Night is Coming

I've missed a couple of days.  I knew that I might not be able to keep up with the daily commitment, but I haven't missed a day in my written journal.  This form is still an add-on, a step out of my daily routine, additional work at a time when I am feeling awfully tired from trying to catch up with my student's work in time to give them the midterm evaluations they so richly deserve!  So, now it's Friday night, Katherine is having a nap on the couch, and I am in the office in the cool darkness while outside the sun is blazing hot.

The entry for October 21 I've quoted above begins with Merton reflecting on his age (48 in 1962).  He doesn't know it, but he only has another six years to live.  I am a fifty-two, and I understand his concerns about turning a corner in middle age where my hair has begun a substantial retreat at the temples at the same time the ranks of individual hairs are thinning.  Like Merton, I don't think this change is any more significant than the fact that seasons change.  But with my mother's death, and my orphan status renewed, I do feel the weight of my own life more keenly than in any other year.  Merton resolves to push on with his life's projects, to give "without question or care," even though he admits that he had "never gotten the knack of it."  He suggests finally that there may still be time.

I have read some of the literature about midlife and the re-evaluation of the possibilities that some achievements may never come, that some adventures may never be pursued, and the necessity to take stock and perhaps focus on the most important things first.  In some respect, I think I have recently had a breakthrough in this regard.  I mentioned to my therapist that I had always wanted to achieve some greatness in my life.  At times I have thought that I should become a great author, a great playwright, or produce something that others would have to admit, "this is great stuff!"  But, it occurred to me after reflecting on my college career so far, that I might never become a great teacher, a great researcher, or a great writer, or a great community activist.  What is left to me then?  My girlfriend has complimented me several times, "You're a great boyfriend."  I accepted the compliment, but I didn't think that was such a great thing!  How hard is it to be a great friend or a great companion?  Well, maybe more than I know.  Perhaps there isn't a greater thing to pursue, to become a great person may not entail some public accomplishment.  Maybe the greatness to which I aspire is a private matter, between those I love and whom love me.  I hope that I have time to learn the difference.