Perfect Little Teeth

People are like teeth.

Teeth grow whichever which way feels right to the individual mouth, and then at some point they get rearranged. With some study and some pain, they're shifted and sometimes even re-shaped, and eventually they're expected to line up and behave. Most of the time they do, until sometime in midlife when they decide they want to go back the way they once were. That's what my dentist told me is happening to my lower teeth, and now I'm looking at orthodontic work decades after my first round of braces came off.

We tell our kids they need braces just as we tell them they need to go to school and follow rules. We say it's for functionality but we also know it's because that's what society expects, and that's what will make others like you. People with crooked teeth are judged more quickly and more harshly than those with a Pepsodent smile, and so are people who don't fit the mold in personality, interests, and actions.

Fitting the mold makes life a lot easier. But sometimes, in midlife, something happens inside. It's often referred to as midlife crisis, and normally it's associated with extramarital affairs and fancy cars. But this midlife shift can be something much more personal and pervasive than that. It's subtle, and sometimes it takes a long time before even the slightest movement occurs, but eventually there's a part of you that says what the heck, I think I might want to go back to the way I was, even if it was a little crooked.

And then your dentist comes along and tells you to fix it once again.

The Value of Slow

I guess I'm getting old. I say this not because I feel old or even because I'm starting to look old (yes, I know I am). I say this because I've made a discovery ... the type of discovery that old people make.

I've discovered the value of slow. I've always been one to enjoy a lazy canoe float on a lake or a gentle zigzag down a ski slope, but now I've come to enjoy a lot more slowness. The chairlift ride up the hill, a stroll through downtown at night, a careful reading of a page. Slow means noticing colors, listening to sounds, feeling the breeze. Slow means situational awareness (a lovely term I latched onto while watching the movie "A Perfect Getaway"). Slow means living each day, and taking each breath, more fully.

Now if I only could remember all this when I get behind the wheel, where (much to my neighbors' disappointment) I'm still actually quite young.

When the Nest Empties Early

I wonder what happens when nature's course takes an unexpected twist. What happens when the nest empties early?

Whether a chick flies of its own will, or falls from the nest, or is snatched from it by some giant unforeseen talons, what do the parents do? Do they hobble around on broken twigs and strands of forgotten hair, peering over the edge to look for morbid remains? Do they immediately take flight in search of their lost offspring? Do they tuck their feathered little bird brains under wing and wait?

These parents had instinctively prepared for that empty nest, had known pretty much when it would come about. They had set aside their lives of fun and freedom during those chick-rearing times to devote their energies, even their entire souls, to the wellbeing of those little darlings. They had known that someday it would change, maybe even abruptly, but until that day came they knew what they had to do. But then! That day came so soon, when they were least expecting it, and what had once been their cozy little home suddenly looks like an ugly bin of collected junk. It is empty, cold, and barren. Do they celebrate their premature freedom, these aviary parents? Do they wallow in confused despair? Do they peck at each other and wonder what went wrong? Or do they simply hope?