Not only my phone, but now my toilet is smarter than I am?

I am humbled yet again. It happens a lot these days as I continue my path of elderhood. Wisdom seems to mean realizing just how much we don’t know — a list that seems to grow every day.

I have accepted that my cell phone knows more than I do. I can still use it and we have a decent working relationship. I am ok with that.

Recently, my old toilet began to make new noises — leaky noises. Phantom flushing is what AI told me it was called. It was an old toilet, so best to replace it. And why not treat myself to a new fancy one with a bidet, which I have wanted for some time.

So, with the help of a plumber, I ordered a new toilet. It lights up when you enter the room, heats the seat, and has a remote that is more complicated than I could have imagined.

The plumbers who came to install it were emphatic that while they knew how to install it, they had no idea how to work it. So with the toilet installed, the three of us stood in front of it with no idea as to how to flush it — something they needed to do to confirm it was working properly. They eventually did get it to flush, but weren’t sure which button that they had pushed to get it to work! I figured this was something that I could work on later on my own, in private…

I asked if they had an instruction manual they could leave with me, which they did. It’s not quite the reading material that I enjoy, but it is a necessity.

Later, I carefully opened the manual and begin to skim through it. Thank goodness that I have another bathroom as I learn this new contraption. I have named him, which I do with everything. And given the intimate relationship that we will have, he definitely needed a name.

Are you ready? His name is Pierre (Pee-Air) La Tush. We have to laugh when and where we can, yes? So many funny descriptions come to mind….cushy tushy will do for now.

Lessons from Pierre (so far):

I have the courage to try new things and realize that I know nothing, but can learn.

I need not shame myself for taking time to learn new things. We each have our own victories of courage, even in the most unlikely places. We can honor ourselves for challenges faced!

We can give ourselves all the time that we need to learn new things. We can remember to see the humor in things and laugh along the way.

So, back I went to the instruction manual and the complex remote. Apparently, there are sequences to follow with each function to get the task done. I guess that is true of life, yes? (Writers can find the metaphors in everything, I think.)

Life offers continual lessons and we can learn to face things, to make mistakes, to see the fun and the funny in each moment, to see the grace and wonder in it all, to be grateful for the awkwardness. As a friend of mine says, “if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing awkwardly”. We can honor our own individual battles and not let others’ opinions dampen our feelings of success and courage. We can allow our humanity, allow ourselves to be beginners repeatedly, and offer ourselves kindness and patience along the way.

How many battles do each of us face each day? How many challenges do we stare down, even if they may seem silly to others? We can be grateful for our own brand of courage. We can smile and laugh at the silliness of it all, the humor in every day, the sound of the Universe sometimes being a soft chuckle.

So, Pierre and I are still getting to know each other. It’s such a treat to be greeted as I enter the bathroom, now that I have stopped jumping to this new sound and light that greets me when I get close to him.

Enjoy your battles, your lessons, your funny moments. Treat yourself and give yourself all the time that you need to learn how to use things. It’s ok. You are ok.

Laugh…a lot.

It’s all good….and it all works out in the end. (I just couldn’t resist!)

By the way, Pierre and I are communicating well at the moment. Partly I have learned from the instruction manual, and partly from just sitting with Pierre and trying different things. He seems ok with that. And I have learned yet again that I can learn new things at my own pace and in my own way, and that this is perfectly ok.

The bottom line….I think that this relationship will work out just fine!

Quiet, but no less powerful

I have live most of my life thus far quietly. I learned that this style was the best way to feel safe in my childhood, given a very strict and authoritarian father whose anger was intense. Although he never lashed out physically, he was quick to anger. I don’t think that he was aware of how scary his anger could feel to a child, how scary his face looked when he was angry. My survival technique became to retreat into quiet solitude and to try and become as invisible as I could (not easy for an only child).

As I write this, I want to express my appreciation to the wonderful author, Susan Cain, who has given us all such a gift with her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. She helped to give voice to introverts, creating space for the value of human life in all of its expressions. She helped give words to much of what I have experienced in my life and helped to validate its worth.

