By Emily Rosen
ERosen424@aol.com
In a recent column in The New York Times, David Brooks exhorted his readers over 70 to write a brief report of their life, an evaluation of what they did well, and not so well, and what they have learned. His purpose: young people are given little help in understanding how life develops, how careers and families evolve, and what are the common mistakes and blessings of adulthood. He asked that readers send their “Life Reports” to him at dabrooks@nytimes.com. Here’s mine.
With a solid set of middle class American-born parents, I graduated from college with a double degree in Journalism and Marketing, determined to save the world. I believed that we could persuade the Soviet Union to engage with us in such a Utopia and I became enmeshed with the gurus of the United World Federalists. Subsequently, I marched with all the flavor-of-the-month “rights” protesters and attended “rah-rah” meetings that validated the righteousness of the causes.
Youth is like that … often, all passion and rage and righteousness … and if not then – when?
I worked as an editorial assistant at several magazines, fell in love with my married bosses, became a Madison Avenue huckster, touting stockings and corn flakes and came to a dead career stop when I saw the inanity of my life.
With a new degree, in education, I would save the world by educating the young Puerto Rican immigrants flooding into the Upper West Side of Manhattan. My first year, I cried every day on the bus ride home. I couldn’t understand why Hector refused to read “Dick and Jane,” while insisting on creating clay images of male anatomy. I suspect that today he is one of the world’s great sculptors.
Married with two children, I worked in the original Head Start program. The government threw tons of money at us – much of which we didn’t need. My job was replaced by two PhDs and a plethora of useless inventory.
Again, back to school for degrees in Special Ed, and then Mental Health Counseling and some brief work counseling alcohol-addicted teenagers.
In a complete turnaround, I retreated to “Stepford Wifery,” country club dinner dances, golf, tennis, PTA. My husband’s career took off. We had money to burn, a second home in Florida, we traveled the world.
I became a columnist for a local newspaper and was once assigned to interview the wife of an upcoming politico who was in town fundraising for her husband. I refused the assignment because I had a tennis game and figured she was a nobody. Alas, Hillary Clinton never met me, and I never hit the glass ceiling.
With an entrepreneurial friend, we formed a singing telegram business, the rage gift for the folks who “had everything.” Success to the max, and, after about 10 years, I sold it, and turned it into Personalized Poetry for all occasions… “We write ‘em, you recite ‘em.”
In 1994, in our late 60s, we moved to Florida, “retired.” What do I do now?
Here is where I found my true calling, volunteering in a mental health facility and in a non-partisan political organization, writing this column and book reviews, reading prodigiously, teaching a writing workshop with emphasis on personal insight into feelings and behaviors, publishing two anthologies of work of my students, riding my bike, walking the beach, enjoying my family and griping about what’s wrong with the world.
I’ve had disappointments, loss and sickness, and suffered significant economic downturn. But I never stop being grateful. The most important thing I learned is to recognize the difference between reasonable expectations and realistic ones. I’ve trained myself to have realistic expectations – the reasonable ones are mostly disappointing, and rarely come through. I’ve been married 57 years, and what I learned from that is for a big fat book.
In any one week, I can feel extremes of high and lows, I can love and hate the same person, I can feel good and bad about myself (No, I’m not schizophrenic.) It all balances out, and a good laugh fans all flames. And I accept that, in the end, everyone dies.
