"Obama Stole My Homework!"- Ebola, Robin Williams, ISIS and the canyons between us...

I have been having too much fun with my family to blog for the last week (plus)... but the time has come. I'm never quite sure what I'm going to write about, then it seems as if something hits me in the face, and I have to get it out. So what, you might ask, has viciously attacked my face and forced me to write today? Ebola? Ferguson? Robin Williams? Syria? ISIS? Obama? Well, all of them, I guess... but more importantly what I'm seeing as our reactions to all of them.

This isn't going to be a blog about how you SHOULD react to crisis and whatnot... instead, it is simply an observation of how people do seem to react. On Facebook right now, my news feed is filled with reactions to Robin Williams' death. Personally, I'm sad about his loss: I show The Dead Poets' Society to my seniors almost every year, and have grown a strange attachment to his character. He has inspired me, and I am saddened to think of his personal pain and struggle. Although my family has experienced suicide very directly, I cannot claim to understand the depression behind the act- I've been extremely blessed in this life with never really having to deal with depression... therefore, I can't begin to understand or judge it. Still, I was strangely, but, joyfully overwhelmed when on the day of his death, hundreds of my friends and students posted about this single man, who's loss they felt directly. How amazing that we can collectively mourn the loss of someone 99% of us have not met personally. How beautiful that we allow our humanity to shine as we allow ourselves that grief.

But... the end of Tuesday arrived, and with it, my news feed began showing signs of the world's "second thoughts". Many posts on how "suicide is selfish" appeared, and alongside those, articles about how depression is a disease, and how ridiculous it is to blame those who commit suicide.

And it began. The division. It's always there. It breaks my heart...

An over-simplification is to say that some people appear to react to things from a fear base... others, from a place of optimism. I don't know how to get these folks to understand each other... I don't know that we can... but I see them judge and hurt each other. Those who are angry at much in the world see the optimists as the problem, as they believe the optimists are blind to the truth... the optimists get frustrated with the angry folks and often feel it is the negativity they push causing the problems.

I don't know who is right... and frankly, I don't care. I want to feel my sadness about Robin Williams' death. I want to be angry at my family members who chose to leave me. I want to forgive them. I want to understand.

I was very amused the end of the year when my youngest daughter started joking about all the hate and blame leveled at President Obama. We don't talk much about politics or religion in our house: we wish our children to develop their own beliefs... we "preach" kindness and education... they can take it from there. Still, when Kobie couldn't find a homework assignment she'd worked diligently on for hours, she said, "Ahhh! Obama must have taken it!" Then she laughed at herself for having misplaced it. She hears the division... at 14 she's aware of society's greatest struggle.

So as I continue to filter through the "we must save the children from ISIS" versus "these are not our people and this is not our war" posts... filter through the fear over Ebola in our country versus the people praising the medical personnel who have risked, and given their lives to help... as I filter through all this, I am continually trying to remind myself that we are all doing the best we can. We are all trying to do what we believe it right- even if we disagree on what is right... we are all working with our individual cards, making the best choices and creating opinions based on the information in front of us... but the best days... the best days are the ones when we unite. The ones when in the collective shock over a superstar's suicide, we all take a moment to acknowledge he MEANT something to us... together.

Why doesn't my brain understand I'm now OLD? (Or: "Pass the Fruit Loops please?")

When I was young, I distinctly remember being sure that "old" was when you reached 30. I remember being absolutely terrified of dying because I had so much I wanted to do in life. I'm now 46 years old, so I guess to my young self, I'm practically ancient... however, like most people I speak with about this, that 17 year old brain doesn't seem to understand it is older now. I still feel like ME. I don't feel like "old ME" (except for maybe the first 30 seconds after I get out of bed in the morning and have to stretch a bit...gah...)

The last three days have insisted I think about age: my age, other peoples' ages and how all of this aging stuff works. I have had Facebook discussions with a few friends (and even an ex-boyfriend) from my teen years in the last 3 days... all people I haven't verbally spoken with in about 25 years or more. Yet, when chatting online with them, I feel as if almost no time has passed. Yes, I am married and have kids now... big, grown kids. Yes, I have been a teacher for the last 16 years, and even though that is a huge part of my life, these folks don't know that part of me. Still, there is this direct cord that seems to connect me to the 18 year old I was- she is still in here. She has been very vocal lately as circumstances have made her notice her own existence in my 46-year-old-world.

Three days ago my mom and I started off on an adventure to see Rod Stewart (still not a fan as I think my mother bombarded my childhood with his music) and Santana play in Eugene, Oregon... those guys are old. I thought of them as old guys 25 years ago... and guess what? They are still old. However, the process of walking into the stadium made me feel REALLY young. I was surrounded by Baby Boomers- grey hair EVERYWHERE... I wasn't sure I met a minimum age requirement to even enter the building. But as I sat and watched, I noticed something: they don't think they are old anymore than my inner-self will let me think it. I really began noticing a few songs in when Carlos Santana told the audience to get up and dance... the Baby Boomers with their early arthritis, new knees and deepening wrinkles immediately followed orders. They ignored their old shells and danced... and I felt even younger. A bit later, this same crowd, as if to drive home some universal message, began scream-singing "Forever Young" with Stewart. When he launched into singing "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy"... I could do little other than laugh. He was up there in tight pants dancing with a projection behind him of a quote he said years ago: "I don't want to be 50 and still singing about people wanting my body"... well the guy is 69 years old and still singing it- he acknowledged it was silly, but everyone of those Boomers loved it and sang it too... in fact, he dumped balloons all over the floor seating area and those 60 and 70 somethings played with the balloons until the show was over, then grabbed them to take home as a souvenir... do we ever really get old?

Our concert adventure continued last night when we attended a classical concert at the Britt Festival. I was definitely too young to be allowed in this concert- grey hair was gone and white hair was the norm. Still, the same rule of age applied... the music was old, but the 80 year old youngsters were out to party! One lady was in tie-dyed clothes from head to toe. The group swayed to the music and gave the 25 year old conductor and his orchestra a standing ovation that lasted for 4 curtain calls. These folks weren't home watching TV from their recliners- they had climbed a hill to listen to music they loved- they didn't know they are old... and I mean some of these folks were REALLY REALLY old... they just felt alive. My mom looked like a youngster in the group...

So... about aging: our bodies do it, but it seems for many of us, other than experience, our minds don't get it... and I've noticed I feel less-old in understanding this. I feel less-old in seeing the life of the folks I've encountered in the last few days... there is still so much living to do no matter how old we are...

(on a side note: next week I'm going to see Bruno Mars with my girls... I may be writing about how old I feel after that experience!)