So, now as an elder, as I continue to explore this unfamiliar land of elderhood, I find that unlike what my fantasies had been (which was to have everything figured out by now and to be the best version of myself, which I think in my fantasies was different than my usual quiet self, imagining that I would somehow turn into this more gregarious, social, outgoing and together person. Nope, not happening.)

Of course, my core is still there. I think that, as a relatively quiet person, I get to hear a whole lot more with my mouth shut and my ears open. I still don’t like anger and conflict, and that’s ok. I don’t have to like it to express it or to be able to deal with it. I can be strong, set boundaries, and yet still retain my true core of quietness.

I don’t have to be loud, even though I still think that being loud gets more attention and gets noticed more, at least initially. I can wait to speak my piece/peace, can take my time to think about what I want to say (after observing, listening. processing, and formulating my thoughts). That was something else that I thought would change, that I would somehow get faster, think better on my feet. Once again, nope. And you know what? It’s ok that I take my time to process my thoughts and feelings. Being faster and louder is not better, just different.

Different ways to express ourselves

I recently attended a presentation by an artist. He spoke from his heart as he described his art, his life, his feelings. I was intrigued by not only his art, but the story that he told behind it . After the presentation, people in the audience rushed up to talk with him, as often happens. They were in a group around him, each waiting to get his attention and speak with him. This kind of scene is not my strength; competition is not my favorite. So, I wondered how I could express my appreciation in a way that worked for me and got my reaction across to him. I walked up to where he was, but at a respectable distance and not part of the group that surrounded him. I waited until he happened to look my way, and while making eye contact with him, I put my hands onto my heart and smiled. He, while maintaining eye contact, smiled back as he in turn placed his hands on his heart. Message sent and received and enough said. The interaction felt complete. It was all the conversation that I needed. I was touched by how words were not needed. Now, I have nothing against words, given how much I love to express myself in my writing. But we quiet folks can still say a whole lot amid our silence.

Of course, there are challenges that can be particularly hard, like meetings at work where I felt like I had to fight to get a word in or had to interrupt someone, which seemed to be the norm for meetings. (I am happily retired now, so that challenge is no longer part of my life, but I do still feel twinges of the same pattern when in any group.)

This makes me appreciate even more the idea of a talking stick (used by some Indigenous peoples of North America.) With this tradition, you have the floor when holding the stick and maintain the sacred right to speak, so that (gasp) you can even pause to collect your thoughts without worrying about someone interrupting you. (I also have another idea for a different kind of talking stick to be able to hold up…one that stops mansplaining in its tracks…but that is for another article!)

I take my time (most of the time) reacting to things. I realize that this may change as I continue to practice speaking up more, or maybe it won’t change. I can give myself grace with this part of who I am and with this being my style and my pattern. I don’t have to judge myself harshly about this. I can keep working with this, and maybe even try out new ideas…like introducing myself and my style, thus planting a seed that may create more space for it, bringing it into others’ awareness. Another idea is to verbally claim a space during any meeting for the quieter folks to speak their mind without interruption. This could be a way to begin to create more awareness and space for quieter folks, where they don’t have to fight to be heard, where they can quietly, with a bit more time, express what they wish.

I think a lot about quiet versus loud. Quiet waits, listens, remains, endures, stays steady, has its own kind of power, its own way of connection, its own selfhood, its own depth and richness, its own worth.

Acceptance of what is and who I am

So, now as an elder, I still don’t jump into conversations. I still avoid conflict but will handle what I need to when it is called for. I can also create space to discern who may not be able to listen, so that I don’t have to keep hitting my head against the wall trying to get something that is not available at that time. I can pick my battles, choose my times, and embrace the power of NO. I can choose my family, my tribe, my space.

