financial aid and rants and raves

I'm feeling old.

The Psychology of Aging was one of my favorite classes at FIU, partly because of the bubbly (and yes, mega-cute) grad assistant who taught the course, but also because of two ideas she explored, which resulted in two of the few good, overarching theories I've had in my life. The ideas were that research showed that older people are happier when they're separated from society at large. The class groaned it's disapproval, but she was (pleasantly) insistent. The other idea taught by our Ph. D. candidate was that people are most creative in their early to mid-twenties, and basically spend the rest of their lives refining and building on these ideas. This assumes someone has a good idea worth exploring, of course. From these notions, two ideas sprang into my mind over the couse of my undergraduate studies. One was that long-term homelessness should be diagnosed as a form of mental illness, separate and distinct from any other presentations. I developed this supposition after reading an article in the Miami New Times concerning homeless youth. The social worker interviewed stated that they have two months before living on the streets takes such a toll that they can't really help the kids affected. After that, people will do anything to survive: drugs, crime, trading sex for a place to sleep, eating out of dumpsters, whatever it took. As someone who has been on the street, the stress is enormous. I would pack bedding in my backpack, head to campus, sleep at a construction site, then shower at the gym. This went on for some time. I was working, but didn't make enough to pay rent, and the dorms were closed for the term. I just needed to limp along until April, when I could head back to Shawnee Inn and live in employee housing.

Aside from the stress, which the average person would expect, there was another effect I didn't realize would occur: there's a perverse freedom to being homeless. You have no real bills; you live only day to day with no requirement that you plan for the future, and your only real concern is a safe place to sleep that night and scrounging food. If you get sick or hurt, you head to the emergency room and they have to treat you. You don't answer to anything or anyone, and none of those who are similarly situated judge you for what you do to survive. The longer you're out of doors, the less savory those options become. You become almost feral, neglecting to bathe, change your clothes, etc. This didn't occur to me, as I did want to look good for class. One of my fellow students told me later I failed, but it was the effort that counted. I broke out of this situation when someone who was also sleeping rough started to show me how to store stuff, get certain types of luggage, and where to find free food. He felt we were simpatico, though I didn't. Still, I knew my mindset was changing in a way that scared the shit out of me, and his tutelage confirmed my fears. I asked a friend for help, and I reintegrated into a normal life. That was at about the two month mark, proving the social worker's theory. My personal experiences aside, the idea stuck with me, and friends who work in mental hospitals agree with my assessment.

The other theory dovetailed with older people being happier living in smaller, isolated communities, apart from the greater culture. If this is correct, then I posited you can measure someone's mental and emotion youthfulness by how well he or she adjusts to the world at large. The older you are in your spirit, the less you're able to adapt. It sounds terrible, and maybe it is, but as a middle-aged man, I can feel it's effects. I listen primarily to music that was new when I was young; all my closest friends are around my age, with a language and shared cultural connections forged over decades. I am friends who are younger, much so in some cases, but I can't relate to their life situations for thew most part. Someone not following me on Instagram does not keep me up at night. My ability to manage the rapid changes in on both society at large and my own personal situation has diminished somewhat, partly because I disagree, but also because by the time I get a handle on it, more change has happened. I'm always playing catch-up, with only a little success. Could I try harder? Sure, but there's a limit to that as well. One, I've always been a bit apathetic to major cultural shifts (I am a Gen-X'er, after all), hidden by my youthful flexibility. Before, I would shrug my shoulders, now I recoil.Two, my time and energy, both limited resources, are better spent with my girlfriend, her son, her puppies, my immediate and extended family, my friends, my job, taking care of myself both in the short-term and for the long-term, and volunteering, rather than trying to figure out the best uses for fictional gender-less pronouns.

So some of this is caused by a very busy, adult life; some of it is caused by my becoming a cranky old man, and some of it is caused my a slightly diminished ability to adapt. Blame my age; blame sleep apnea; blame technology changing the world so quickly that the human mind can't keep up. Whatever the cause, don't dismiss the phenomena as fiction. It's been stymieing me for months now, and preventing me from making plans. I feel I finally have all the data needed to allow me to move forward -  I hope. Tomorrow (and I mean tomorrow May 3rd.), things might be dramatically different all over again.