Officially Retired and Looking Forward to a Third Act

Freshly Retired, I Lean into a Breathtaking Future

Today is my first official day of retirement. It is also the first day of exploring my Third Act.

 

After leading Near East Area Renewal (NEAR) for nearly 12 years of unprecedented affordable homeownership development and urban neighborhood renewal—and after 25+ years of guiding and growing local nonprofits—I’m downshifting for a moment.

 

Only for a moment! Even as I take a breather, I’m already looking forward to what’s next. I’m exploring possible paths into and through what environmentalist Bill McKibben describes as the Third Act. Having learned and led and built and accomplished well into my sixties, how might I invest my time and energy and capacities and resources in legacy years?

 

It's a serious question. I don’t have the answer. I’m living the question. I have notions and inklings. I have ideas and dreams. I have cultivated capacities and a readiness to translate learnings and experiences into fresh community impact. What does that look like? I don’t yet know.

But on this first day beyond traditionally-defined work, on this first day of a Third Act, I celebrate the gift of time and the opportunities I have been given and lean into a breathtaking—if unknown—future.

Revisiting Wendell Berry's Poem 'Look Out'

On the eve of an ominous (to me) Inauguration, the Kentucky farmer's call beckons anew

As we face the specter of another Trump regime of rollbacks on essential environmental protections for the sake of exploiting fossil fuels for sheer greed, 'Look Out' seems apropos. Wendell Berry challenges us to see and enact a different way forward.

'Look Out' is from Berry's collection of poems titled Given (Shoemaker, Hoard, Washington, D.C., 2005). This is what Wendell Berry sees outside his Port Royal, Kentucky farmhouse:


Come to the window, look out, and see
the valley turning green in remembrance
of all springs past and to come, the woods
perfecting with immortal patience
the leaves that are the work of all of time,
the sycamore whose white limbs shed
the history of a man's life with their old bark,
the river quivering under the morning's breath
like the touched skin of a horse, and you will see
also the shadow cast upon it by fire, the war
that lights its way by burning the earth.

Come to your windows, people of the world,
look out at whatever you see wherever you are,
and you will see dancing upon it that shadow.
You will see that your place, wherever it is,
your house, your garden, your shop, your forest, your farm,
bears the shadow of its destruction by war
which is the economy of greed which is plunder
which is the economy of wrath which is fire.

The Lords of War sell the earth to buy fire,
they sell the water and air of life to buy fire.
They are little men grown great by willingness
to drive whatever exists into its perfect absence.
Their intention to destroy any place is solidly founded
upon their willingness to destroy every place.
Every household of the world is at their mercy,
the households of the farmer and the otter and the owl
are at their mercy. They have no mercy.
Having hate, they can have no mercy.
Their greed is the hatred of mercy.
Their pockets jingle with the small change of the poor.
Their power is the willingness to destroy
everything for knowledge which is money
which is power which is victory
which is ashes sown by the wind.

Leave your windows and go out, people of the world,
go into the streets, go into the fields, go into the woods
and along the streams. Go together, go alone.
Say no to the Lords of War which is Money
which is Fire. Say no by saying yes
to the air, to the earth, to the trees,
yes to the grasses, to the rivers, to the birds
and the animals and every living thing, yes
to the small houses, yes to the children. Yes.


What do I see? When I look out my window, do I see far enough--deeply enough, broadly enough--to perceive what Berry sees? And if or when I perceive such, am I caring or daring enough to leave my window and go out and say "no" to the Lords of War--to Money and Fire--and "yes" to life? Or do I just stand and stare, or turn away and hope someone else will take care of it?

John Franklin Hay
Indianapolis, Indiana, USA

The Unassuming Pianist

Mom offered her skilled art as a lifelong volunteer

I set up a home tribute (ofrenda) to my mom on top of this old baby grand I rescued from a neighbor a few years ago.

Janet Sheffield Hay, who passed on December 15th, was an unpaid/volunteer church pianist. For over 50 years she played for congregational singing (3 church services a week), choirs and seasonal cantatas, ensemble accompaniment, offertories, and singalongs. She was ever faithful and always ready. 

The upright piano in the homes of my childhood was well used. She practiced on it routinely, though not obsessively. At mom’s insistence, my sister and I took piano lessons and practiced on it (I was permitted to drop piano lessons and take up trumpet lessons in 5th grade). Singing gathered ‘round the piano with family and friends was a common happening (with three of my children in the photo).

Mom typically sight read music flawlessly and accommodated some pretty perfectionistic and demanding musicians (pathetic divas) without protest.

I think the fact that she played well and so frequently without identifying herself as a pianist is remarkable. If you didn’t know she was an active pianist, you’d not find out from her.

A few weeks before she died, someone donated a beautiful grand piano to the assisted living facility where she lived. I helped her walk to it and she played it for a short while (photo). I looked forward to more times with her playing that piano, but that one time was it.

I’m grateful for the gift of the love of music and the insistence on practice and learning to play musical instruments that she instilled in me. 

I just want the world to know what she would never tell: Janet Sheffield Hay was an artist at the piano and a faithful church pianist throughout her life.