Fast and Cool

What really matters... You gotta be cool... 

Three years ago (3/31/2015 -- "Up and Down the Dial"), I posted about the #SiriusXM satellite "highway"—taken each night; sometimes holding my sanity together on the parking lot known as Houston traffic, descending like a femoral artery into downtown.

The alchemy of memories and music transports me back on a tightrope time-machine to a place when we were all pretty "kewl", if I can say so myself. “Fast and Cool” as in the club, or Fast Times at Ridgemont High, for movie buffs.

Maybe a long time ago, but I remember when we were buff and the feathered haircuts fell just right on starched oxford button-downs. The girls all dressed for each other, and the wild night was calling. There was a time, back in my prime, when your old-man could really lay it down; but we didn’t rely on Instagram or Facebook to show everybody. It was sealed in our memories.

The music, tasting the rum, giving or getting all the jokes; ok, crank up the car stereo, and take off. The feel of a slow-dance with that girl you like… in the end, there's only the dance. How did the years go by so fast but the memories play back so slow? The smell of a ski boat's exhaust, a bonfire; I can hear the roar of the crowd, or the whisper in the ear. Youthful discovery is like electricity, but the assurance of wisdom is comforting. Life’s a balance in every decade. Maybe my pendulum needs to swing back to happiness; time flies whether you’re having fun or not.

It could be the passing of an old friend recently, or the end of a long week sending me on this journey, but my “trigger” is often just the right song, which takes me to the file cabinet in my head: pulling out the right disk from the right decade. We manually take it out of the sleeve and place it on the record player, crackling and hissing with expectation. Easter is the season of passage from death to life. The memories linger tonight in the “bardo” or in-between: I don't try to reconcile the past, but I do go back.

Without a physical photographic record on social media, how do I prove our youth? We were from all over the state, and the world was much more laid back. Somehow we had enough money to pool our resources as a group; supporting a large social structure consistently together to have a good time, and act “big”. I went to high school and college with the fast and cool crowd, always looking for adventure, maybe we were like the Club Gryffindor before we knew about Harry Potter. Or it might have been a middle-child syndrome, seeking to fit-in?

I would like to think of those foolish, happy days not as my last fling, despite the age and the miles. I believe that there are new beginnings in every springtime; I’d like to be happy again. Maybe we can get together and shake off the worldly blues and stride out tomorrow with the same arrogant confidence we had in our twenties, when everything was possible?

Probably not, but at least give the same swagger. I have more money and less hair. My car is not as hot, but more reliable. I’m more educated, but hopefully wiser. The songs seem more poignant now; the friendships deeper and more valuable. At least we can commiserate rather than compete—like we did back in those heady days. I don’t want to impress anyone like we used to, I’d rather show humility and kindness than competence and success. My heart yearns to express connection, admit defeat, listen with an attentive ear, be slow to speak, quick to squelch my opinion, easy to talk to, or ask for a favor.

“Grief” and its verb “grieve” come from the Latin gravis, “heavy, weighty” and its verbal form, gravare, “to burden or cause to grieve.” Grieving is like being weighed down with sorrow and a sense of loss. “Mourn” has its origins in the Old English murnan, “to mourn, to be anxious”. Jung says that mourners are fortunate because they are involved in a growth process, that “even though it cost me a great deal to regain my footing; now, I am free to become who I truly am.” (end quote) This is God’s truth, because the more I’ve cried and felt wretched and worthless, the more often I've felt on-a-passage (journey), and that I could have occasional moments of utter joy.

I think we know now how elusive confidence really is; the escalator has made some unexpected stops. Values now drawing respect are affinity, realism, collaboration, servant-leadership, empathy, kindness, faith, relationship, and humility. Money, beauty and power are not only elusive but ephemeral. Age tends to level the playing field even for those who woke up on third-base. (you know who you are).

Character is formed in the crucible, but everyone yearns for a second-chance; like the magical saying under the pyramid, on the back of a one-dollar bill: novus ordo seclorum (“a new order for the ages”). That’s what's astonishing about Easter; with Christ there is always the opportunity to brush yourself off and start again. His work on the cross gives us new life, forgiveness in exchange for our brokenness. This year I will relish in free grace, give thanks for true friends: “put that one on His tab, please…” 

I need to write off a few things, people, and losses, starting again with a clean ledger; don’t we all? Happy Easter.

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Scuba diving Part II: The Diver Drop

Jumping In, Ready to Be Still

"Keep the line moving, miss," said the drudging government agent. The TSA may not seem like the quickest crew around, but they have to keep the line moving this spring break. 

There’s In-n-Out, Jiffy Lube, Quick Books, and Slim Fast. Moderns live by their calendars; and time seemingly accelerates at an ever increasing speed. Faster is better, right? Quick and easy are seductive words in this culture; slow and methodical just kills the buzz. Who wants to be still?

Underwater exploration is a life lesson in waiting, patience, and methodical skill. Scuba divers learn, train, practice, drill, equip, deliberate, plan, slowly descend, and patiently wait for the lifetime burning in every moment below the ocean surface. The ocean floor is God’s amusement park, but you cannot move through the snarled line and get to the ride any faster.

Diversity, color, and quiet. Those three things resonate in my “diving memory.”  The dark ocean I saw in Cozumel irradiated the deepest blue I had ever seen, even alluring in its pull. With colors as abundant as salt in the reefs of Belize, God designed vivid hues bursting forth like the strip in Las Vegas, but with natural beauty. Sometimes divers wish their faceplate contained a magnifying glass, for there are as many infinitesimal animals crawling around the reef as big fish swimming by. Diversity multiplied by one-thousand!

Once the diver assumes balance between his buoyancy and the weight belt, and breathing is slow; he is able to open himself to the wide vision of an explorer. This leveling is easier to describe than achieve. Slow breathing conserves the supply of air, and smooth swimming calms the body. The Chinese call this wu wei—expectant beingness*, below the water. Actionless action is opposite of conquest or conscious striving; instead the diver allows the ocean world to unfold before him, as a gracious sojourner in a foreign land.

Dive plans typically set out safety parameters, length and depth of diving, but should only propose basic goals for the dive. This does not get to the heart of expectations. Struggling against the ocean as an alien is fruitless, wasteful, and even foolish; each dive takes so much preparation and cost, divers often feel rushed. The few minutes of exploration rarely turn out as expected; indeed Scuba divers experience the wonder of marine exploration only when they move with the rhythm of the current and join in the gradual unfolding of undersea life as a respectful guest.

As I sit next to a busy Houston boulevard reading and writing about my diving experiences, automobiles routinely pass by in the background. The rhythmic surging of sound on the pavement reminds me of the crashing waves at surf’s edge. Not exactly observing the Caribbean Sea, yet my log book takes me back to these dives as if I hold my mask and regulator and flip backwards into the ocean. Here we go!

writing ©Mark H. Pillsbury
*note: concept discussed by Sue Monk Kidd in When the Heart Waits (HarperCollins 1990); my application to Scuba diving is original.