Years ago, my late wife and I took a train from St. Paul, Minnesota to Whitefish, Montana. I do not remember what motivated us to take that route, nor what we wanted to see during the few days we stayed in Whitefish. I remember clearly, though, the scenery as we traversed parts of North Dakota—hour after hour of empty prairies. And I remember overhearing other passengers complain about how the view outside the train’s windows was dreary and bleak and maddeningly dull. That is not what I saw when I watched the miles go by. I found captivating the desolation that other passengers found boring. There was something supremely serene about that isolated, repetitive landscape. Reflecting on that experience, I think gazing at the prairies was akin to meditation. I saw incredible beauty in those vast expanses of natural grasslands. My memories of Whitefish are vague. The snow-capped mountains and forests were spectacular, of course, but they did not get etched into my memory the way the flatlands of North Dakota did. I wonder whether I would see the same scenery if I were to make a return trip? Do my memories of the lonely landscapes reflect reality, or have I modified my recall to fit what I want to have seen?
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Last night, in conversation with friends, the matter of the “next stages” of our lives came up. None of us has an interest in battling the challenges of home ownership for the rest of our lives. All of us were in agreement that some form of housing in which the costs and responsibilities for maintenance, upkeep, yard work, etc. would be borne by someone else (knowing full well, of course, that the costs will be borne by us, whether directly or not). The appeal of townhouses or condos, in which costs of “home ownership” would be shared, probably would be offset by the fact that such “independent living” arrangements would involve close proximity to neighbors. Privacy would diminish at the same rate as individual obligations. Some of the conversation, though, triggered me to think about a modified version of co-housing, in which small groups of friends would buy or build individual low-maintenance homes on land configured to provide individual/family privacy and ready access to others in the group when needs arose. A small group of people might be able to jointly fund a limited staff to handle limited maintenance, housework, and so forth. At this stage of our lives, though, the time for planning and executing such a concept probably has passed. But maybe not…
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Old age and treachery will always beat youth and exuberance.
~ David Mamet ~
Salli, thanks for sharing your recommendation of Gwande’s book. I look forward to getting my hands on a copy.
You have tapped into my subconscious. I have thought a great deal about the issue of what type of arrangements are most advantageous for people such as Bud and I (and you) at this time of life. A book that I have been listening to on Audible address head on the issues of life plans for people as they age. In Being Human, the physician Atul Gwande explores the conflict between medical responses to health problems and safety issues versus providing opportunities for people to continue to have autonomy and fulfillment. While medical science is increasingly successful at extending life, few in the field have addressed quality of the same lives. He explains many of the issues you and I are aware of and describes some people who have introduced “radically different” ways to address engagement, autonomy, the spark of life that makes life worth living. I think you would find the book very thought-provoking.