I am an elder, old enough to finally accept who and what I am. I realize that not all invitations to battle require a response. I can use my own weapons of choice in a conflict (Remember the scene in the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark? There was a scene where Indiana Jones’ opponent shows his tremendous skill with all his knives and martial arts. Indiana Jones watches him for a while, knows that he cannot compete with this, pulls out his gun and shoots him. He used his own weapons!)

I can own my quietness and the truth of who I am and how I am. I can seek out those who relate and can speak my language. I can help people see and hear that I did express myself, but that they may not have heard me since I was speaking in my own quiet dialect. Someone who speaks this dialect may indeed express an opinion or put forth an idea, but it may not be heard until someone who speaks the dialect of loud or extroversion expresses the same thing, but is heard because that dialect more easily gets attention in our culture.

So, I realize that I am not “cured”. I never needed to be. Aging, for me, has come with more acceptance of who I am, recognizing that there is also power in quiet, not letting others tell me who I am, what my values should be, or how I should express them.

To my fellow quiet elders, you have a life that has been richly lived. There is power in your quiet as well as sustainability, endurance, and depth. We have our own brand of wisdom, for those who may want to hear it. We can listen to our own music, our own version of our life song, quieter, but no less melodious or rich.

Always a challenge for me

We have issues that we work on for our entire lives.

One of my major issues has been self-confidence or lack there-of.

I marvel at others around me who jump in confidently, even as beginners, and just believe that they will do ok.

I have never been that way.

I can trace this pattern back to my childhood, as we can with many of our patterns. In their attempt to try and help me be my best, my parents unintentionally taught me to never be sure of myself, to doubt what I do, to believe that others could do it better, to shrink back and not try, as I would be sure to embarrass myself (or them?). I don’t write this to blame them, as they did what they knew to do and had their own pain from their very difficult childhoods. But it is important to see how long this has been a pattern for me and the resulting cost to my life.

I am an elder now. I am trying new things, as I want to keep learning and challenging myself and want to be an active participant in this precious life while I am still alive. And this old familiar pattern of mine once again makes its presence known, screaming at me from within, telling me to shrink, hold back, stop trying, let others do things who will do them so much better than I ever will.

It’s an excruciatingly painful issue for me, to feel my own inner voice beating myself up, trying to hold me back, telling me to fade into the background and to stop being foolish enough to think that I can learn new things and do them well. Just who do you think that you are, the voice within continues. You don’t have what it takes. You will never be as good as. You will never be enough. Stop embarrassing yourself. Stop trying. Hide in safety.

Can anyone out there relate to this?

I am training for several volunteer positions, one with our local zoo and another with a wildlife rescue hospital. I have been attending classes, trying to pay attention to what I am told and doing my best to learn what I need to know. I think that my anxiety can sometimes get in the way of my learning, as the voices within can get loud enough to drown out my hearing what I need to learn.

I had a shift yesterday, and the person that I was hooked up with for the day pretty much left me to my own, told me to just do things that, although we had classes about it, I had never actually done before. I kept asking questions, kept apologizing for being slow and for asking all my questions. She was not kind in her look to me or her demeanor. I felt so alone and so once again like the little girl who had dared to put herself out there only to be shamed again into feeling inadequate. I later came to find out that others have felt this way with this particular person and also found out that she does not enjoy training others and prefers to do things alone.

Nonetheless, to meet these issues inside me yet again, now as an elder, is quite humbling. I thought that I would be past this by now.

I realize that I don’t do well with someone who is critical, who is not supportive and kind, who is demanding and quietly disappointed. It reinforces those negative voices inside me and adds to the evidence against my worth.

As an only child, I learned to keep things like this to myself, to feel like there was really no one to reach out to, that I had to handle things on my own. I still do that these days, thinking that I deserve the bad feelings that I have, that how dare I have tried once again to think that I could do what others do? Have I not learned my lessons yet?

So, maybe the lessons are these…

We have deep issues that will remain, and we get to keep working on them.

We get to forgive ourselves as many times as needed.

We get to do our best to heal ourselves into health.

We get to stop comparing ourselves to others.

We get to love ourselves...faults, issues, and all.

