Month: March 2023

March 2023

By Richard Fleming

I am captivated by porch lights. At twilight their soft glow is magical. As night deepens their radiance enchants. They offer a peaceful symbol of serenity. A quiet welcome to the night traveler.

It may seem strange for an old guy to be enamored with porch lights, but hear me out.

My fascination started when growing up in Potwin, one of Topeka’s oldest neighborhoods. Potwin encompassed a dozen blocks of Victorian and Queen Anne homes built in the late 1800s. From my earliest days I remember my parents turning on our porch light at dusk. They said it kept the house secure and the neighborhood welcoming. Around age eight, I took over flipping the porch light switch when the sun set. It felt like I was taking responsibility for insuring a peaceful night for my family. I would look out the front door to see the glow embracing the porch and steps. As evening darkened, the light seemed to brighten, spilling into our front yard.

In summer my friends and I played outside after the sun dropped below the prairie west of town. In the gloaming, Potwin’s porch lights illumined the neighborhood, setting the perfect stage for hide and seek. Some nights we ventured out to catch fireflies in glass jars, seeking darkened areas free of porch lights’ shine. Other times we sat on one of our porches and talked, looking beyond the warm patches of light and gazing into the night. We parked ourselves on a front porch swing, reminiscing about our recently-concluded fourth grade class and speculating on what the upcoming fifth grade year would bring. Sometimes we walked down Greenwood Ave., moving through alternating pools of dark and light, house by house, and we wished that summer would never end.

Each season yielded a different glow from the porch lights of Potwin. In autumn the puddles of light revealed leaves of red and orange shed by maple and elm, blowing to and fro. In winter nightfall came earlier. Porch lights blinked on in the late afternoons, their glow transformed from warm into cool. But they still offered calm comfort. Spring time saw porch lights grow slowly warmer, encouraging flower buds and the newly-awakened insects of the night to continue their pursuits.

As my years in Potwin went by, I continued my role as the designated light switchman. Even after we moved across the street to live in an older, bigger house.

Eventually I left Topeka for college. My journey took me to Chicago, then to California’s Bay Area where I still live today. There were times I lived in dorms or apartment buildings. While these structures possessed their own character, they shared a fundamental flaw. Their front lights were on auto-timers and required no human intervention. Some of the places I lived had no porches, but this was OK as long as they had front door lights which someone needed to turn on. At each stop in my journey, I always made sure the front light turned on at the necessary time.

It may seem quirky or quaint, but I have always felt the act of a simple human touch turning on the front light turns a house into a home. It is a gesture of welcome and an affirmation of community.

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As my journey through life proceeded, evenings continued to be times of wonder. The most enjoyable parts of my days frequently occurred during my nights. Movies. Parties. Reading in a comfortable chair. Spending time with family. Dinners with friends. Community meetings working toward creating a more just society.

But after living through seven decades of nightfall, evenings now seem more subdued. Quieter. They are still pleasant, though in a gentler way. I no longer sit on a porch swing – our current porch is quite small – but night times now echo my nights in Potwin. The darkness once again prompts me to reflect on life. To consider what will happen with however much time is still allotted. Today, as I think back and think ahead, my field of view is far more expansive, and far more limited. I have far more experience with life to draw from, and far less time to apply the lessons.

Thankfully, as I grow older porch lights continue to resonate warmly. They imbue me with a sense of comfort and home. They are small beacons, calmly illuminating our paths through the darkness. At some point we each become a night traveler. When that good time comes, our journey will be eased by the magic of porch lights. This is why, when each evening arrives, I must always ensure the front light is warmly aglow.

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March 2023

By Richard Fleming

Efficient time management is an important life skill for adults. When we enter the workforce we must perform effectively and productively. Marriage and child-rearing amplify the need to insure every waking hour accomplishes at least one measurable goal. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Helping the kids with their homework. Spending quality time with family. Every hour of every day counts.

