Sometimes I wonder just what I've inherited from my family.
I've discussed before my dad's belief that a "fierce independence" is trasmitted genetically through his side of the family. Although I believe genetics may play a part, I see his belief as considerably more likely to be transmitted through "message" than anything else.
Just as I started writing this, my sister called me. I told her what I was beginning to write, and she said, "Isn't it funny how most of the positive traits we have are sourced in people other than our parents? That 'fierce independence' isn't something I think of as an inheritence so much as something I have had to work really hard to get over."
So true.
But here's where I was going -- not about my dad and his silliness. Nor about the legacy of Catholic guilt that runs in my mother's side of the family.
No, I was thinking about my wanderlust, my curiosity, my embracing of the passionate and sensual.
I was digging through a bag of stuff XGF sent me from the house a couple months ago, and at the bottom of the bag turned up about 20 "vintage" stir sticks that I got from my grandmother's large collection when she died. Some are from TWA flights to Africa and India. Others are from The Stardust hotel in Las Vegas or the Runaway Bay Club in Hialeah, Florida. They're primarily from the 1960s and 1970s, and I know it's likely they came with a gin & tonic.
But they were also acquired because my grandmother was an avid traveler. So was my aunt Connie, who was a flight attendant up until her death a few years ago. So, too, was my Uncle Rick, who joined forces with my adventurous Aunt Liz and turned their life into a "never-ending" adventure.
All the time I was growing up, I was captivated and inspired by the travel stories of that cast of characters.
I discovered the stir sticks just a few hours after I had been watching a videotape of Liz regaling me this past August with stories from the years she and Rick were in the Peace Corps, followed by a three-month voyage home. They went to Kenya and Ethiopia, on to India and Nepal, then dropping down Thailand and Singapore before landing in Indonesia for a long stay in Bali.
The adventures they had were good enough on their own, but the fact that they did all this travel with my 1-year-old cousin (MiniMimi) in tow, carting around the pots necessary to sterilize water and give her formula, as well as washing out the diapers every night, makes for some fascinating travel tales.
It was only the first of many adventures Rick and Liz engaged in over the years. Sometimes, as when we went swimming with aligators in the clear spring rivers of the Florida panhandle, I was with them. Others simply came to life in my imagination as they or my grandmother told me where they had been and what they'd been doing. (As a side note, they also enjoyed and threw great parties. I learned from them that a good hostess makes sure every guest who wants "a little buzz" gets one -- and that the food should be homey, flavorful and plentiful.)
Liz's life was too short -- she didn't make it to 60 -- but it was a life fully lived.
Graduate school and a career change are currently preventing me from traveling as I would like, but there's no question that this legacy -- this wanderlust -- that I got from those family members lives on within me.
Earlier this year, my uncle was taking me to the Kona airport when we got into a discussion about whether he lived an "alternative lifestyle." He said his version of "alternative" was growing pot and living in a tent in Pahoa (and added he wouldn't object to the occupation or the location, but no longer cared for the idea of living in a tent). I told him that the way he lives his life is outside the mainstream of corporate hacks and anyone else who holds an 8-5 job.
My uncle replied, "I've never gotten the exchange rate there. People work their asses off five days out of the week and try to cram their pleasure into two. They work 50 weeks a year so they can have two weeks to themselves for fun. Five for two or 50 for two, that just doesn't seem like a fair trade to me."
I couldn't agree more. But then, I learned it from him and Liz.
As far as I can figure, that's an attitude and a legacy worth inhereting.
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2 comments:
The key is to find something you genuinely love to do, so the work doesn't seem like some kind of trade off or compromise. Easier said than done, I suppose.
That's true. But sadly, I think many people regard work as "work," and the rest of their time as "life."
My uncle has always orchestrated the life he wants and has simply let the work follow. It's usually been work he's wanted to do, as well.
But the job has always been secondary to making sure he was where he wanted to be and had plentiful time to enjoy his family, his friends and they life they shared.
They're the kind of people who die without many regrets.
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