Journal Day 4 of my 71st Year
A Waste of Time?
It is odd – or humorous if I’m having a good day – to think how feelings of guilt shift from youth to old age, from childhood to parenthood, from career days to retirement. But guilt is an unproductive and nearly destructive emotion. It’s a reaction, seldom a thoughtful response. Guilt is not the same as remorse or shame. They require empathy. Guilt requires no less than selfish admission, no more than public confession.
So, I’m watching the birds this morning and wondering why anyone feels guilty about using their time to sit quietly and watch birds as they gather to feed, drink, and talk.
My father took us outdoors and taught us to watch and listen. We walked Thieves’ Hollow on my grandparents’ property in West Texas near the Pease River. Because we were with him at a young age, we waited for his signals. We found stone tools, snakes, birds, iron tools, old toys, and insects. We heard the calls of big cats and cattle. We saw colors where reds and brown dominated the countryside. When we were old enough, we’d walk the miles among mesquite and stream beds without our dad. Although our dad relived his childhood treks between the rivers and along paths once walked by Comanche and Kiowa, he also used this time with his children to rest his weary brain and refresh his soul.
Later, after adventuring as a young adult in the 1970s, traveling from New Mexico to Alaska and Pennsylvania and back, I also started taking my children to the outdoors. Not in pursuit of sports or hiking for hiking’s sake but in the pursuit of heightened senses and soul. I taught them to watch and listen. This is different to the ways that other parents entertain their children. Parents can give children a large empty box and crayons to do as they please or give them a tablet with video and noise. With one toy, the children will analyze space, imagine something, use trial-and-error, and create something they envision. With the other toy, the children will be fed what the manufacturer envisioned. Both toys use the child’s time. But there is no guilt about time wasted because children are expected to learn by doing. By watching and listening carefully. So cardboard box or electronic toy are guilt-free ways to let children play.
When I was a child, I broke a porcelain dish that my mother had inherited. I felt remorse because I loved looking at the dish, and I knew that it belonged to my mother’s memories. I acknowledged my guilt and apologized for my clumsiness. I was only about twelve years old. My remorse was genuine. I wanted to leave childhood clumsiness behind me and be more trustworthy with my parents’ things. I did not want to hurt my mother’s feelings with the loss of something precious. Of course, she hugged me and told me not to worry. “Things happen. Just be careful.”
When I was older, I broke a promise. It hurt like hell for years, far longer and deeper than I’d ever imagined. At first, I hid the guilt by lying about it. Then, when I couldn’t lie any more, I acknowledged the guilt but refused to face the other person’s hurt. I blamed the other person for my guilt. As an adult, I did not want to admit my ‘clumsiness’. I hated my actions, my weakness, my inability at first to rectify the problems or confess my wrongs. As years passed and the space between my broken promise and positive endeavors grew, my guilt subsided. The pressure to admit I hurt another person lessened when I realized that trust and love had to be restored over time, under varying circumstances, during the highs and lows of the relationship, with a steady heart and hand toward reconciliation. The initial guilt was selfish and hurtful. The ensuing decades of remorse and empathy made me a better person. Time was not wasted in these years. Time gave me new chances to grow relationships with empathy and wisdom.
In my old age, I use time differently from years gone by. My writing habits are different. Instead of multiple first drafts that end up in the recycling bin, I watch birds and walk the neighborhoods and think about characters and the plots. I pen a story after I’ve thought it through several times over – while engaging in ‘mindless’ activities. Something I see or hear will remind me of another time or place, another person or event. For example, three small houses circa 1920 on Silver Avenue remind me of where the wealthy residents once housed their ‘help’. Yes. I do remember. The thriving clover in Greene Acres reminds me of the shady place on the north side of our childhood home where I would lay my body in the clover and hide from all the siblings and neighbors. And an Albuquerque car show showcasing 1950s and 60s car reminds me of picnicking in Hillcrest Park as a child and watching the teenager girls flirt with the ‘base apes’ from Cannon, the young men polishing their cars and the girls swaying their skirts to the rock ‘n roll rhythm blasting from cars’ radios.
Of course, I waste time watching a film on television or reading a book. In either case, I’m lost in it and thinking of little else. I don’t feel guilty about the waste – because my mind needs ‘mindlessness’. It needs rest. Even in my sleep, my mind is busy. There was a day I could write the solution to a calculus problem during sleep. Even now, my brain tires before my muscles do. Especially now that I do less physical activity. Whether working in the soil or watching television or sewing, I appreciate down-time, opportunities to recharge and rest.
Everyone uses their down-time – time apart from obligations – in restorative and positive ways. Each of us relishes this time. We should never feel guilty about giving our brains a rest, giving our souls an overhaul, and bringing our senses to their former glory