We still can be grateful for it all — the lessons, the challenges, the imperfections, the growth, the gift of being who we are. And maybe being who we are isn’t such a bad thing after all and it’s ok to be good enough, to claim our right to live as and who we are. Of course we can try to do our best, but perhaps we can let go of the constant criticism.

Aging can bring acceptance. We can finally allow ourselves to fully inhabit this self that we are. We can come home to ourselves, imperfections and all. We can see each ourselves, each other, and our common humanity with empathy and love and even feel closer to each other because of it. And with this can come the healing and love that we have been looking for all along.

My body begs to differ

I am older than I feel on the inside. My body, however, is screaming my age at me regularly.

I have aches and pains. My skin tears, breaks down, is more fragile. I have no idea where random bruises came from as they show up.

My movements are slower; my flexibility is a thing of the past. I think twice about bending down to pick up something. Squatting is not automatic.

Sleep is different. Digestion is different. Rituals are different. No longer do I spend much time applying makeup (only the barest now suffices), styling my hair just-so (not having bedhead is goal enough), picking the best outfit (comfort is the priority).

Naps are part of my routine, whether I plan them or not.

I now avoid mirrors. I don’t need more reminders of the changes and losses. I know that they are there, but I don’t need to have my face rubbed in them.

Even the “organ recital” that we refer to as being part of most senior discussions can bring new insights:

• My hearing is not what is used to be. Yet I feel like I hear more than I really did before, as I take more time to intentionally listen and really hear.

• My eyesight is not as good, yet I am so grateful to see so much, including the small moments of grace and kindness all around me.

• Hiking now involves making sure that I know where each restroom is along the route. No restrooms? That will not be the path that I will take.

• I find myself trying to figure out what might be worthy of a doctor’s appt and what is just part of aging. I don’t know, as I have never been this age before.

Romance is a sweet memory, but solitude and peace become the priority for me. The craving is diminished and sometimes gone altogether. I am not closed to the possibility of what might happen, but that is not my focus. I find relief in that. Dancing is now a private occasional activity in my own home when no one is around. Sensuality has broadened to random moments but no longer becomes an obsession as in my youth. My body feels as if it becomes my own in a deeper, more substantial way.

Relying on memory is also a thing of the past. Lists and reminders are everywhere, but that is still no guarantee that the task will get done. Walking into a room wondering why I went there, wondering where the topic went that I was just talking about, forgetting the one thing that I went to the store to purchase…these are just a few examples of things that are now part of my routines of life. Which leads me to….

Laughter is vital and a frequent companion. There is now humor in things that seemed so very serious in the past. Now I laugh and ask what does this really matter? Who really cares? What will this matter when I am dead and gone?

I don’t look forward as much to the future, as that seems limited and short, but rather I appreciate the present which feels more vital. Memories of the past now become more vivid. And with those memories of the past, even though some regrets remain, I work to diminish their power, as I cannot do anything to fix the past, but only work to do better now. Self-forgiveness is something I continually work on.

Lessons being learned

This has become a time of letting go…of things, of goals, of dreams and wishes, of looking forward. Poignancy and bittersweetness are now a part of my daily experience, and I find that they have many valuable lessons to teach me.

I am becoming a bit more comfortable asking for help doing some things that I used to take pride in being able to do by myself. It’s humbling.

My choice of where, what, and who to spend my time with has become more deliberate and intentional. There is no time to waste.

I find joy in small miracles and moments of grace, moments of connection with friends, with nature and her creatures, moments of feeling the wind on my face and in my hair, the sun shining on me, the morning fog cooling the air and bringing soothing relief. Being greeted by my neighbor’s dog becomes such a moment of joy for me. Listening to the birds sing in the early mornings makes me smile every time, and watching them bathe in the birdbaths is a meditation in being present and in the moment.

I attend more memorials these days rather than weddings. Death feels different. I feel the depth of each one that I hear about, feeling my own place standing in that line. Grief is a more constant companion. I have asked her to pull up a chair and teach me what she will, as she doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. I feel the bittersweetness of growing older. My appreciation seems to increase looking back, as my anxiety and worry seem to decrease looking forward.

