I don’t know what happened. It caught me completely off-guard. Like a car speeding through a red light, it blindsided me. Or maybe it wasn’t fast at all. Perhaps it crept in slowly, like ivy taking over a wall. You don’t really notice the invasion until one day you realize the surface is no longer visible. However it happened, it has had an impact on my life.
Recently, as Judi and I ran errands around town one afternoon, we paused to consider the possibility of taking in a movie. A 7 p.m. start would mean we wouldn’t leave the theater until around 9 p.m. Factor in a few minutes to drive home, and we would be out until about 9:30. That means that until that time, we had to keep our shoes on and be presentably dressed for public engagement. As our eyes locked, it was as though we could read each other’s mind. Thirty-seven years of marriage can do that. We didn’t really want to be out so late. Mind you, 9:30 is not that late. And it is not like we would go to bed until closer to 11 p.m. anyway. With all due respect to math and fractions, it was then that I heard myself say, half-jokingly and three-fourths seriously, “I’m guess I’m just a matinee kind of guy.”
That description did not always apply to me. In my late teens and early twenties I might well be out until 2 or 3 a.m., and then up again by 5 a.m. for the first milking of the dairy cows. A few mornings, I arrived home just in time to change clothes and go directly to the barn. Though tired and dragging, a jolt of caffeine would propel me forward until such a time as a nap was possible.
In even earlier times, I looked forward to the chance to be in the midst of the crowd, like at a sporting event. Whether at the local high school to watch my sister run point on the varsity basketball team or a trip to Greensboro to watch the Carolina Cougars of the now defunct American Basketball Association, time was never an issue. However, I have a distinct memory as an adult of watching an Indiana Pacers game from the second level of the old Market Square Arena. It was a good evening out, but it occurred to me that all the players appeared to be ant-sized from where I sat. A better view of the action could be had from the comfort of the couch in my living room while watching on a big-screen TV. Sure, there would be no over-priced concession stand to add to the experience but I could pop my own popcorn. I haven’t been back to the arena since. Now, I’d just as soon skip the crowd. Though there is an occasional exception (like a New York theater or the Game of Thrones Live Experience), between the cost, the distance to travel, and the uncomfortable seat, I’ve discovered that I’d rather be elsewhere.
I’m unsure how to feel about this change. I am undecided as to whether to accept it (since I apparently enjoy it) or fight it. It’s interesting. As we get older there are some things we stop doing because we no longer can. For instance, I do not do amusement rides so well anymore. Running doesn’t come as easily as it once did. As much as I loved shooting around on the basketball court, I don’t know if my body is up to the stretches and strains of a pick- up game. Accepting that is called “aging gracefully.” There is something to be said for that; but this is not that. I can stay out late. I just no longer care to do so.
A few years back I encountered a quote that ran something like this: “To have the ability to do something but to choose not to do so is real power.” Read from the perspective of personal agency and choice, or as strategy and restraint, those sound like wise words to remember as we captain our respective ships. They make good sense, for instance, if I have the resources to make an outlandish purchase but decide not to be so wasteful or materialistic. Or if I have the opportunity to exploit or deceive but choose a better path. But is the matinee mentality an exercise of power and choice, or a case of failing to take advantage of an opportunity while it presents itself? The day may come when I am unable to go out at all. Should I never let an opportunity pass by now, lest I have regrets later?
Could this be part of the adjustment to retirement? I am grateful that I was gainfully employed until I was ready not to be. That is not always the case. A painted glass bottle holding homemade peach brandy sits in a cabinet in our home, reminding me of that truth. It came from a Croatian couple living on the border with Serbia. They described themselves as semi-retired, but not by choice. They were displaced during the war and returned to their home to find it stripped bare – “not even a fork remained,” according to the wife. His backyard still was a means for earning some of the money they needed. So was hosting groups like ours as they passed through the area.
Memories like that remind me that I have the means to not work round the clock just to survive, whereas others have no good option but to work beyond 70 years of age to make ends meet. Even if the body is no longer willing or the heart isn’t in it, they punch the clock regularly. Some piece together multiple jobs to make it all work because, well, we do what we have to do, especially if there is no one to do it for us. So I don’t take this freedom lightly.
Neither do I take my home for granted. I’m thankful to have a house where I’d rather be and someone there I’d rather enjoy it with. As a short-sighted youth, I’d occasionally yell to my parents that I couldn’t wait to be old enough to leave home so that I could do as I pleased. Some of us never seem to outgrow that love/hate relationship with home. The place where I live these days felt like holy ground the first time I set foot on it in 1999. That has never changed. It is a daily reminder of the biblical promise, “for where two or three gather together in my name, there am I with them.” (Matthew 18:20). Whether it is location, or the people there, or merely the presence of the Holy, I enjoy being there. Comfort. Happiness. Contentment. Love. All of those are there in abundant supply. Apparently, those don’t come easily for some. Frankly, I don’t take credit for any of it; simply count me among the fortunate. Between location, spouse, plus three cats, I have it pretty sweet.
This blog was prompted by a simple reaction to a decision to not take in a movie. Upon reflection, I’m unsure if the focus is contentment or activity, or possibly even time. It can be argued either way. I have reached the point in life where, from time to time, I wonder how much longer I have to contribute to this world. I have not reached the stage, thankfully, where I hear myself saying, “Well, that is the last time I’ll ever have to do that.” I learned my lesson not to make those assumptions anyway when the Sherwin Williams “Lifetime” paint (which, of course, cost more than its 15-year paint!) only lasted about ten years before needing a fresh coat. When I returned to the dealer, I expressed my disappointment that they had such a low regard for my longevity. I have since switched brands.
If the focus is contentment, then by all means, skip the movie and go home if that is your preference. But if the focus is activity to be completed within a specific time frame, then perhaps I shouldn’t start the car just yet. Thanks to an ingrained Protestant work ethic, a subtle refrain of Jesus’ words echoes in the background: “I must do the works of the One who sent me while it is day; the night is coming when no one can work.” Except for the occasional bad movie that seems like work to endure until the end, matinees aren’t really work, but would the principle still apply? Who knows? If it does, then as the old saying goes, “Times a wastin’!”
Spend time doing the things you enjoy when you can. Whether at home or elsewhere, don’t let opportunities for new experiences pass you by. There may not be another chance. But if there is, I still wouldn’t mind if it were a matinee.
