When you're fishing for the right zone

Many cultures hold with older members teaching younger ones, the “wisdom of the elders” as it were.

In the Bible's book of Proverbs I read, “Hear, my son, your father's instruction, and do not forsake your mother's teaching.”  The idea is that a Baby Boomer generation like mine will have something worth saying to guide a Gen X or a Millennial or a Gen Z, and now there is Alpha and Beta, about to be born.

Sometimes that wise word sneaks up on me. I have a grandson who just started working on Alaska's North Slope as a diesel mechanic.  I wondered how it was going.  He said, “Long hours, but it's fun.”  It is June after all.  He has yet to encounter an Arctic blizzard.

When I ended the conversation after midnight, it was already morning for me.  I learned a.m. is from the Latin “ante meridiem” — or “before midday;” p.m.  is “post meridiem” — or “after midday.”  In his time zone, it was still p.m., so I texted, “Night … morning? Zone makes all the difference.  Life advice — remember that.”

He caught on immediately, answering, “Words to live by.”  Zone encompasses so much more than time.  It is a state of mind — and therefore no matter where I find myself, I can inhabit the same zone as someone else.  I can dwell in a zone of rage, or kindness, of joy or defeat.  I can be interested and embracing life — or I can be “zoned out” and stagnating.

Knowing my grandson, he will remember our brief exchange.  Perhaps he'll check in with his “zone” more often — and recognize when he needs to switch zones for his own — or another's — good.

With dispensing wisdom comes the flip side — practicing it myself.  Just yesterday, I found myself in a zone I didn't like.  It began well.  I was enjoying time on our tiny dock — watching a “Gen Z” girl fishing from a public access spot without success.  I thought she might like to get farther out on the water and called out to let her know that she could use our kayak.  I hadn't noticed her boyfriend in another spot, but we had two and they were both soon over and happily paddling on the small lake.

When my husband arrived home and heard about this, he had all kinds of reasons why I should not have invited strangers over and sent them out on our kayaks.  I plummeted from feeling joyful at sharing and giving them a good experience, to feeling bummed and discouraged.  I could see my zone leading me to resentment — and distancing myself.  Before that bore sour fruit, I told him how I felt — and that while I could understand where he was coming from, I would like him to see that I had done a good thing.

The trumpets didn't blare, but I felt better after having explained myself.  It wasn't too much later the young couple from Spokane Valley returned, excited about having caught several bass — and pleased to meet my husband.  I gave them a package of Alaska salmon from the freezer — and the boyfriend said he'd bring us some halibut from an Oregon ocean charter he was about to take.

That evening Terry jumped his zone and told me I'd done the right thing.  And I had.  I'd given them an opportunity to bring in a catch — which they did.  When they were surprised by my offer, I'd had a chance to say, “love one another.”  I'd modeled for a Gen Z pair a state of mind they might carry to the next generations.

Older teaching the younger.  Zone makes all the difference.

Carol Shirk Knapp is the author of the Preacher's Kid column.