Escaping Quicksand at 50

I turned 50 today. It might be cliché, but I believe that birthdays are for action, and since I can’t travel with my family, at least I can do some active inquiry. I’ve been thinking about my childhood, and what I expected of growing up. Specifically, I have been thinking about the skills that seemed so important to learn in order to be an adult. As a grown-up, I do try my best to use slightly more elaborate knots than needed, I love using a sharp knife outdoors, and I can mostly do math in my head without using my phone. But those aren’t the skills I dreamed and worried about. Here, I thought I would address a few for you:

1.    Surviving Quicksand

If you are my generation (give or take 10 years), you have thought a lot about quicksand and probably never seen any. I still am confused by how quicksand works. For example, do you step into it and immediately sink up to your neck (a la Gilligan) or do you have to pause over it to read a map or something only to find yourself stuck like a mammoth in a tar pit. It wasn’t solely the fear of being consumed by the earth that haunted me, it was the realization that your natural reaction to freak out would hasten your demise. I know from experience that in panic situations, I am not the most adept at keeping my head. I was once “attacked” by a frill lizard on Frazier Island, in Australia. My reaction was similar to Newman’s reaction in Jurassic Park. A little too late and a little too slow.

2.    Driving a Dune Buggy

I was pretty convinced I would need a Dune Buggy at some point. Never mind that I grew up in North Baltimore. I figured I could end up a beach bum or in the apocalypse. Both are still possible, so there is hope. The closest I got to a ridiculous vehicle was a black Ford Bronco with monster tires that my brother Hugh convinced me was a really solid purchase, before moving to Minneapolis. Besides having atrocious gas mileage, monster truck Broncos are only good for two things, as I came to realize: running from the police and driving over your enemy’s lawn. Neither would end well, but it would feel so good.

3.    Stumbling into Time Travel

I don’t think I was ever smart enough to really get time travel, so I didn’t fantasize about figuring it out. If it was going to happen, I was going to have to walk into it like a closet leading to Narnia or through something stupid like a double-door fridge that sucked me in. Even then, it probably would take me a day to figure out what had happened. I made up my own rules of engagement just in case. Change your clothes first. This is more imperative if you go backwards in time, because forward in time, you can always play it off like you are retro. Try not to over speak: you can get pretty far with yes and no before you are too suspicious. I am unconvinced that you need to get yourself back home quickly, unless you find yourself chased by a saber-toothed cat. I think you would have to just lean into the experience. And of course, never run into yourself in an alternate timeline. No high-fives, even though that would be pretty cool.  

4.    Predict a Solar Eclipse 

In hindsight this one is a little problematic. I think I picked it up from A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, which I saw at camp one summer. To set the scene, the hero is in trouble in a foreign land. They realize a solar eclipse is coming, so pretend to have magic powers that will block out the sun. It is a little harder to pull off and probably requires you pay attention to stars and the calendar, but in my mind, I would just remember that an eclipse is coming, like someone today might dream of auditioning by chance for a singing competition and winning. The payoff of convincing a group of people that you possess superhuman powers was always more interesting to me than having superhuman powers. I’m glad I was never in that predicament, though. I can imagine myself saying “just one more minute” presumably to a group of people I time traveled to, who’s language I don’t speak. Imagine remembering that an eclipse is about to happen and getting taken out two minutes too soon. Solar eclipses take awhile. That would suck.

As I was talking to my wife about the memories of these never cultivated skills, which I didn’t really had an opportunity to use, it became clear that they actually had served a purpose I had not intended. The pondering of these for hours on end as a kid had prepared me to react to challenges that I had yet to know. These were the beginning of my own methodology of change management.

How do you deal with Quicksand? You calm yourself, stay still, and ask for help from someone outside of the pit.

Why is a Dune Buggy relevant? There is a tool for every specific situation. Know when to use it (on a desert run for water while chased by punks in lacrosse gear) and when not to (on the rainy winter Jersey Turnpike).

Time Travel requires you to know what has already happened. You need to propose what you want to change;  have an idea of what you are aiming for—otherwise you might end up in the wrong era; AND when you need to decide to try again. It is the ultimate case study of iterative learning.

Finally, there is not a great use case for predicting a solar eclipse. However, what Bing Crosby’s Hank teaches us is that you have to fake it til you make it. And sometimes showing people what you want to be is more powerful than telling them who you are.

 I am 50 years old today. As I listen to my kids go on about zombies, which animal is the fastest in the world, and the relative nature of different dragons, I am infinitely conscious of how they are building out their own methodology for how to adapt to unknowable future experiences.  

As Adrienne Maree Brown wrote in Emergent Strategy, “Science fiction is simply a way to practice the future together... It is our right and responsibility to create a new world.”