Precious Life, and the Surrender to Adventure

So already, ever since I've stopped working at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School, I've been thinking about how precious and fragile life is.

Hardly an original thought, I know. But too many of my colleagues who ended long careers in the same school district and who looked forward to discovering and embracing the blend of productivity and ease that suited them personally didn't live much beyond their official retirement dates. In the last two months, cancer has claimed two of them, one of whom, a really nice, always optimistic woman with whom I worked closely for a number of years on Cambridge's new teachers' program, received her diagnosis less than a month after her last day of work. And the Kimbrough Scholars Project* does its social justice-related educational work to extend the legacy of Les Kimbrough, who died not far into his post-retirement years. 

Even when death hasn't snatched my fellow retirees, it's spectre has often been lurking nearby. The retirement party of another member of the Kimbrough Memorial Committee had to be postponed because she suddenly needed--I'm pleased to say, very successful--bypass surgery. Others spent much of their respective first years of "freedom" mourning departed spouses or sitting at the bedsides of gravely ill or gravely injured loved ones.

CARLOS A. THOMAS

Obituary |  Condolences

Thomas, Carlos A. 1/14/1979 to 11/1/2014. A life tells a story, and that of Carlos A. Thomas, in spite of ending too soon, tells one of connection and service. Carlos had passionate interests in art, music, and community, which he embraced throughout his young life. Carlos developed significant skills as a web developer and designer, starting his own company "Dynamic Data Design" (www.dynamic-data.net) to provide technical support specifically to nonprofits, as he was aware they are often inexperienced at technology and strapped for cash. A strong believer in building community, Carlos sought out connections that later became friendships, due to his low key yet enthusiastic personality and his wide variety of interests. Carlos and his family moved to Fitchburg in 2006, where he and his wife LaNeia had two children (ages 12 and 4) and worked on a number of community issues. Carlos has also been active in Fitchburg Youth Soccer, including coaching (and photographing) both local and traveling teams. In 2012 this powerhouse of a young man was diagnosed with Stage IV kidney cancer, which eventually stopped him in his tracks: likely the only thing that could. In "Being Mortal", Atul Gawande writes: The only way death is not meaningless is to see yourself as part of something greater: a family, a community, a society". Carlos saw himself as part of all these things. Following cremation by Keefe Funeral Homes (www.keefefuneralhomes.com), his life will be celebrated at the Fitchburg Art Museum, 5 PM on Saturday, November 8th. In lieu of flowers, donations to support Carlos's children can be made at http://climbingforcarlos.wordpress.com or to Applewild School (www.applewild.org ) "In memory of Carlos A. Thomas".

Published in The Boston Globe from Nov. 5 to Nov. 6, 2014

- See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/bostonglobe/obituary.aspx?n=carlos-a-thomas&pid=173054102&from=fb_npapp_obitread#sthash.9g1bN4q3.dpuf

The death of a former student just days after I attended Frances Cooper-Berry's funeral reinforced all of my recent feelings about the arbitrariness of life and death. Carlos Thomas was never a student in my classroom; he was one of those kids I got to know because he was a good friend of another student who actually was in one of my classes. The nature of the Pilot School was that teachers got to know their students' friends because the "friend clusters" in which the kids so often traveled were generally inseparable. I always found the constancy of these little groups sweetly, beautifully teenage.

Carlos was smart and mysterious, always ready with a wry smile and a philosophical comment. I can't say that I knew him well, but my memories of him are vivid. I always felt that he was assessing my sincerity and my values. And that despite his reservations about me, he appreciated our back-and-forth. I liked him.

Carlos' obituary** in today's Boston Globe fits perfectly with the Carlos I thought I knew--it refers to his vigor and commitment that only death could stop, and quotes from Atul Gawande's "Being Mortal" to assert that his was a life with meaning. Still, I find myself thinking of his two children, not even yet teenagers, and imagining how their worlds have been completely upended by his illness and passing. And I find myself wondering how Carlos' life might have unfolded in the years ahead had it not been ended by rampaging disease.

As for me, to date I'm one of the lucky ones. At the moment, all I have to fear is fear itself. The problem is that I've never known if I agree with Franklin Delano Roosevelt's first inaugural address pronouncement, though I've always wanted to. Some fear is justified--though probably not as much as I've been feeling as I've anticipated my upcoming trip to Singapore and Malaysia. 

I know. This is the moment when you're thinking that I should be excited, that I should be feeling as lucky as I am--to be healthy, to have such an opportunity to work (in Singapore) and play (in Malaysia) in places I've never laid eyes on before and that are reputed to be great places to visit. Some of the fear, probably better characterized as anxiety, is professional--and more natural: my educator colleagues and I are hoping that the ways we've planned to engage several large educator groups in exploring and embracing Making Learning Visible practices and principles are relevant, compelling, culturally responsive, and downright inspiring.

I've generally been good at handling professional anxiety--accepting it as the companion to the kind of stretching that professional growth requires. But I've never been good at distance travel or adventure. Anticipating adventure and distance travel, for me, is always about imagining the bad things that can happen, not the fascinating things I hope to experience. It's only when I get to my destination that I begin to feel the wonder, and the privilege of feeling the wonder.

