The concept developed with stealth. When I noticed its presence, driving southbound US-31 from lunch, it seemed perfectly benign in the context of philosophy: a natural part of the mental décor, like a bathmat or planter to a house. I live right now in a personal golden age. That sounds awfully grand; pretentious, even, and if so perhaps due its immediacy on the page. The idea, as mentioned, must have developed organically over time as not to cause alarm when noticed. Maybe my brain built a defence mechanism? Anyway, like the best clichés, the threat of its going away helped to notice that I had a golden age at all.
A ‘golden age’ is identified by contrast: how one characterises the ages before and after the one under inquiry. Those of Anglo extraction commonly trace a link to the reign of Elizabeth I of England. That era of English history is known as England’s ‘golden age’ for its relative domestic peace and prosperity. A lovely allegorical portrait of said qualities exists right here. The time before good ‘ole Bess sat her ass on the throne is noted by historians as gruesome religious/civil violence. Guess what defining qualities are best remembered in the era after Bess’ throne warming ass?
If I split the term ‘age’ into a calendar year, the most recent -- starting with the house purchase exactly one year ago -- two words apply completely, honestly and beautifully: Peace and Prosperity. Meaning, that... oh shit. Something’s going to happen. Before pessimism gets the better of me (hah!), some detail needs attention.
When living in a golden age, one wants what one wants when one wants it and on one’s own terms. Why? Because the good days will seemingly never end.
Last month my boss announced at a department meeting that our hours of operations may return to 24/7 from their present 16/5. I had a goddamn fit. Retaining a ‘normal,’ reliable schedule count as one of the greatest benefits of working in this department. Losing the schedule to something far more capricious - and to a process best described as an internecine melée - sends my brain into a spiral of melancholy. Yet, some context changes the manner of my response. In the intimate context, in my immediate family I am lucky to have full-time employment. My mother and one brother remains unemployed well over a year. The other brother recently lost (maybe regained) his job. My dad (luckily?) can no longer work due to a medical problem and will remain on disability for the rest of his life. In a larger social context, I live in the state with the nation’s highest unemployment rate (14.9%). Considering a possible work schedule change from either of these perspectives gives me pause; nobody in these hypothetical schedule revision meetings mentioned a thing about layoffs, so what exactly are the reasons for my distress? 14.9% of the state may well consider me a selfish little bastard, complaining about receiving strawberry jam instead of raspberry jam on his sandwich while other people are hungry. My relatives, I glean through casual conversation, enforce the notion that employment on any schedule counts as a medium-grade miracle.
The college changed, under duress, the hiring process of part-time faculty. The process by which administration assigned courses to PTF went into the air roughly simultaneous to the changes at my ‘day job.’ Too much uncertainty! Not to let the anxiety simmer, senior people within the college’s administration either quit, retired or accepted different positions. Shifting sands! Relationships with people I built at the college evaporated, seemingly overnight. Thus far, the administration treated me very well, assigning to me numerous challenging classes in Holland and making themselves available to help when I asked. Two fears surfaced within days of learning of the administrative turmoil: that the college could not offer any summer courses and second, that I’d lose the preference to work within the Lakeshore campus.The first fear came not to pass. The college offered me an a summer course. The second fear lingers, as said course meets in Grand Rapids. Because I seemingly live in a personal golden age, I felt aggrieved by the assignment. The Grand Rapids course doesn’t fit my preference. I like the income. I dislike the location. One fear possibly realised seems too much. That seems petulant.
Maybe the ‘golden age’ is instead an age of selfishness; that the resources (including time) at my disposal feed a machine of self-interest (my house, my whims, my vacation) rather than something larger. At 31, am I hearing a biological clock? Last week I thought about creating a bumper sticker reading “Britney Spears Can Have Children But I Can’t?”
Perhaps the culture of ‘having it your way’ crept into my worldview.
Perhaps my life needs shaken up by challenges. Life is going too well. I can’t shake this suspicion.
