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By Butch Freedman
My wife and I live in a house that real-estate agents label as an upside-down house, meaning that the living areas and kitchen are on the second floor and the bedrooms are down on the first floor, a reversal of the normal configuration. We do a lot of climbing stairs; keeps us in shape. But it has occurred to me lately, as I look back over my life (as us old folks are wont to do) that most of my adult life has also been upside down. Maybe it has to do with the politics of the day. We who came of age in the 60’s could never have imagined the Orwellian world we live in now. But more of that later. Let me trace my personal journey a bit.
My first wife and I got married right out of college, had kids soon after, and so never allowed ourselves much time to, you know, grow up. I’m not saying it was a mistake, though maybe a blunder; still we pushed through, provided for the kids, loved them a bunch, but didn’t allow much room for our own personal growth. Didn’t do the things that 20-somethings should experience, like having a few different romantic relationships. People grow that way, don’t they? We learn about ourselves through bumping up against a wide range of people and their differing personalities and world views. Only a divorce and years of living singly allowed that growth. And I never took that obligatory back-packing trip through Europe and other exotic destinations—testing the limits of one’s courage and soul and broadening one’s horizons. I finally went on that solitary journey, but not until after the separation in my late 40’s. Upside-down.
Throughout my early (married) adulthood I stayed mostly focused on earning a living. That’s pretty important when you’re raising a family. I was a high-school English teacher and I mostly liked the work. It was often-times very fulfilling, other times quite frustrating. I like to think (hope) I had some impact on my students’ lives. Some of them told me as much. But what I truly wanted to do was to be a full-time writer. That was my true passion—to go off and live in New York City or some other gritty locale and pound out my short stories, and live in poverty till I was recognized. That life couldn’t happen then, wouldn’t pay the rent or put food on the table. It’s okay to be a starving artist, but not a starving parent. I only got fully committed to my writing-self much later in life, when I was able to produce three books and hundreds of published essays, columns, and short stories. Not bragging (well, maybe a little) just—again, upside-down. What could I have accomplished when my brain was still jumping with exploding neurons and creativity? A regret, sure, we’ve all got a few. Not the end of the world.
Here’s another upside-downer: when I was a teenager back in New Jersey, before my world got stupidly serious, I loved to surf. Sure the waves are not great in New Jersey, but I was having fun on them, especially when a Nor’easter would blow in. I loved surfing and that life-style, just then coming to be on the East Coast. But after college I dropped surfing, partially because I was living in areas away from the ocean, but also because I had become depressed and didn’t allow myself “silly” pleasures. I wore dark clothes, a sullen scowl, listened to jazz and Dylan, read Kerouac and Burroughs. You get the picture. It wasn’t till my 70th birthday that I got back on the waves, after taking a catch-up lesson in Cannon Beach. I’ve now been steadily out there for the last 11 years. Upside-down, brothers and sisters.
But the most upside-down experience is the one that’s blowing my mind right now—today. Like most of my generation (baby boomers) I expected to live in a future society where democratic ideals held sway. There was supposed to be progress toward that goal of, dare I say it, world peace. Progress toward improving the environment, overcoming racism and violence, a kinder and gentler world. No more wars or invasions. A country we could be proud of, and, yes, a liberal enlightened one. But today we are not just upside-down, we’ve fallen off the map. The good old US of A has become a pariah state. Foreigners laugh—or shudder—when they picture the violence playing out here on the streets of Minneapolis, our own federal (or feral) government attacking and murdering citizens who are brave enough to stand up to masked marauders — a vision of hell on earth. We’re far from MLK’s dream society, so very far. We are so upside-down that we no longer can tell where the upside is.
I won’t give up hope though. Maybe it’s not too late to get our world right-side up. I like living in my upside-down house and I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to achieve some of my goals even though they came later in life, but I don’t know how much longer I’m able to abide an upside-down country. That has to change.