ones. I am from the city, after all, and too much tranquility and quiet can make me anxious. I need a little more than just nature."

"I understand that. I'm from London though now I live mainly in Brighton. So I as well need a little human activity."

"For me the little part resonates since I like some action as long as it's just that--little."

"I also like being a bit out-of-step," she ruminated. I looked at her curiously and she said, "I'll give you an example."

"That would help."

"That recent tragedy in Kenya."

"The barbaric killings at the mall?"

"That's it. It happened while I was here but somewhat out of the reach of the news. When I'm here I do not take the paper or watch much TV. Almost none at all. And so news of that slaughter took some time to filter to me. As if I were living, as they say these days, off the grid. Rather, half-off the grid."

"This is true to me too, but because of my blog I do need to keep up with the so-called news."

"Sorry, but I forgot about that. What's it called again?"

"Behind the (New York) Times, with the New York part in parentheses."

"I remember that. How you're wanting to have it both ways--you tend to write about things reported in the New York Times that provoke you and also you are signally that you personally are a bit behind the times.  Having a little fun at your own expense. Saying you're perhaps obsolete, no? Behind the times?"

"Exactly."

"So here especially, in a similar way, I too am behind. The mall murders, the debate about Iran and what to do in Syria, your debt ceiling crisis, all of these impinge upon my awareness but in a less immediate and worrisome way that when I'm in New York or London or even my sleepy Brighton."

"You're speaking about what I meant by isolated enough. Not that isolated so that if there were a real crisis that affected me or us directly it would be possible to know minute-by-minute what would be important, even essential to know to avoid a conflagration--a big Sandy-like hurricane--or to be able to mobilize one's thoughts and actions as a citizen because of a major terrorist attack, God forbid, directly on the U.S."

"Isn't this also a stage in life thing?"

"Say more."

"We are after all getting a bit older," not me, I gestured, "and at these latter stages one tends to want to be involved in more generative things. Which by definition means less engagement in the here and now, no matter how vital all of that might have been a few years ago. But now is considerably less compelling."

"I suppose there is some truth to that, though remaining vital is still important to me."

"You feel vital enough to me, if that's any consolation." She smiled wistfully, still gazing toward Monhegan 15 miles off shore.

"But I do need more rest than in the past and that again is where we began--with sleeping."

"You are about to have a birthday, aren't you?"

"Next Wednesday."

"It's a significant one isn't it?"

"At this point they all are."

"But, as I recall, this one is a real number."

"Yes, real. As real as it gets."