When I was young (post dinosaur, pre-Disneyland), we had an amusement park in Chicago named Riverview. Riverview was the home of the "Bobs," advertised to be one of the biggest, baddest roller coasters in the world.
Once or twice a year my buddies and I would take the bus to Riverview, spend the day, and come home tired, broke and sick. Ah! the good old days.
I would always ride the monstrous Bobs, not because I enjoyed 11 minutes of sheer terror and having my stomach follow me at a respectful ten feet, but because it was the macho thing to do. (I did say I was there with my buddies, didn't I?)
Climbing into the wildly painted coaster car, I'd make sure I was settled as far back as my anatomy would allow in the well-worn, cracked leather seat stained with sweat and other bodily liquids. I would then jam the safety bar as tightly up to my waist as the other side of my anatomy would allow. Then with the precision of a concert pianist, I would place my clammy digits into the finger indentations chiseled in the bar by thousands of previous macho and femcho thrill seekers. In basically that position, I would ride the fast, foreboding, fearsome Bobs.
Eventually revitalization caught up with the Riverview section of town. No more amusement park, no more Bobs, one more parking lot.
When I reminisce about my Riverview experiences, I realized what a wuss (didn't have that word in those days, but you get the idea) I was. Now, sixty years later sitting in the safety of my home 1300 miles from Chicago, I picture myself riding the Bobs. I picture starting up the first hill, pushing that sissy safety bar away and standing up when we hit the first dip. I'd take my shirt off and wave it wildly in the air screaming, "I'm the king of the world!" during the whole electrifying way down.
That's what I would have done (looking back from my Lazy Boy and knowing I'll never have to ride the Bobs again). But the Bobs are gone and so, thank God, is my opportunity to implement my fantasy.
I think of my love/hate relationship with the Bobs when I hear speakers and writers reveal studies of senior citizen and what they wished they had done in their lives--how they wished they had ridden their "Bobs."
The senior studies ask the question, "If you had your life to live over, what would you do?" The answers are sprinkled with phrases like:
"Be more reflective."
"Take more risks."
"Be relaxed."
"Be silly."
"Make more mistakes."
and of course "Pick more daisies."
I am always intrigued by these revelations. Easy for seniors to say. Seniors are looking back on a life they will never have to live again. Most of them are economically secure, work life is over, kids beyond their influence, finally settled on their last spouse, many friends gone and death is the next big adventure.
Everything older folks say they wish they had done is purely logical and understandable looking BACK on life. Saying, "I should have taken more chances" when you're 85 and the consequence of taking chances no longer exists, is much easier than taking chances at 25 with the consequences of those "chances" looming ahead.
Would I be such a wild and crazy, roller-coaster type guy now if the Bobs still existed, and I was sitting in that wildly-painted car heading up the first hill?
There is a time and a place in our lives for everything. What the younger folks believe makes life worthwhile (accomplishment, challenge and financial security) is as true for them as what older folks believe now would have made their lives more worthwhile when they were younger (taking more risks and making more mistakes).
The secret is to DO what makes you happy WHEN it makes you happy. Don't pick daisies if you would rather work just because some 85-year-old said in 60 years you will be unhappy you didn't pluck daisies or smell roses. As long as the accumulation of wealth makes you happy -- then accumulate wealth. When it stops making you happy -- pick daisies.
What produces unhappy people are people spending their lives not doing what seems right for them at the time, but doing things others believe are right for them.
What older folks who answer those surveys must remember is at 25 life is serious. Young adults are finishing school, finding careers, marriage, kids, etc. Life is much more serious at 25 than 85. Sure, when we turn 85, we will wish we hadn't taken life quite as seriously. But if oldsters hadn't given the life the seriousness it deserved when they were youngsters, would they have the leisure time to sit around and take studies?
While it might seem I'm putting down the results of these studies, I'm not. I believe the messages these studies provide young people are critical reminders that there are options to a life of stress. But, unfortunately, we humans seem hell bent on learning through making our own mistakes. Maybe that's what makes us human. If the human condition does not facilitate our learning effectively from others' experiences, then by default, our learning must come from our own experiences. Our propensity for self-learning may make us human, but it doesn't necessarily make us a smart human. This is a cosmic dirty trick because by learning through our own experiences, the learning comes just after we need it.
