Posted by Anne

The patch of flowers at the corner of Carl's yard.

We met Carl the day we moved into our home.  Carl is our next-door neighbor, and in a world where it’s becoming less and less common to truly know your neighbor, I love that Carl was—other than our landlady—the first soul we met in our town.  A few things you should know about Carl…

1. He loves his yard.  It always looks meticulous. 
2. He tends his flowers religiously—even though there aren’t very many. 
3. He always has visitors.  My guess is that they are usually family, but I can’t be sure.    

And one final note on Carl—and a significant one in my eyes.  Carl is old.  Now, it’s not uncommon to see people more than twice our age in our neighborhood.  We live in one of those neighborhoods—developed in the 1960’s—that’s chock full of ranch style houses and people who have lived here since the homes were built.  Most of our neighbors are retired—and we hardly see them. 

But Carl is different.  In the two years we’ve lived here, I’ve seen Carl frequently, and never without an oxygen tank strapped to his back.  It looks like one of those Camel-Back packs people wear on hikes and bike-rides.  When we stop to talk to Carl, I hardly notice anymore; it’s just normal to see that oxygen tube attached to his nose, and a smile on his face.  He does everything with that oxygen.  He stands, slightly hunched, and he weeds, waters, and prunes.  He never allows his constant need for, well, air to interfere with his routine. 

When I see him outside with his flowers, I like to imagine all kinds of lives for Carl—before I moved here, and well before the oxygen.  In one daydream, he’s a highly decorated and retired hero from the Navy, and met his wife in a whirlwind WWII-era romance.  In another scenario he was a daredevil outdoorsman, drawn to the Northwest for the rugged Cascade mountain range and the wild rivers.  I imagine these lives for him because I assume his persistence—his refusal to let that dang oxygen tank keep him from his flowers—must mean he’s always been active…a “doer”.  I assume he made hay while the sun shined.  But that is my assumption.  And this past weekend, I considered a different story for Carl. 

On Saturday morning, as I turned the corner to my street after a brief but energizing run, I saw Carl.  Not alone, but with a young boy…maybe 6 or 7.  Pretty typical—like I said, Carl always has visitors.  Carl sauntered along (oxygen in tow), pointing out plants and flowers to the little boy, who trailed along behind holding a stick and playfully waving it back and forth like a sword. They had nowhere to be, except with one another.  They had nothing to observe, except the springtime blooms.

And this very ordinary scene caused me to construct one more scenario for Carl’s life.  Maybe his life has been the picture of ordinary.  Maybe he worked hard at the same job for 40 years.  Maybe he read bedtime stories to his children, and the Sunday paper over coffee with his wife.  Maybe he makes great pancakes, and loves folk music.  There is beauty in a life like that, and importance too.  Maybe “making the most out of life” isn’t dependent on daring feats or distant journeys.  Maybe it’s just being there for the ones you love, and living life gracefully.

At Life in Pencil, we often talk about rewriting your life, and living it with openness to reinvention and change.  But that doesn’t require massive reinvention, big stories, or rewriting your life in any dramatic fashion.  All it takes is an attention to the things that matter to you, regardless of your place in life.  I like to believe Carl lived his life in pencil.  And if he didn’t before, he sure looks to be doing it now…with his flowers and his family, and with that oxygen strapped to his back.   

Do you know someone older than you who refuses to let their age hold them back?  Can anyone think of another exciting life for Carl?  How do you think you’ll handle your own aging process someday…in pencil?