Probability suggests that I won't perish in an ISIS attack, won't contract Ebola, won't experience the aftermath of an eruption of Krakatoa, won't perish in an airplane-related accident (even though Malaysia has been associated with more than its share of these in the past year). But probability always merely suggests and never insures. 

At any rate, I've been insured--and registered, vaccinated, passworded, and documented, too. At the moment I'm as legally and medically protected as one could be. Still, I think it's my quest for solace, certainty, rootedness, and protection that made me spend part of yesterday afternoon polishing silver and brass--the Sabbath candlesticks that belonged to my maternal grandmother, the Kiddush cup that belonged to my paternal grandmother. As if somehow I could channel the protection of my grandmothers through those objects that were part of how they blessed and kept those they loved, including me.

Meanwhile, everywhere life is shaking and moving, even though it's November and all is cold, dark, and damp. But the gold of the late fall trees flames against the sky's slate gray and dares the darkness. And the day's news is all life: my cousins Eli and Annita--I shared some of Annita's art in this blog in April and some of Eli's thoughts in May--have a new baby boy. Scott's in major production mode, gearing up for his Open Studios the weekend before Thanksgiving.*** Even my Christmas cactuses are getting into the act with their new, tiny, tender buds.

Years ago, when I went to my first World Music/CRASH Arts-produced concert at the Somerville Theater, I came across a familiar name among the donors listed in the program: Frances Cooper-Berry. When I next saw Frances, we talked about World Music and its commitment to "Music and Dance from the Far and Near Corners of the Globe." I remember how excited she was as we talked about the events planned for the rest of the season and the organization's mission. Frances was all about letting the world in, and going out to meet it whenever she could.

Yes, there's sadness this week. Irony and arbitrariness, too. But the big lesson of the week--the lesson that gets taught too frequently, and that we forget until we're taught it again--is that time is the precious commodity, because so often, time is life. And fear, like time, can limit life. I can't think of a single one of those who has passed who wouldn't have thought I was truly fortunate to have this travel opportunity--and who wouldn't have encouraged me to focus less on the fear and more on the opportunity.

So in their honor, I'm dedicating myself to welcoming my fast-approaching adventure as the positive thing that it is. Yes, some fear and anxiety are probably reasonable. But to place them front and center isn't, even though it's so natural for me. Yesterday's timely Writer's Almanac poem has me acknowledging the relationship between fear and guilt--my guilt, because I really don't have the kind of "heavy heart" at the moment that others I know do, because I have been so lucky so long. At the back of this connection is a robust, counterproductive fatalism--an inescapable belief that "there are rules that cannot be broken," a nagging, superstitious fear that too much good fortune puts a target on one's back, tempts fate. It lunges like a chained attack dog whenever I suspect that things are going well, perhaps too well.

Sometimes, the only way to solve a problem is to give thanks for having the problem--especially if it's luck or it's privilege that gives us the problem. Regardless, life is precious, much too precious to squander through fear that relegates us to routine, even beloved, satisfying routine, because of its certainty. So I've begun to do it, or at least to try to do it: to surrender to adventure, to relish its imminence, to stop wondering if I deserve it, to stop fearing as if fear itself could ward off disaster. And even yesterday, on the first day of trying, I felt real glimmers of excitement. Which doesn't mean that I'm not keeping my fingers crossed and praying--really praying--that in a few weeks, in a room filled with sunlight and the strains of "music from a confident age," I'll be able to acknowledge to myself that what I feared would happen "in my story did not happen." It's all about loving to be alive. Life is good.

Thomas, Carlos A. 1/14/1979 to 11/1/2014. A life tells a story, and that of Carlos A. Thomas, in spite of ending too soon, tells one of connection and service. Carlos had passionate interests in art, music, and community, which he embraced throughout his young life. Carlos developed significant skills as a web developer and designer, starting his own company "Dynamic Data Design" (www.dynamic-data.net) to provide technical support specifically to nonprofits, as he was aware they are often inexperienced at technology and strapped for cash. A strong believer in building community, Carlos sought out connections that later became friendships, due to his low key yet enthusiastic personality and his wide variety of interests. Carlos and his family moved to Fitchburg in 2006, where he and his wife LaNeia had two children (ages 12 and 4) and worked on a number of community issues. Carlos has also been active in Fitchburg Youth Soccer, including coaching (and photographing) both local and traveling teams. In 2012 this powerhouse of a young man was diagnosed with Stage IV kidney cancer, which eventually stopped him in his tracks: likely the only thing that could. In "Being Mortal", Atul Gawande writes: The only way death is not meaningless is to see yourself as part of something greater: a family, a community, a society". Carlos saw himself as part of all these things. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/bostonglobe/obituary.aspx?n=carlos-a-thomas&pid=173054102&from=fb_npapp_obitread#sthash.c332wQXe.dpu

* I talked about the Kimbrough Scholars Project in my June 30, 2014 post entitled "Watching Freedom Summer" twice.
** <http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/bostonglobe/obituary.aspx?n=carlos-a-thomas&pid=173054102&from=fb_npapp_obitread>
*** "Sulfuric Getaway" by Scott Ketcham: <http://www.scottketcham.com/post/97321402092/215-sulfuric-getaway-2014-48x32-oil-on> 
**** "In November" by Lisel Mueller: <http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2014/11/06>