All this time spent online is not at all what I anticipated in retirement.

Perhaps, you know, rather than the lingering over coffee and an open newspaper or even a Bible and or deep meditation in front of a candle first thing each day.

I’m still seeking an ideal daily routine, or perhaps even a weekly one.

What are my goals at this stage of my life? I’d still love to have a champion for my literary ambitions.

For that matter, how will the renovations to our dwelling impact me? It should be easier to stay up later or take afternoon naps, for one thing, or even listen to music. Things were getting pretty crowded.

Many of my activities weren’t on the horizon, back when I was thinking ahead to my years of freedom. Blogging, choir, photography, and, for a while, swimming laps all came along after I left the newsroom. As was moving to this remote fishing village on an island in Maine, where 8 p.m. is the local midnight and dawn can start appearing around 3.

One option just might be rediscovering the joys of “simmering” abed in the morning, likely with (decaf) coffee and some light reading or journaling.

Now, if I could only purge some of my deadline-driven dreams that trouble my sleep.

 

For years, Vanity Fair closed each edition with its own Proust questionnaire of a celebrity, which I always read even when it was my introduction to the celebrity in question.

Turns out Proust merely prompted what became a popular party game and perhaps more.

Still, I’ve found that these can be a fine prompt for self-reflections, especially when I was drafting contributor’s notes to accompany my literary appearances in small-press periodicals.

Here goes.

What is your idea of perfect happiness? Being centered in the Holy Now within a circle of those I love and trust.

What is your greatest extravagance? Dining out. Or entry-level boutique wines.

What is your current state of mind? Littered across too many fields.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? Actions rooted in a sense of duty or obligation, rather than passion or desire.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue? Patriotism.

What is your favorite occupation? Deep writing and revision when the act becomes a form of prayer.

What is your most marked characteristic? Serious, with a twist of lime.

What do you most value in your friends? Spiritual warmth.

What do you most dislike / deplore about your appearance? Aging, and all that comes with it.

Which living person do you most despise? Besides Trump and his toadies on the Supreme Court?

On what occasion do you lie? Not lies, exactly, but less than full disclosure under uncomfortable conditions.

I’m not writing poems lately
but I’m not praying much, either

Let me elaborate:

Consider the act of writing as prayer. Neither is done for outward compensation, much less any guarantee of results, but rather to open one’s heart and mind to what is eternal and true – and attune oneself to that, regardless.

(Prompted by artist Jane Kaufmann.)

• Acceptances for publication large and mostly small.
• When newcomers return to Quaker meeting.
• When meeting for worship settles into warm silence.
• Fires in wood-burning stoves.
• Truly fine pizzas.
• Wines and cheeses.
• Appearances by bald eagles and osprey, some of them over my yard.
• My wife’s Christmas traditions – especially the observation of Advent and the 12 days after.
• Retirement and the opportunities it’s opened.
• Viewing whales from shore here.
• Whale watch cruises, no matter what we wind up observing.
• A week’s windjammer cruise. Twice now.
• Great classical music performances, including opera.
• Part-singing in choirs, chamber choirs, and Mennonite circles.
• The renovation of our 1787 homestead.
• Small-town life in Eastport and Dover.
• Sunrises and sunsets.
• Riding big-city subways.
• Full solar eclipses and Northern Lights.
• The Greek Orthodox festival and community.
• Mount Rainier.
• The election of Barack Obama.

I have several pairs of identical thick wool socks – all gifted, by the way – that I’ve worn the majority of the time since moving Way Downeast, summer or winter. You can say I’m quite fond of them and their cushiony effect. But then, the other day, one pair finally wore out – under the heel in one and a toe in the other.

Emotionally? Oh well, it’s about time. Or, I definitely got my mileage out of them. Or, in response, I could elaborate on my belief in having multiple pairs of identical socks so that if one gives out, you’ll ultimately have a new match when one in another set gives way.

Instead, I was left facing a situation where that didn’t exactly fit my model. Or, what is that people say about if the shoe fits?

For me, this stage of winding down, or at least refocusing, includes recognizing realities of aging and finances while living in a remote area of the country. Here are some things I’d say are in my past, no matter how actively I pursued them:

1. Hiking to the top of a mountain.
2. Climbing a ladder more than a few steps.
3. Hearing a full symphony orchestra in person.
4. Ditto for attending an opera.
5. Peyote, psilocybin, or acid. Not this far after taking up meditation.
6. Some of the easier hatha yoga positions. Forget even attempting the harder ones.
7. Writing and revising another novel.
8. Sending out resumes.
9. Camping in a tent or out in the open under the stars.
10. Prolific orgasms.

Or so I keep muttering to myself when I realize I’ve lived here on an island in Maine longer than eight other locations in my zig-zag life’s journey. Somehow, looking back, those others feel more action-packed, dramatic, even influential while this one seems to have flowed by more gently and quickly and, yes, more pleasantly overall.

This, of course, is Eastport, my remote fishing village with a lively arts scene at the easternmost fringe of the continental United States.

The mere idea of writing from an island in Maine strikes me as pretentious, yet here I am, far further east than the others, and I am here year-round, whatever.

My habitations of shorter duration were all in my 20s and 30s, largely career moves one way or another and mostly taken as professional stepping stones to something higher, though the next move was rarely the one I anticipated. This, in contrast, is in my 70s, with any dreams of next steps largely evaporated. Rather, I’m savoring an awareness of culmination, even if the big successes I desired ultimately remain vaporous. Especially the bestseller rankings or critical approval or genius grant recognition remain vaporous.

Add to that the fact of time going faster the older you get, something I’ve previously remarked on here at the Barn.

Returning to the thought of residency, the three longer locations in my route were my native Dayton (20 years) before I set forth to other fields, and then, finally, slowing down again in New Hampshire, with 13 years in Manchester and 21 in Dover.

I’ve been attentive to what I have in all the turmoil.