By Edwin Cooney
One of the most difficult aspects of life is the prospect
and the process of moving on. It’s
bitter and sweet, unnerving and rewarding, and, like almost everything else we
do that’s really worthwhile, even risky.
The last time I moved on, Jimmy Carter, a white southerner,
was president, AT&T was still the largest telecommunications company in
America, microwave ovens were both new and expensive, cigarettes still sold for
under a dollar a pack and could be smoked almost everywhere, and only large
corporations and organizations had computers.
The year was 1979 and, while I wasn’t young exactly, the
future appeared to stretch way beyond what I’d experienced in the then thirty-three
years of my existence. I was newly
married with only the eldest of my two lads having been born. Job prospects seemed to have dried up
sufficiently in the Northeast to justify my exploring a tempting opportunity
opening up on the West Coast. So,
out I came.
By so doing, I saddened some close friends, as well as many
in both my family and in my wife's with the inevitable absence of their new
grandson. I risked the possibility
that my new job wouldn’t last and I’d be stuck in a part of the country far
from home and seemingly destitute when it came to the comforts of emotional
support. Still, a job offer was
something to pursue so to California I came.
Of course, all of us are the sum and substance of our
environment. It is that environment that usually dictates our capacity for
well-being. Having lived much of my life on the fringes of the family
experience, my environment made it easier for me to move on than for my
wife. She, of course, came with me
and, as things turned out, was ultimately happier with the move to California
than I. Within a year of our move,
the job I came west for was gone.
My California friendships were all in their infancy. Our families were missing their
“beautiful baby boy.” I was
increasingly concerned over the frequency of California earthquakes and a
seemingly growing climate of shrinking employment prospects here in “the Golden
State.” Time moved on, however,
and slowly, ever so slowly, things began to change.
My family changed with the birth of my second lad. A few years later, sadly, my wife and I
divorced and we passed through the agonies that parents experience as they
raise willful children while seeking to put their individual lives back
together. Incredibly, through
these often baffling and even painful changes, a powerful phenomenon was
occurring that I barely recognized.
I was making friends -- really wonderful friends!
Nearly thirty-four years have passed since that bleak spring
of 1979 in the northeast. Some of
those thirty-four California years have been painful. Increasingly, however, life has become both more comfortable
and rewarding. My friendships have
been growing in numbers and even in intensity. My individual friends are a really diverse lot. Some of my friends are politically
conservative and others are politically liberal. Some are Christians -- as am I -- and some are agnostics and
even atheists. Two of my very
close friends are Buddhists. Some
have money and others have damned little.
Some believe that logic matters most while others believe that love is
our most valuable resource.
So, here it is February of 2013. The future for me is most likely shorter than is the
past. Barack Obama, a black man,
is president in his second term.
AT&T no longer reigns supreme. Cigarettes cost nearly ten bucks a
pack and you can hardly smoke them anywhere. (Something is wrong about that, but since I only
occasionally “bum” a cigarette these days, it hardly matters!) One can buy a microwave for under a
hundred dollars. Most everyone,
even me, has a home computer or two.
Now, like thirty-four years ago, I’m about to move on!
My new home will be Liverpool, New York, a little town north
of Syracuse. It is approximately half way between Binghamton, where I was born,
and Batavia, where I lived during much of my youth. The hardest part about moving on is the physical separation
I’ll experience from my sons and from my friends. My sons and I are permanently linked by the bond of love,
the source of which I believe is God.
My friends will need more continuous care since we are linked primarily
by intellectual and emotional bonds.
Thirty-four years ago the prospect of professional
advancement drew me to California.
This year an even more compelling force beckons me home. In less than two weeks, Saturday, March
9th, 2013, I’ll have the honor to marry my sweetheart Marsha here in
Alameda at the home of friends.
The foundation of our mutual love is, of course, a
friendship that defies simple description. It’s an experience that’s deeper than any I’ve ever known or
even hoped to know. To know Marsha
is to experience the joy of wanting to belong and to serve. To love Marsha is to happily surrender
to the loving guidance of a very wise, warm and lovely lady.
Our life together may not always be easy, but it will
certainly be wonderful!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
No comments:
Post a Comment