LAST TRAIN TO BELMONT

ONE FOOT ON THE PLATFORM . . .

In 1999, my designer wife and I moved our family business from Washington State to the East Coast. We wanted to expand the line of home decorative accessories we were manufacturing to include upholstered furniture, and we found the production facilities we needed in the piedmont foothills of western North Carolina. So we bought a commercial building and relocated the business to Belmont, an old textile mill town west of Charlotte. We have moved between Belmont and Charlotte several times in the past twenty years, and a couple of months ago we moved back to Belmont again. Very likely for the last time. It was a homecoming of sorts . . . but one that is kind of bittersweet.

The “sweet” part of coming back to Belmont is that we are now living next door to some of our favorite people on the planet: our daughter and her family. Our son and daughter recently purchased this property, and they are now our landlords. My wife and I are still active and live independently; but we are in our mid-seventies, and starting to have some health problems. And it is comforting to be near family if we need help as we “age out”. (God! What an awful term—but that is exactly what we are doing! Running out the clock.) So, we feel blessed that our kids care for us, and that our daughter wants to keep us close.

The other sweet part of this homecoming is the town of Belmont itself. With a population of around 12,000, it reminds me of the small railroad town out West where I grew up back in the 1950’s and 60’s. The historic downtown is an active business district, with most of the original brick and mortar buildings still standing. And although they haven’t stopped at our little depot for many years, main line trains still rumble and clatter over the Main Street crossing multiple times every day. It’s a place where people you don’t even know nod and speak to you as you pass in the street. A place far enough away from the glare of city lights so you can get your bearings from the North Star on winter nights. Even if you are just running out the clock, it’s a pretty sweet spot to do it.

Now, the “bitter” part of our recent move is that this is probably the last move we will ever make. We are getting old and the game of life is nearly over for us. The end of the line. Hopefully we won’t reach that final destination tomorrow—or next month—or even the next few years. But we are starting to see glimmers of eternity on the horizon.

And the physical demands of our recent move have brought into dramatic relief just how old we really are. It has made us realize that at some point the calculation will change from whether or not we can carry that heavy box out to the car, to whether or not we can carry ourselves out to the car. It is worrisome.

Getting old ain’t for sissies. My dear mother used to say, “It’s a great life, son, if you don’t weaken”. She was right—but even if you are in good health, the body does inevitably change and weaken over time. Routine tasks that you used to perform easily become annoying challenges. You don’t have enough strength in your grip to open some packages and containers. Your hands and fingers cramp when you try to do close work with tools. You hurt yourself more often.

And aging also affects your concentration and ability to focus. Everything takes longer to do, and you become impatient and annoyed more easily with the people and circumstances of daily life. Being old makes you kind of grouchy.

But fortunately, there are also consolation prizes for this time of life—changes that can perhaps make it “semisweet” instead of “bittersweet”. Because somewhere around your mid-seventies, you slip into kind of an existential overdrive. You reach a break-away velocity and altitude where you go into an orbit that requires very little energy or effort to maintain. You come to the realization that all of the really big actions and decisions of life are behind you, and you can see your life with a kind of detached serenity.

Most of the striving and frustrations of the past are over for you! The expectations and the pressures are off. You don’t have to worry any more about whether or not you will make Partner at the firm, or get into that show at the Guggenheim. If you haven’t won a Pulitzer by now, you probably never will. And it’s all OK! No one cares—they never did! And you don’t need to care anymore either.

But the really good news is that not only do you not need to worry about succeeding any longer, you don’t need to worry about failing either. The chances of making a bad decision that will “ruin your life” are not nearly as ominous at 75 as they were at 35, because you don’t really have that much life left to ruin—it’s just about over anyway! What a relief! You took your shot, it got you wherever it got you, and you will just have to be content with the outcome. Now you can make peace with the fact that no matter how well you played the game of life, the House is still going to take the last hand.

So use the time you have left to pursue the things you love. Surround yourself with things that please you. Be kind to yourself. Do things that feed your soul. Talk with your spouse. Listen to good music. Eat good food. Paint. Write. Leave the rest of the world on the doorstep. Make a space where that which is eternal in you might find new expression through your words and actions.

You know, these really could be the best years of your life . . .

GDK 12/20/2021