Vice or virtue? As William Casey King documents in Ambition, A History (2013), desire to rise above one’s birth in status, wealth, or renown used to be almost universally condemned. Those who tried to ascend too high must fall, like Icarus in Greek myth or the builders of the Tower of Babel. Blending the sins of pride, greed, and envy, hunger for power drove Shakespeare’s Macbeth to destruction; hunger for knowledge did the same to Marlow’s Doctor Faustus. Though God might reward a man for virtue, to climb by personal effort was a threat to social order. It could lead to rebellion.

King traces the beginning of change to European colonization of the Americas, when Spanish and English monarchs offered hereditary titles to leaders who organized settlements. An unintended consequence was to loosen the bond between status and bloodline. By 1776 a king’s right to rule was no longer sacrosanct. All men were created equal. And under certain circumstances, rebellion was justified.

King’s account ends there. It made me ponder attitudes here and now. The American dream glories in self-made men and tales of rags to riches. To rise above one’s origins fits ideals of individualism and social mobility. On the other hand, some decry ambition in politicians they dislike, “pushy” women, “uppity” minorities, or erstwhile friends who cut ties with their former peers. Uncritical acclaim for ambition fosters hubris and irresponsibility. The end justifies the means only if the end is to increase one’s capacity to benefit a larger whole, and if the means is respectful of the rights and aspirations of others.

Image: Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, c. 1558, attributed to Pieter Brueghel. Wearing wings of wax and feathers, Icarus flew too near the sun. The wax melted, and Icarus plunged into the sea (lower right). 

My late friend Jeanne once suggested “aging with grace” as a blog post topic. It didn’t excite me then. Now, reminded of her in an unrelated context, I’m ready to give it a try. What does “aging with grace” mean, anyway?

Elders who smile are certainly pleasanter to be with than elders who whine about inevitable losses or “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” But that misses the point. One grace of age is the freedom to disappoint others’ expectations. I find grace in these surprising gifts of getting older:

Forget about embarrassment and shame. What other people think of me is none of my business.
Set clear personal priorities. Time and stamina are finite. Feel free to say no, without explanation or excuses.
Take pleasure in small things. Squirrels outside the kitchen window entertain as they chase each other round the oak.
Live more in the present. The old job interview question, “Where do you see yourself in five years,” means less and less. What brings you satisfaction now?

Image: Photo by Bruno Aguirre on Unsplash.

The first time I met my future mother-in-law was an August afternoon more than thirty years ago, over a picnic table in her back yard. Her warm, unpretentious welcome quickly melted any jitters about meeting my boyfriend’s mother. Over the years, I learned I wasn’t alone in that reaction. Calm, peace, kindness, reassurance, wisdom, care, comfort: I don’t have words for the magic that drew friends and relations to her, especially in times of stress when they needed what some called “the Martha fix.”

My other first impression was that she was a woman of intellect and quiet curiosity. Music, birding, and history were just a few of her interests. We still treasure her carefully labeled rock collection. From fourth grade she wanted to be a geologist. Warned that superstitions about women underground might limit those opportunities, she taught chemistry and math until shortly before I met her. After retirement, she attended seminars, joined a book club, traveled widely, and watched academic lectures from The Great Courses.

After Alzheimer’s began to steal her words and conversation grew thin, I enjoyed courses with her on DVDs from her large and varied collection. Even near the end, curiosity took her to the memory care window to contemplate “critters” (blowing leaves) in the alley and the colors of passing cars. Other times, we’d join a wheelchair group to listen to a guitarist. One of the listeners started to cry. Martha reached over and took her hand. The Martha Fix was still there.

​Happy birthday, Martha. We miss you.

Snowdrops! Robins! The throaty call of sandhill cranes! Spring is starting at last—or is it? Meteorological spring, based on temperature, began the first of the month. Based on the relative positions of Earth and Sun, though, we’re in astronomical winter until the equinox.

April may be the cruelest month, but March is the most topsy-turvy. Some years it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Other years it’s just the opposite. One March here in Wisconsin, I watched a man and his dog walk on the firm ice of Fish Lake. Five minutes later, a woman drove by in a convertible with the top down.

The onset of daylight time the second Sunday of March compounds the muddle. While most U.S. states turn their clocks forward, Arizona and Hawaii stay on standard time. However, the whole Navajo Nation goes onto Mountain Daylight Time, including the part in Arizona. Confused yet? The Hopi Nation, surrounded by Navajo lands, stays with the rest of Arizona. Don’t get me started on how most of Europe doesn’t switch till the last Sunday of March, or how Australia varies by state.

In my grad school studies about England in the 1600s, it wasn’t even clear which year a particular March occurred. Resisting the new Gregorian calendar as “popish,” England clung to the old Julian calendar with its starting date of March 25. Imagine having to sequence diplomatic correspondence with the Continent.

This month is as mad as a March hare. The saying long predates Alice in Wonderland and refers to the animals’ bizarre antics in the mating season. To be fair, hares aren’t the only mammal to behave oddly in the throes of lust.

My entire life is on my desktop computer calendar. Appointments, intentions, to-do lists, recurring monthly or yearly dates to remember. It’s easy to update and keeps everything in one place. Decades ago, my entire life was in my pocket calendar in ink, more limited in scope but always with me. My friends and relations now use mobile phones to get the best of both worlds.

Technology keeps changing. Human nature doesn’t. We’ve always created ways to track the cycle of the seasons; now we can track in more detail. We’ve always craved communication; now we can connect over longer distances. We’ve had schoolyard fights as long as we’ve had schools; now we have more lethal methods to worry about. We’ve always had conspiracy theories and misinformation; now technology lets them spread farther and faster.

Two hundred years from now we may know more, live longer, and have more powerful tools to carry out our wishes, for better or worse. I’m not convinced we’ll have fewer wars, greater justice, more compassion, or less hate. Does that mean to shrug at the futility of it all? To forget about the seventh generation and a world better than we found it? Of course not. Action now can bring material benefits for the future. Institutionalizing positive values makes them harder to reverse. New knowledge has potential to improve lives, even if I’m right that human nature will stay much the same.

Besides, I may be wrong.

Image: The Chicago World’s Fair celebrated the city’s first century of technological innovation.