Adventures at Midlife

I found an oddly charming story in the NYTimes today about New Yorkers trying to balance their need to attend Rosh Hashana services and their need to constantly consult their cellphones and handhelds:

Escaping the worries of a chaotic world is often difficult in New York — a single ringing iPhone can spoil the quietest moments of a concert at Lincoln Center; a vibrating BlackBerry can deliver a message upsetting enough to make someone climb over a row of people and leave a Broadway show to go back to the office.

But this week, perhaps more than most, it was hard to check one’s worries at the door, hard to concentrate on what it means to mark a religious holiday during a financial crisis.

(For those of you goyim like me, Rosh Hashana is the Jewish New Year, a time for introspection and resolutions, an opportunity to admit the mistakes of the past year and plan for a better next year. As with Shabbat, no work is permitted, hence the conflict with the cellphones and IM. Nu?)

At the Park Avenue Synagogue, Senior Rabbi Elliott Cosgrove “had counseled the congregation not to be upset by the financial problems of the last few weeks,” said the Times. He then gave them what I think is the best advice I’ve heard yet:

“Let go of your white-knuckled grip on reality, and let a new reality present itself,” he told the congregation.

How many times in my little life have I tried to keep a stranglehold on a reality that no longer existed? A boyfriend who had long since moved on. A opportunity that was never seized, and then disappeared. An investment — in time as well as in money — that had evaporated. A lifestage that had inevitably ended. There isn’t any point in going back to the ideal, because it doesn’t exist anymore.

To me the new reality appears to be that my shrunken retirement portfolio may take a long time to rebound, credit will be harder to come by, jobs will be harder to find (something that will affect my sons more than me, but that makes it even more worrisome), inflation will continue to rise faster than the annual raises at my job — and my share of the tax burden created by this greed and remedied by the new bailout legislation remains to be tabulated.

But maybe — just maybe — because of all this, I will quit feeling like I have to keep up with everyone else. During the past five to ten years, I have driven all over our quaint little valley and repeatedly wondered, “Who is buying all these great big expensive homes? Who are these people in Jaguars and Bentleys and tricked-out Beamers and Mercedes? Where are they getting their money?” We’re a two-income household, but all this conspicuous consumption by my neighbors made me sometimes feel poor. Why didn’t I get a ticket to the party?

Now I know. And in this new reality, I’m seeing a lot of signs of the times, and they all say “For Sale.”

Update: Madame X at My Open Wallet also has some good advice for troubled times. (I particularly agree with her last one.)