But as we age we eventually reach a point where efficient time management becomes less possible and less important. We enter a stage of life where maximal productivity becomes counter-productive.

Seniors’ loss of efficiency stems from a variety of reasons, tangible and intangible. Our changing physical condition is a prominent factor. As our bodies age we are simply less capable of speeding through each day. Our capacity for accomplishment tapers and our need for rest expands. Another factor is that after leaving the workforce, deadlines are usually more flexible. And when the children leave home, demands on our time tend to loosen up.

In a previous post I wrote about how time speeds up as we age. Each day seems shorter, each week briefer. In a few blinks of the eye it is no longer March. We are suddenly navigating our way through April Fool’s Day. Because time is moving so quickly, it simply becomes harder to get as much done.

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A few weeks ago on a sunny Tuesday morning my stepdaughter innocently asked my wife and I, “What are you doing today?” I immediately felt a little defensive. After spending fifty years striving for maximum productivity, I retain a deep-seated need to avoid inefficiency. What should I offer to prove I wouldn’t be wasting time? Organizing the garage is a righteous activity. Picking up some items at the hardware store. Doing a half hour on the elliptical. Helping my sister with some chores. Reading my book club book. Reviewing our family budget for 2023. I blurted out a handful of these activities, hoping it would prove I wasn’t lazy.

My step-daughter nodded approvingly, then asked, “What about you, mom?”

My wife unhesitatingly replied, “Not much. Relaxing, mostly.”

In that moment, I realized my wife had the better answer. She usually accomplishes far more in any given day than I do. But she had no qualms about claiming relaxation as a viable goal for the day. Why did I feel compelled to prove I was having a maximally productive Tuesday? Why not lean into the benefits of slowing the pace down?

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Let me clarify I do not equate inefficient time management with laziness. I do not advocate for sloth.

During my years in practice, hundreds of my patients transitioned into retirement. They followed two general paths. Many folks decided to sit and rest. After long years at difficult demanding jobs, the desire to sit on the couch, watch TV, and take it easy was understandable. But many others opted for an active retirement. They embraced volunteer work, helping at the food bank, delivering for Meals on Wheels, getting involved in political activities. They joined book clubs, did more babysitting of the grandkids, started an exercise program, re-engaged in hobbies.

People who chose the first path tended to age more rapidly than those traveling down the second. As the years went by, the first group generally had less energy, less joy, and higher blood pressure. The second group had more energy, more joy, and lower blood pressure.

Taking the second path does not require maximum productivity in one’s daily schedule. Success does not rest on expert time management. In fact, traversing this second path will be more productive if some inefficiency is accepted. There is nothing wrong with seniors spending more time doing less, as long as we are doing something. We will be happier than if we try to accomplish too much in too short a period of time. Accepting some inefficiency can lessen pressure and clear the mind. It preserves our stamina.

I realize my advocacy of inefficiency as a virtue may seem counter-intuitive. The older we get, the less time we have to complete our goals, to check off bucket list items. At first blush one might think the compression of time mandates greater efficiency for seniors. With the horizon growing closer, we should strive to continuously improve our time management skills, right?

My answer to this question is, “No.”

The best response to the compression of time is to whittle our bucket lists. Pare down the goals we have set for ourselves. Maybe we only need to do one volunteer activity per week, as long we continue engaging. Perhaps consuming one book a month is easier to sustain than two, as long we keep reading. If going out for coffee with a friend once a week is hard to maintain, aiming for once a month should be achievable. And there is nothing wrong with spending some time looking blankly out the window, slowly sipping a cup of tea. Or sitting quietly alone on a park bench, thinking random thoughts about the past and the future.

*    *    *

Sometimes after the sun goes down I look back on my day and have a hard time remembering what I achieved. I lived, of course. And there is something to be said for living. I can usually recall a few things I accomplished. But there is no doubt my waking hours now are less productive than before. And I’m on the verge of realizing this is OK.

It is time we learn to embrace the virtues of inefficiency in our senior years.

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