In April I will turn 59. That’s not yet sixty; it’s still barely within the range of middle age. But sixty and older will come, not just to me, but to anyone who lives that long. In this there is no shame. Yes, you start sensing that much of the world regards you as obsolete or overlooks you entirely. On the other hand, you are much stronger and more confident than a few decades earlier. You realize that you can do whatever you want, within internal and external limits; you become more concerned with living fully (kindly, boldly, responsibly, keenly) than with winning approval. Or at least you see the possibility.
It has taken me years to move beyond approval, but I have done it, though I still have blips here and there. Winning approval was my means of defense, during family conflict and at school. I was good at it; people praised me for my intellectual abilities and accomplishments, my interest in languages, my cello playing. But when I hit early adulthood (and even much earlier), I needed to escape the snare of approval but didn’t know how. The things people approved of in me were genuine but incomplete; I hadn’t been faking anything, but I had constrained myself. For instance, I loved certain classical music but also kinds of music that parents and teachers looked down on. I had serious intellectual interests but was not only intellectual. I loved quiet but had a wild streak too. To get my point across, I started doing things that people disapproved of (which missed the point, I later understood). Over time, I learned to care far less about approval: to listen to and play about the music I wanted, write about what I wanted, read freely, speak my mind, stay quiet when I don’t want to say anything at all, and relate to others as equals. How great it would have been to do this earlier! But that’s partly what years are for.
Last night I went to hear Cz.K. Sebő / capsule boy (his electronic project); he was opening for Analog Balaton, a soulful, beatful pop electronic duo. Analog Balaton had a double show, on two consecutive days; both were sold out (and capsule boy was playing only on the second). On Thursday, the capsule boy single and video “Funeral Circular” came out. The song (which Sebő wrote in Spanish) conveys bright light and darkness and reminds me of moments of Arvo Pärt’s Tabula Rasa; the video, directed by Ákos Székely, with graphics and dancing by Fruzsina Balogh, takes you deep into the song and into something else too. Something exciting and important has taken off here; I can’t wait to see where it goes.
Sebő’s songs and performance captivated the (huge) crowd; as the set progressed, more and more people joined in the listening, dancing, swaying, cheering. He seemed to catch on to the response, to relax into it and enjoy it. He seemed fully in his element with the music, bringing the samples in and out, singing and backing away, moving to the beat, conveying the mood.
I had a great time there (with some lovely conversation afterward too); I stayed for a little bit of Analog Balaton but then left to catch a not-too-late train back to Szolnok. I read Cortázar on the way home and arrived a little after midnight.
So yes, it gives me joy to be able to go hear a concert like this, to see and hear a favorite musician taking his directions and being so enthusiastically received. This was only a fraction of my week; on Friday I went to a literary event hosted by Eső, and the week has otherwise been filled with teaching, writing, translating, music, reading (in Hungarian, English, Russian, Spanish, and Biblical Hebrew), planning for the Shakespeare Festival, practicing Books 7 and 8 of Esther, which I will be chanting on Purim, and taking care of various odds and ends. But as far as fractions go, it’s a resplendent one.
Back to the question of age: It is true that at a particular age or stage of life, certain activities are more appropriate than others. There’s something undignified, rude, possibly even destructive, about pretending to be am age you are not. But if you are not pretending, and if the activity is good, then there’s every reason to do it if you want. To listen to music, play music, dance, sing. To be there at great moments. To follow your own instinct and ear. To care and at the same time toss away worries. To leave false assumptions, false oppositions behind. To grieve and rejoice as life will have it, trusting your own rhythms and forms, which others may or may not understand. To be able, at the end of it all, to recall Yeats’s “To my Heart, bidding it have no Fear“:
Be you still, be you still, trembling heart;
Remember the wisdom out of the old days:
Him who trembles before the flame and the flood,
And the winds that blow through the starry ways,
Let the starry winds and the flame and the flood
Cover over and hide, for he has no part
With the lonely, majestical multitude.
I met Aengus (formerly Thomas) last Thursday. At first he shrank away from me; I saw that he had only one eye. But when I put my hand inside the cage and began to stroke him, he cuddled up to my hand and purred, and rolled and purred some more.
I named him Aengus after the Yeats poem “
Take Away the Takeaway 