Memory Lane
There's a long walkway at the San Francisco Airport which leads to the United Airlines gates. And it has become a museum of sorts, with fascinating exhibits of varying kinds displayed there throughout the year; an entertaining and educational diversion for travelers passing by. 

Over the years I've seen exhibits of kitchen-ware, computers, furniture, and much more as I passed by on the way to catch a flight. It changes about four times a year - and is always interesting.

As I walked through the current display a few weeks ago, I initially smiled and thought "How cool !" It's a collection of 1950's television and public media memorabilia. There were the faces and programs I had grown-up watching. 

I knew them all quite well, and had specific memories involving each. For anyone over 55 - this was a walk through our own personal history. There was Howdy Doodie, and the Honeymooners. The Lone Ranger, Davy Crockett, and Hop Along Cassidy. 

There were the old TV's from the 50's too. I can still remember when they seemed quite modern to me. Now they looked unbelievably old, and primitive. And over it all hung the air of nostalgia. My initial reaction was one of a sense of fondness; a sense of missing the joys of this simpler, happier time. I think it's a fairly common reaction to seeing images from one's childhood. 

I'd arrived quite early for my flight that day, so I was able to really take my time. I slowly walked from one exhibit case to another - reading the descriptions - lingering over photos I knew well, but hadn't seen in many years.

But as I neared the half-way point, I noticed that I was no longer feeling the warm and soothing glow of sentimentality that I'd experienced when I first approached the exhibit. 

A Detour to Reality
As I got deeper and deeper into the displays, that wistful sense of homesickness that is the core element of nostalgia was suddenly gone. 

I stood staring at photos of the Mickey Mouse Club, Ozzie & Harriet, and Wagon Train - and I gradually became overwhelmed with the inverse of my initial sense of nostalgia. I was becoming depressed and uncomfortable. 

And as I arrived at a photo of one of my all-time favorite childhood movies - Old Yeller - I was completely consumed with a sense of lamentation and annoyance. I caught a reflective glimpse of myself in the glass of the display case - and was shocked to see a look of pure, undiluted disdain on my face. In the space of twenty minutes I had gone from dreamy nostalgia to utter contempt - and sadness. And I knew why.

I suppose popular media is always a reflection not only of who we are - but also of how we want to see ourselves. It is the projection of our values, our interests - our society and culture. And that is why I was suddenly feeling so very un-nostalgic. 

For as I looked at all those happy faces and scenes from the 50's, it was suddenly very clear to me that in none of them did I see a reflection of who I was during that time. Indeed, these images and that culture were a very clear and obvious negation of me - and everyone like me. These images said to me "not only do you not count - we wish you weren't even here." 

You see, in none of those happy faces and scenes of life were there any images of people of color. There were no Asians. There were no Latinos. And there were certainly no black faces - nor black lives - featured in this compendium of American happiness. None. Not one. 

Ashes to Ashes
And as I stood there, I realized that as a child in the 50's I had absorbed thousands of images and messages that said "You don't matter. You don't count."

Yes - we've come a long, long way from that America - though we still have many challenges in front of us - and barriers to overcome. But the America displayed in those exhibits disappeared a long time ago. And as I strolled toward my flight that morning, my overriding feeling was "Thank God those days are gone."  My homesickness had evaporated in the realization that that America had never been my home. I had never been invited in. For me, that walk down memory lane had grabbed nostalgia by the throat - and shoved it into the grave where it so justly belongs.

So RIP 50's nostalgia. I miss you Not.

I don't know about you - but when I was a kid, I thought 60 was old. Really old. Gateway to the Golden Years old. A time when thoughts turn to slowing down and retirement. A time to look back - and "kick back" - as you step-aside for younger generations. And actually - so it used to be.

So today is my birthday - and no I'm not 60. I'm 61. And while it doesn't 'freak me out' - so to speak - it definitely gets your attention. One thing is for sure about birthdays after your 50th (to say nothing of your 60th) - you tend to be more reflective when each one arrives. And to a certain extent - somber. After all, it's absolutely certain that you have far fewer birthdays ahead of you than behind. And so the awareness of your own mortality is definitely enhanced.

