Ages and Destiny
September 13, 2008
I figure I'm about a third of my way through life. Maybe one-fourth. But then, you never know. Using this math, when I was about one-fifth of the way through, a lumber truck barreled down a steep grade through twelve intersections in town, hitting the pickup I was riding in, just behind my passenger seat. I died. Came back.
Ages mystify me. As does destiny. Fate. Chance encounters that become the magnificent fork in the road. When Simon meets Garfunkel. And Elvis wants a bike for his eleventh birthday but that costs too much so he gets a guitar instead. And when Cassius Clays' bike is stolen, he takes boxing lessons. These are a few of the fascinating moments in A BOOK OF AGES from infancy to 100 years old. Seems the author Eric Hanson was taken by odd biographical details, charting them for years until they blossomed into the most amazing book.
Interviewing thousands of people over the years, the question I am passionately designed to ask -- and I find the appropriate words for each different subject -- what happened in your life to get you where you are now?
For me, I know the lack of truth and honesty in my family, and the elephant in that living room, propelled me to be a journalist -- to be a seeker of Truth, to be as close to the source as I could possibly be, and to be insatiably curious.
In my third year, as you may know by now if you've been following my book blog, my mother left my father, and moved with my stepfather, younger brother and me -- out of my grandparent's fabulous New York apartment -- whose rooms emanated with love and music and healing -- into the suburbs, close enough to visit NY, but far enough away that we were isolated, so that no one outside this new nuclear family could observe the violence, the suicide attempts, the rapes, and the alcoholism.
So I look up age Three in this book. At three, Elizabeth Taylor enrolls in ballet classes, 1935. Sigmund Freud sees his mother naked, 1859. Mozart learns to play the harpsichord, 1759.
At age four, Mick Jagger meets Keith Richards, 1947. James Thurber's family buys a dog that bits people, 1899. In 1906, Ray Kroc is taken to a phrenologist who says the boy is best suited for the food service industry. Formative stuff.
Age Six -- my favorite: Leonard Bernstein's Aunt Clara sends her piano to Leonard's house to be stored in 1928...and he asks to have lessons. When I was a kid, my grandmother would take me to see Leonard Bernstein in concert. He filled me with music. When I hear music, to this day, I see choreography in my head, thanks to him.
Our lives turn on these seemingly small details in life. It is all a blessing, no matter how cruel. Ray Charles, losing his sight at age six. Joni Mitchell, stricken with polio, and, while hospitalized, discovers that she loves singing, and loves that others love her singing. At age thirteen, Anne Frank receives a diary for her birthday, and later that year is forced, with her family, into hiding.
How rich our lives are because of tragedy! As horrific as my years from four until eighteen were, I would not now trade them for an easier life of trustworthy love. From the pain, comes a depth of compassion in interviews, the ability to see angels, the doggedness and resilience to chase down the actual Truth.
And for the writers among us, there is hope. George Bernard Shaw writes five novels over five years -- each rejected by publishers. He decides to write a play instead.
And for the artists at heart. At age 87, Pablo Picasso creates more than 800 new works in 1968 and 1969.
And for the musicians. At age 95 in 1978, Eubie Blake plays the piano at the White House.
For the dancers, at age 96, Martha Graham is choreographing a new dance for the Barcelona Olympics when she dies in 1991.
Be in motion, be flexible, and be open -- destiny is writ in the stars, and even a chance encounter can propel you onto your perfect path.
I figure I'm about a third of my way through life. Maybe one-fourth. But then, you never know. Using this math, when I was about one-fifth of the way through, a lumber truck barreled down a steep grade through twelve intersections in town, hitting the pickup I was riding in, just behind my passenger seat. I died. Came back.
Ages mystify me. As does destiny. Fate. Chance encounters that become the magnificent fork in the road. When Simon meets Garfunkel. And Elvis wants a bike for his eleventh birthday but that costs too much so he gets a guitar instead. And when Cassius Clays' bike is stolen, he takes boxing lessons. These are a few of the fascinating moments in A BOOK OF AGES from infancy to 100 years old. Seems the author Eric Hanson was taken by odd biographical details, charting them for years until they blossomed into the most amazing book.
Interviewing thousands of people over the years, the question I am passionately designed to ask -- and I find the appropriate words for each different subject -- what happened in your life to get you where you are now?
For me, I know the lack of truth and honesty in my family, and the elephant in that living room, propelled me to be a journalist -- to be a seeker of Truth, to be as close to the source as I could possibly be, and to be insatiably curious.
In my third year, as you may know by now if you've been following my book blog, my mother left my father, and moved with my stepfather, younger brother and me -- out of my grandparent's fabulous New York apartment -- whose rooms emanated with love and music and healing -- into the suburbs, close enough to visit NY, but far enough away that we were isolated, so that no one outside this new nuclear family could observe the violence, the suicide attempts, the rapes, and the alcoholism.
So I look up age Three in this book. At three, Elizabeth Taylor enrolls in ballet classes, 1935. Sigmund Freud sees his mother naked, 1859. Mozart learns to play the harpsichord, 1759.
At age four, Mick Jagger meets Keith Richards, 1947. James Thurber's family buys a dog that bits people, 1899. In 1906, Ray Kroc is taken to a phrenologist who says the boy is best suited for the food service industry. Formative stuff.
Age Six -- my favorite: Leonard Bernstein's Aunt Clara sends her piano to Leonard's house to be stored in 1928...and he asks to have lessons. When I was a kid, my grandmother would take me to see Leonard Bernstein in concert. He filled me with music. When I hear music, to this day, I see choreography in my head, thanks to him.
Our lives turn on these seemingly small details in life. It is all a blessing, no matter how cruel. Ray Charles, losing his sight at age six. Joni Mitchell, stricken with polio, and, while hospitalized, discovers that she loves singing, and loves that others love her singing. At age thirteen, Anne Frank receives a diary for her birthday, and later that year is forced, with her family, into hiding.
How rich our lives are because of tragedy! As horrific as my years from four until eighteen were, I would not now trade them for an easier life of trustworthy love. From the pain, comes a depth of compassion in interviews, the ability to see angels, the doggedness and resilience to chase down the actual Truth.
And for the writers among us, there is hope. George Bernard Shaw writes five novels over five years -- each rejected by publishers. He decides to write a play instead.
And for the artists at heart. At age 87, Pablo Picasso creates more than 800 new works in 1968 and 1969.
And for the musicians. At age 95 in 1978, Eubie Blake plays the piano at the White House.
For the dancers, at age 96, Martha Graham is choreographing a new dance for the Barcelona Olympics when she dies in 1991.
Be in motion, be flexible, and be open -- destiny is writ in the stars, and even a chance encounter can propel you onto your perfect path.
Labels: A BOOK OF AGES, destiny, Eric Hanson, fate, life journey, transcending the trauma, truth
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 9:20 PM
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