Social distancing stopped my volunteering. Perhaps in reaction to feeling directionless and underappreciated, I’m visiting my family in central Washington, hoping to return rejuvenated.
Easily Tired
Tomorrow I’m driving to central Washington, for two weeks with my daughter and her children. Forest fires have blocked the most direct route, adding extra hours. That and my malaise from the recent heatwave and smoke might stretch the two-day drive to three. I’m tired and concerned. That’s new for me.
When I lived in St. Louis in the 60s and early 70s, I owned a Mercedes 230SL convertible and enjoyed driving it from St. Louis to Fort Lauderdale Florida, a takeoff point for my favorite sport, SCUBA diving. After one 8-day dive venture, I decided to visit my brother in Toronto. Except for gas and snacks, I drove straight through. I vividly recall my excitement cruising, ragtop down, through the Shenandoah Valley under a brilliant Milky Way. Another time I drove from New York to St. Louis, again only stopping for gas. Those long drives are history.
Anxiety and Covid-19 Risk
I’m leaving for Washington early in the morning, and plan frequent stretch and nap stops. I booked a motel in Madras Oregon, the town where my whole family camped to experience the August 2017 solar eclipse.
How will I be driving nine hours? How about the motel’s Covid-19 cleaning? Eating is another worry. I’m taking coolers with sandwiches and snacks and plenty of water. It would be ironic to catch the bug while driving, to avoid catching the bug while flying.
When I arrive at my daughter’s, I’ll self-quarantine for two days before joining the family. My grandchildren are schooling online, so that risk is low. I believe avoiding Covid-19 is largely managing risk, avoiding dangerous situations, wearing a mask, and reducing your potential exposure times. I’m all for reducing risk.
Feeling Un-Valuable
Staying at home would reduce the risk considerably, but I’m going stir-crazy and feeling increasingly un-valuable. I’ve learned that this feeling of not being useful, of not having a purpose or meaning to life, varies widely among retirees. Some are perfectly happy reading, talking with friends, culling old photos, working on hobbies, watching movies, and cruising the Internet. I enjoy those activities also, but my best days are spent doing things for others.
The bug wiped away most of my volunteering, patching back only a sliver with Zoom. My grandchildren are now at best 6 foot away — no hugs there. I need to feel wanted, helpful, appreciated, touched. That’s me.
This summer I helped my son find a condominium and joined his friends with the move-in. I enjoyed making his condominium more livable with small plumbing fixes and a few repairs. My son graciously asked me several times if he was imposing, did I have other things to do? I replied that he and his sisters are the most important parts of my life, and anything I can do to help them is what I most want to do. While I’m helping him, equally, or more importantly, I’m helping me.
Feeling Helpful and Appreciated
That gets me thinking about the current meaning of my life. While I’m partly content with reading, writing, visiting with friends, etc., where does this need to be helpful come from?
My mother was very appreciative when I did some particularly nasty household tasks, such as clean the grease trap outside the kitchen. I enjoyed helping my father with small construction projects: diverting rainwater away from the house, pruning and grafting the rosebushes, or helping build forms for a new concrete driveway.
In primary school, I enjoyed working at the back of the classroom with students who needed help with reading or math. In my final year of primary school, the headmaster, who was completing a new math textbook, asked me to sit with him and help copyedit. I was so pleased and proud. These were life-shaping experiences.
My Legacy
Verbal appreciation is nice, but being helpful and useful, and appreciated in the long run, is most important. I occasionally think about how my teachers shaped my life and how much I appreciate what they each did 60-75 years ago. They are still alive and treasured in my mind. I’d like to be remembered like that.
Perhaps we are only truly dead when the last person who remembers us dies. Is it stretching a bit to think that I am extending my life by being helpful? Yes, that’s too much. But perhaps it’s true, just a little bit.
I’ll take some photographs on the trip and post them on Facebook. Wish me luck.
Please give me your ideas or suggestions on this or other blogs. I do appreciate your feedback.
Thank you.
me, Barry Phegan
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