Let’s face
it, the America we were born into, the America we saw as we toddled around and
took our first baby steps, was a gleaming mid-1950’s, self-assured one filled
with white enameled appliances and extraordinary cars. Our mothers did wear aprons – it’s not just a
“Leave it to Beaver” joke. Our dads
worked “at the office.” The shoebox-shaped
black-and-white TV with its 9- or 10-inch screen advertised cleaning products,
cars, shampoo and cigarettes. My very
earliest impressions must have been that my life would be an updated instant
replay of my mother’s. And yet by the
time I was in first grade, I heard my parents talking in hushed tones about how
Schenectady would be the first to “go” if the Russians bombed the US, and no
number of school “duck and cover” air raid drills made us feel safe from a
fireball in the sky. By the age of 7 or
8, I was writing to the President, asking him to ban nuclear weapons, and yet
within another year or two, America seemed to be on fire from within, with
Vietnam and assassinations and social upheaval. By then, Schenectady, far from being in the bull’s eye, was a distant
outlying province of the real action. I
was too young to protest or go to Woodstock, but listening to songs like “The
Age of Aquarius” on my tiny transistor radio, I felt some reassurance that
despite appearances, we were heading into an era of “harmony and
understanding.” Harmony was the key word
for musical me. I guess my
generation was the last to major in what we loved in college. The word “career”
was never mentioned, as in, what was I going to do with a music major? I actually knew what I was going to do…go to
England, marry an Englishman, and have sons
who would sing English cathedral music since it was not then an option for
women.
I went to
England in 1980, but I didn’t meet Mr. Right, and returned with an M.Mus in
historical musicology and huge student loans, and was thrust out into the world
of Reaganomics and kill-or-be-killed capitalism. I hung on as long as I could, but eventually jumped
off the merry-go-round once my loans were paid off, around 1990. By then, most of my friends were married with
children, but it was hardly the gleaming 50’s version of our memories. Single, I explored all sorts of places and
options. The twin influences of personal computers and New Age/New Thought spirituality
seemed to promise a belated nirvana, and yet 2001 brought Orwell instead. What's funny is, I can’t even find words to characterize the era we are in
now. It is indescribable. Brilliant and bizarre.
As I scan
the lives of friends, it is hard to say whether anyone has achieved quite what
they expected or wanted, yet clearly we are privileged compared to many women
in the world. I have one friend who made
it in the business world and I am sure is comfortably off, but it was a hard
struggle for her as a woman. A few are
exploring new careers in holistic health or self-actualization. Some broke early ground for women in law or
the church, but landed eventually in more traditional careers as teachers or
nurses, and have exhaustedly reached or are reaching retirement, as are their
husbands. Many are grappling with
illnesses (in self or family) that are less lethal than 60 years ago but also
more ambiguous. Some of my friends are experiencing voluntary or
involuntary housing uncertainty and are not entirely sure where they will be living
a year from now. And a few of my friends
are extremely well off, and yet their lives aren’t any less nuanced and messy.
I guess
what I am saying is, although my life (and my lifelong effort to be in England
and sing cathedral music) reflects a very unique and surprising plot line for a
little girl from Schenectady, it’s a plot line that has been propelled by a ferocious
zig-zag of national, world, social and health upheavals and changing
expectations for women. Almost everyone
I know has already had “nine lives,” and we’re all rather exhausted. It has been quite a journey. Much of the time I am hard on myself for not
having done it “right.” So it came as a
surprise to me yesterday to feel (almost literally) the hands of the Divine
mother clasp me tight. What I inwardly heard
was this: ”Dear one, you have done a remarkable job of living in this
unprecedented moment in history. All of
your friends have. You have changed the
world, you have changed with the
world, and you are all loved. Love
yourselves. And love as much as you can
about the world around you. Everyone is
doing their best. Love is the only step forward.” Simplistic, but it made me cry.
Maybe the
Age of Aquarius is dawning after all, just in time for lifetime ten.
