Wit and Wisdom

by Beth Broderick

I am writing this while seated on a train, heading west to the historic Union Station in downtown L.A. My friend Don and I are returning from Anaheim, where we spent the night at Howard Johnson following a fun jaunt through Disneyland’s “Oogie Boogie Nights.” The party celebrates Halloween several nights a week from now through All Hallows’ Eve proper. It is a very popular attraction.

There were the rides, of course. My personal faves were the “Incredicoaster” and “Little Mermaid” ride. We did as many as we could while making sure to take in the “Villains Grove” and the parade. We even went on a trick-or-treat trail and cadged some free candy. We also ate the obligatory weird foods, a burrito stuffed with Taki corn chips and French fries, and an ear of corn dipped in shrouds of cornmeal coating and then deep-fried. One bite of each, and the obesity crisis in America needs no further explanation.

It was fun, and if you had told me 20 years ago that I would not only agree to such an excursion but suggest it, I would have told you the notion was ridiculous. And yet.

“Don, did you see this? The Oogie Boogie thing. It’s starting next month. Dare we dive into this?”

Don replied in his most sensible way:

“Let me do some research, but yes, it looks fun. Maybe we should.”

Don knows everything about Disneyland and its sister park, California Adventure. He religiously checks out the YouTube channels offered by park guides and experts. He knows not just the physical details of each park, but the stories behind their creation. It is great fun to be there with him, though he is a hard-driving “parktaker” (I just made up that word, and I’m not sorry). My smartwatch clocked 28,315 steps: 12.5 miles at the end of the day. We see it all, by golly, or get damned close whenever we go.

Don is a moderate conservative, and I am a moderate, leaning left, but we both share a passion for and commitment to using transit. This means catching the DASH bus to Hollywood and Vine, then hopping on the subway to Union Station and catching a ride on the Metrolink to the park. Then a free city bus that runs every 20 minutes picks you up and delivers you to Disney’s door.

It’s a great way to get there, and if you had told me 20 years ago that I would be a devotee of Los Angeles public transit, hopping on the buses and trains on a regular basis, I would have looked at you like you were from crazy town. Of course, 20 years ago there were no subways to speak of, and the bus back then sucked big-time, but you get the point.

LIFE ON MARS?

Things change. David Bowie famously said, “Aging is an extraordinary process where you become the person you always should have been.” He believed that as we grow older, we often realize and embrace our true selves. I think there is some truth to this, though you must be pretty darned lucky to discover it. A lot of folks who are getting older are so broke that they split their pills in two, eat cheap frozen foods, and watch This Old House on an endless loop.

Getting older is a privilege, but it’s not a guarantee of the good life. To age well, one needs, firstly, a big giant serving of luck, topped with a sauce of hard work and dedication to fitness of body and mind, the cherry on top being the willingness to embrace the new.

I have a few friends in my orbit who are stuck. They are stuck in living situations that no longer serve them, in locations that make them feel isolated and old before their time. They are stuck in mindsets that tell them change is too scary, the future too uncertain to think of taking a new direction. They are not thriving; they are depressed mentally, and they are challenged physically.

“I can’t walk that far.”

“I can’t bend that deep.”

“I can’t get on the floor; I wouldn’t be able to get back up.”

“I hate it here, but moving is too hard. All the packing and then learning a new neighborhood, a new system, being around new people. I just don’t think I can.”

We have tried to help, but they don’t want help. They are happy being miserable, comfortable being uncomfortable, and that’s just how they are going to roll. I have learned to love them and leave it be.

Meanwhile, I am finding out that who I “should have been all along” was apparently a Disney-loving transit freak who wants hiking gear for Christmas and a ticket to a place where she can kayak.

I spent the last thirty-plus years of my life in high heels and glamour make-up, when I would have been happier in sweatpants and a pair of Chucks. I have toiled away at yoga and Pilates when I really should have been cresting the hills and mountains in my beautiful home state of California, kayaking on clear lakes, and canoeing down serene rivers.

It turns out I love opera… What????!!!! Yup. Opera. Also, I think traveling in a Winnebago sounds fun. What????!!!!! A trailer kind of a deal? Yup. And I want to learn bridge. What?!!!! Bridge??!!!!! Bridge??!!!! Yup.

“Who are you?”

“Um… who I should have always been?”

I am still resistant to the notion of camping, but there is starting to be some wiggle room there.

In the past, whenever a friend or partner tried to talk me into going camping, I was absolutely having no part of it.

“I will hike up to the waterfall or whatever with you, but when we come back down, there needs to be a hotel or lodgings with at least a four-star rating and a decent restaurant in the vicinity. No tents, no porta-potties, no sleeping bags.”

Now I would consider a yurt, say, in a national forest. I would maybe, maybe cotton to a campground for the fictional Winnebago with clean restrooms and shareable outdoor grills. Or one of those “Airstream” luxury resort areas.

I still like to “slam the glam,” going to theater, dance, and art openings. I love discovering great new restaurants and falling into the comfort of the old, stalwart dining establishments. So maybe I am not becoming who I always should have been, but rather finding out there is more to the story.

I still work hard. I am still driven to create, to make, to do, to offer, but I am making time—sometimes forcing myself to make time—to play and wander and dream.

Odd that toward the end of life, when we are running out of time, we find ourselves with more of it on our hands. What a gorgeous irony. What a great gift.

On we go …

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