Staying Alive

No, not the Bee Gees song from Saturday Night Fever, but a poem by that most marvelous poet, Mary Oliver. Here’s an excerpt:

 

“You must not ever stop being whimsical.

And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.

 

I don't mean it's easy or assured, there are the stubborn stumps of shame, grief that remains unsolvable after all the years, a bag of stones that goes with one wherever one goes and however the hour may call for dancing and for light feet. But there is, also, the summoning world, the admirable energies of the world, better than anger, better than bitterness and, because more interesting, more alleviating. And there is the thing that one does, the needle one plies, the work, and within that work a chance to take thoughts that are hot and formless and to place them slowly and with meticulous effort into some shapely heat-retaining form, even as the gods, or nature, or the soundless wheels of time have made forms all across the soft, curved universe— that is to say, having chosen to claim my life, I have made for myself, out of work and love, a handsome life.”

 

What drew me to this? Looking at the Warriors-Rockets score in the 3^rd playoff game and seeing my team down by 10 points. When I was in high school, I was a rabid fan of the New York Knicks and after some severely addictive viewing, I finally realized that they were deciding whether I would be happy or sad that night or the next day. So even as a teenager I learned my first lesson in the folly of giving someone else or something else responsibility for my own happiness. I finally stopped watching the Knicks and felt better. 

But here I am, 60 years later, still vulnerable to numbers on a scoreboard determining my state of being. The consolation if the Warriors lose this first round of playoff series is my life will be wholly mine again. Well, almost. There still is the news trickling in. 

 

So I looked up the Mary Oliver poem where I remembered her advice and was tickled to see the line just before it about whimsy. For I had just spent a week playing whimsical games with kids at school and today, did the same with adults at an Orff workshop. So doing well on that front. 

 

And as I’m constantly reminding myself in these posts, it is a freakin’ miracle that I have “chosen to claim my life” and “managed to make for myself, out of work and love, a handsome life.” Like all of us frail humans, shame, grief and a heavy bag of stones are part of the scenery, but when there is a choice between anger and bitterness and something more alleviating—and there is always a choice that can be made— my work and play lead me more often than not to a light heart and dancing feet. And that in itself is both a personal victory and a social act of resistance. 

 

And speaking of dancing,  I looked up the Bee Gees lyrics and while not even close to the eloquence of Ms. Oliver, it gets some of the same points across (with an interesting allusion to the effect of the news):

 

“You know it’s alright, it’s okay

I’ll live to see another day.

But we can try to understand

The New York Times effect on man.

 

Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother

You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.

Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’

And we’re staying’ alive, staying alive.

Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive. 

 

So while we’re alive, let’s keep dancing, heavy bag of stones and all.