But something else is also very evident to me today; 61 ain't what it used to be. I look around me, and I see people my age doing things and thinking in a manner that would've been totally foreign to my parents generation. Today, people past 50 are a much livelier breed than used to be the case. I'm reminded of Gail Sheehy's two popular books, some years ago, on the subject of aging: Passages and her later New Passages.

In the first she examined the different stages on life's journey, and in the second she investigated how each new generation is changing the inherited wisdom on how we traverse those stages. And since WWII, each generation has changed that inherited wisdom a lot. For example - nowadays (due largely to advances in medicine and diet) people not only live longer lives - they also live healthier ones. 

Can't Wait for Tomorrow
When I was in my teens, whole wheat bread was essentially unheard of; let alone yoga, and vegetarianism, or any number of health related things we now take for granted. Regular exercise past 30? Used to be quite rare. Whereas now, not exercising is what makes one stand-out. And the cumulative impact of such things spread across an entire demographic have wrought profound changes on aging - for the better.

And having come of age in the 1960's, I am part of a generation that rejected everything about the word "traditional". Nowadays it's not only not surprising to see people in their 40's and 50's start new careers - it's actually quite commonplace. Sheehy called the phenomena "second adulthood" and talked of how, from the late 1960's forward, it has become a defining feature of how we now look at life. In-fact, the idea of completely changing one's life to pursue a dream after 40 or 50 has become quite common.

So yeah - it's my birthday. And I'm 61 today.  But unlike anything I could've earlier imagined about reaching this age - my thoughts are completely forward looking and filled with enthusiasm. And more than ever I realize the value and profundity of a saying that each day seems less of a cliché to me; Today is the first day of the rest of my life. 

I'm taking a vacation today; from eating. 

One of the nice things about aging is that you become more and more able to hear your body when it talks to you. And one of the oft-ignored messages it sends is "hey! I need a break". Mine has been telling me this for several months actually. But like I said - "oft-ignored."

So today my body is getting its way and I will give it a break from the constant grind of digesting and absorbing all of the various substances I ingest. Today I fast.

Fasting is a paradox of sorts. After all, nothing is easier than to not eat; you just don't do it. Yet at the same time - nothing is more difficult. I mean, eating is almost as automatic as breathing. In-fact, many times we eat without even being aware that we're doing so. We call it munching. You know, when you're mentally occupied with another task, but simultaneously, without thinking about it, continue to reach into a bag of chips (or whatever) and then put them into your mouth. It's akin to slouching in a chair while watching TV. You do it without even being aware that you're doing it.

So while fasting could not be simpler, it also requires a great deal of conscious attention and effort. And therein lies one of its chief benefits. It requires focus. And living, as we do, in an age of distraction, focus is becoming something of a lost art. A skill that requires training so as not to evaporate and become lost. And it seems that anything we do that enhances this skill is beneficial since it is required to achieve any goal we pursue in life.

Of course, one of the reasons focus is so difficult a skill to master is that it too has a prerequisite; discipline. The word itself seems to connote submission to something unpleasant. When I hear that word I often think of the swats with a paddle we used to receive in junior high-school when we misbehaved. You'd have to bend-over and grab your ankles while the hefty gym teacher swung a big wooden paddle against your butt - several times. They called it "discipline".

So it really doesn't help to know that focus requires - gulp - discipline.  And not just discipline in the abstract, but the most extreme form of such; self-discipline. That's right; you have to do it to yourself.  No wonder it's becoming so rare.

But when I stop eating for a day or two I notice several things happening to me that are extremely pleasant. I begin to think more clearly. I begin to feel lighter, less tense. And I find it much easier to feel - well - me. I enter this mental state in which I'm just more aware of my own self; my mind and body more in-tune. And the more this state develops, the more I realize that it is itself a form of consumption; a meal of sorts. And a very delicious one.

So today I will not eat. And in not doing so I will feast on one of my favorite things. Me.