The Fortune Cookie Has Spoken

Photo by charlesdeluvio on Unsplash

In my recent piece on Kung Pao Chicken ...

… I mentioned that, even though I can't eat fortune cookies (unless gluten free), I do enjoy reading and sharing the fortunes. In celebration of the publication of my KP chicken essay, friends Beth, Richard, and I enjoyed some take-out Kung Pao Chicken on the evening of the essay's appearance, July 3. It was nice to have company that evening, the 2nd anniversary of Susan's crossing over.

We shared some good Susan stories, of which there are many. She and I loved to go out for Chinese food at The Great Wall in Minneapolis. We almost always got the same thing (KP chicken for me; tomato, beef, & green pepper for her), and we shared egg rolls. I couldn't eat the shell (not GF), and she didn't like the insides (I did), so she took the shell and I took the insides, to which I added some plum sauce. Perfect sharing in complementarity. I have many happy memories of such meals, and many other occasions.

But back to my fortune.

As I have written several times, one of the transitions I have experienced in the past few years is stark awareness of my own mortality. During my working years, I didn't pay much attention to my age - I had more interesting things to attend to, and I was always surrounded by young people at the university. And then came Susan's protracted illness, during which I most definitely did not have time to think about my age. I had to be very young and on my toes 24/7. It was only after she passed and I experienced some deferred health maintenance issues of my own that it hit me -- Hey, I'm 75 (now bearing down on 77), with a lot more time behind me than in front of me. So if there's anything I want to do, I'd better do it while I can. That has now officially been confirmed by the fortune cookie I opened on Susan's anniversary.

As Mary Oliver asks, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" (from "The Summer Day")

I have already written about my three current commitments (singing, writing, and deepening relationships); and most recently, a fourth - community. That feels like a very full plate. But the fortune cookie is adding a note of urgency. At this moment, it's hard to say much more about it -- I suspect it would be foolhardy to try to push it. Just be open, and things will reveal themselves in due time. Be open. And don't be afraid. As Henri Nouwen wisely counsels, "You can't see the whole path ahead, but there is usually enough light to take tne next step."

credit: Substack AI

I'll close with this liberating passage from Walt Whitman's "Song of the Open Road," shared with me by a dear friend not long ago. It fits well for me at this moment.

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,

Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,

Listening to others, considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,

Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,

I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,

I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me

I would do the same to you,

I will recruit for myself and you as I go,

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,

I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,

Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,

Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

As I re-considered the draft of this essay in the light of a new day, I was reminded that actions and movements can be internal as well as external. They might involve external activities such as traveling to an exotic land or jumping from an airplane or some such -- but they might also involve a change of perspective or intention that is invisible to casual observers, but perhaps even more important to the next steps on that "wild and precious life."