January 17, 2025
Ever hear of the ironic process theory? You might know it as the pink elephant effect, which means that the harder you try to ignore a certain thought, the deeper it plants itself in your brain.
The tusker rampaging through my cranium these days is the fact that I have a lot fewer years ahead of me than behind. Put another way, I’m in extended recovery from turning 70 last fall. As in, “Omigod howthehell did it get to be 20-freakin-25 already?“
Obsessing about such matters is clearly unhealthy. As the theory states, trying to shut off the mental spigot floods the basement even deeper, especially in those unnerving early-morning hours when I’m lying awake in bed. Or when I’m staring at a blank screen where literary brilliance should be. Or remembering how I loved winter as a kid, and now even a mild Southern one gets me all achy and stiff.
But even if it were possible, my diminishing time on Earth is not something I should ignore either. I’ve already stockpiled a ton of deathbed regrets like, “I wish I’d watched more boring football games.” I don’t want to add, “I wish I’d spent my ‘retirement’ differently. I should have worked harder on my novels and blog, done more volunteer work, tried some new activities, and cherished the good things I had.”
The worst thing I can do is live out my geezerhood the way a character in Our Town, my favorite play, described it: “To move about in a cloud of ignorance…To spend and waste time as though you had a million years.” So I’m trying to make the most of each day and not derail myself by worrying about the whole calendar.
It’s a tricky balance. It was easier when I was a fair youth of 40, 50, even 60. But it’s better than a pachyderm parade. BTW, when I first heard about this effect long ago the critter I wasn’t supposed to think of was a rabbit, so I’ll leave you to ponder one of those.
