I heard an interview conducted this week by a commentator regarding the preparations for the inauguration ceremony of our new president. As opinions swirled around the news desk, one journalist entered the mad swirl of conversation and announced, “I’m coming down on the side of so what.”
Considering the historic nature of the inauguration and the hoopla still circulating about Trumps return to the White House and so forth, I felt the comment came off as flat and apathetic – certainly not in keeping with any terms of engagement I’d ever heard. As the journalists’ conversation wound down, I started to feel that perhaps coming down on the side of so what may not be such a bad thing. In fact, the seemingly smart aleck attitude of so what may just be the kind of position I need to land on to spin out of my own obsessions – those thinking patterns that have gone around the pike one too many times for my own good. Maybe I’m getting older, maybe my repeating loops are a permanent part of my security now, or maybe they are the natural rhythm of a pendulum that swings out and then back again to the other side.
At the nursing home where my dad lives, I often observe the residents, many of whom have a degree of dementia, pushing through the hallways bumping into walls and furniture, but slowly making their way down to the dining area. Their pathway is a circuitous one, a journey with a loose definition of destination, but it doesn’t matter. One way or the other, their weight is going to shift their momentum one way and then the other until their chair bumps into the right dinner table. It’s the natural ebb and flow of nursing home traffic – everyone eventually gets to the right place in spite of the memory bottlenecks, physical impediments and fender benders.
Yesterday, as I came out of my dad’s room pushing him along, an elderly lady on her way to bingo sideswiped me so hard that I almost fell on top of her. She didn’t have the slightest idea that I was there or who I was. Truthfully, I don’t think she had the slightest idea who she was either. I was just part of the obstacle redirection she needed to correct herself, the one that gets the pendulum swinging again back the other way on the bingo trail of life. A few minutes later, I saw her playing five Bingo cards at the same time, randomly placing chips all over the table, enjoying herself immensely and coming down hard on the side of so what. She was cheating of course, but it was a beautiful thing to watch.
Funny thing about spatial awareness, that perception that we are right where we are supposed to be – the elderly don’t care about it, and children don’t need it. Kids don’t know anything about where they are on the great swinging pendulum of life and, as far as that goes, the elderly just don’t care anymore. Both groups seem to be at a point in life that is quite enviable, that place where it doesn’t really matter whether there is a hazard cone in front of them or not because the arc of their swinging pendulum is going to plow through it anyway thank you very much. Both groups of people are coming down on the side of so what, a side where apathy and awareness are mixed in a blender, and drunk like a protein shake. It’s a side we all may all be seeking. We just don’t know it yet.
Being in the middle of three generations, I see the theory of so whatness being played out all the time. I’ve written about serendipity, finding your bliss, and a whole host of articles on the benefits of being playful and in the moment. All of those existential states seem to me to pale in comparison to the state of complete oblivion, that weightless period where the entire world goes on hold for a split second and is unaffected by any forces around it.
For example, I recently, I witnessed my grandson playing an entire basketball game without knowing he was on the basketball court. He made several trips up and down, to be sure, but he might have as well been flying a kite or jumping into a lake. In fact, I believe he thought he was doing both of those things. If someone tossed him the ball, he came down hard on the side of so what and threw it back to them. Depending on the difficulty of the catch, he also might lay the ball down and walk away. On one particular fast break, he took the ball straight to the bathroom for a potty break, stopping the game for some kind of foul associated with a double dribble. There was no spatial recognition or sense of caring in the game; his external GPS, the one that keeps the rest of us from being run over by a truck, was simply not there.
So, when I observe people, young or old, that are coming down on the side of so what, I realize I am witnessing a portal of time that is fleeting kind of unrepeatable event. These moments are rare, like an eclipse, or the birth of a salamander with nine heads. They cannot be predicted and there are no charts to follow or algorithms that can tell us that something like that is possible. So, it was with utter astonishment that I witnessed the theory of so what play itself out quite dramatically during this week’s Presidential Inauguration.
I could set the story up here by going on and on about the historic nature of this event, but you’ve all already heard the news. You have also seen the loss of the election play itself out with Joe and Kamala, and the witnessed a super-charged air of optimism typical of an incoming President. You know why this or that person waltzed into the DC ceremony when they did, and why Melania was wearing a hat the size of Mar Largo. You heard Carrie Underwood take command of the United States Marine Band when they hit an audio glitch and sing her fool head off with an a cappella version of America the Beautiful.
It was many grand and marbled moments, parades and promises of new programs, out with the old and in with the new. Mrs. Pomp rose to new heights and Mr. Circumstance himself was there also, no less evident than when the military band came into the Capitol rotunda singing at the top of their lungs.
I saw the pendulum of time swinging in all of it – raw evidence of strength and discipline marching out in perfect sync, up the aisle with every single step of every soldier of the Armed Forces Chorus. Apparently, some of the audience members didn’t know the soldiers were on their way up the aisle and as such were pretty much mowed down by a marine of immense proportions leading at the front of the pack.
At first, I thought it was a not-so-subtle way of putting our international rivals on symbolic alert, to tell them in effect, we are marching through now, and if you are in the aisle by mistake and not going to sing, we will probably knock you down. However, as various suited congressman and their spouses were knocked over like bowling pins, lost their balance or fell over outright, I realized that I was observing a living example of so what being played out by a marine right before my eyes. He was at the top of his arc.
Do you ever get tired of being cautious, of worrying about what may be coming up behind you? You may want to join a marching band or play basketball with a five-year-old, perhaps tool around in a wheelchair bumping into other people on your way to dinner. If you do, don’t say anything when you run into them. Just keep going until you run right out of the stadium, like Forest Gump did when he ran for that touchdown right out of the football stadium. Just keep running until you run into something. You’ll be at the top of your game, the top of swing, that unstoppable peak in the swinging arc of the pendulum. You won’t have any idea where you are, but so what! You’ll be making great time.