More and more the world feels alien to me and I know, to some degree at least, it's a consequence of aging. We are born into a time and mistake it for the way things are, but “the way things are” keeps changing and, eventually, we are no longer a part of the present. We are relics of another reality. It's disorienting and often frightening. I don't recognize so much of the way things are now.
Of course, I haven't ever been particularly comfortable. Not even in my own time. But it made sense, at least. The politics, the music, the fashion, the manner of thought. We are immersed in our own time. It is existence, reality. I don't feel the same way about this time we are in. It's become unrecognizable in its details.
I can see how it will be easy to lose track, to become less and less able to follow the sense of things. It would be fascinating if it wasn't so disorienting.
On the other hand, I am writing songs, slowly but surely. I'm still creating. And my dog and cat don't seem to mind the changes. I need to be more like them, I suppose. What do they care if there is increasing antisemitism and war? What do they care about AI? About customer service calls routed to India?
Gem is stretched out her whole length, asleep on the couch. She eats and dreams. My tree is continuing to grow, skyward and from side to side. I have a roof over my head and books to read.
But “Oh, the world. It makes no sense, the world.”