Definition of family has changed. Family of choice has become primary.

Even though I may walk more slowly, I see more and appreciate being able to move. I smile a lot and am delighted when that is returned. Laughter is such fun, especially deep belly laughs (and I now have the belly to truly be able to enjoy them more). Wistfulness is one of my many moods, and it’s ok, so long as I don’t get lost in it.

I can at times feel lost and yet also feel more present and found, lost in this new land of being an elder, yet found in truly living more in each moment, in feeling all of it, the pain and the joy.

I am delighted to re-ignite friendships from decades ago and realize that true friendship and connection keep growing and can just pick up where they left off. I also marvel at new friendships being made and feel grateful.

I find that feelings become even more precious to me. I appreciate tears more and never see them as something to be ashamed of. They are a gift of being human, of still being alive and still feeling it all. I welcome anger and boundaries more now, as time is precious and not to be wasted on things or people that do not nourish. The word no has become a friend.

Time has taken on a different quality, as I feel it going by quickly and slowly at the same time. I find myself stopping more often to simply be. I am learning to honor being rather than doing. Breathing deeply is one of the best medicines.

The gift of letting go

I keep practicing the skill of letting go…letting go of youth, of things, of people, of time. I think that I am lightening the luggage load before it’s time to depart. Carry-on baggage is not allowed where I will be headed when it is my time to take that final trip. I try to remember to travel lightly, take good memories and the love that was shared, the moments of grace, the gifts of being on this precious earth for a while.

What a sweet ride this has been and continues to be. It seems to grow sweeter as we approach the end, whenever that may be. I feel grateful more deeply, give tenderness more easily, cherish each moment lived. How beautiful it all is, how wonderful of a journey it is to be alive. It makes me tremble at its power, its grace, its bittersweetness.

What will my last words be, I wonder. I think, perhaps, they may include something along the lines of Thank you…thank you for all of it.

I got to release a crow back into the wild today

Photo by Daniel Shapiro on Unsplash

One of the benefits of aging for me, to finally be more able to choose how and where I spend precious time. One of the ways I do this is by volunteering.

I tell people that I volunteer with animals, since my career was as a social worker, so I feel like I “gave at the office” with people and it’s now time for me to be with animals.

One of the places that I volunteer at is a wildlife rescue center. The center gets all kinds of injured animals … lots of birds, opposums, squirrels, turkey vultures, and others. It’s baby bird season, so we have been very busy.

I am fairly new there and am amazed at how much there is to learn. This place does wonderful work, and there are many details to taking the best care of our patients that we can. This can involve creating the best type of nest for each species, the appropriate diet, how to best approach, and many other factors that we may not often think about.

Today I was asked if I wanted to release a crow back into the wild. Oh yes!

This crow had gotten glue on it from those sticky traps and could not move freely. The hospital had treated it and it was now ready to be released.

We try and release each patient close to where they were found. So, after my shift, off I drove to the location that I was given. This crow was completely quiet and so scared on the drive (in a kennel on the seat beside me).

When we got there and I placed the kennel on the grass near some trees (in a lovely area where I had heard some other crows vocalizing), it stayed in the kennel, crouching in the back. I gently encouraged it and after a while tilted the kennel a bit to encourage it to come out. It eventually did and flew right up to a high branch on a tree that was across the road.

It was so lovely to watch that flight of freedom. It stayed on the branches, hopping from one to the other for a while. After a bit, some other crows came by and they all flew off together. I don’t know if they were chasing it or just checking it out, but I hope and pray that friends will be made and that this beautiful bird will have its best life ever!

What a treat to be able to be involved in such a process. I am beyond grateful. To be helping in the wildlife hospital with feeding, cleaning, setting up things needed, preparing appropriate diets, giving medications, and a host of other duties (which also includes doing a LOT of laundry!).

I pray that this bird lives a long and healthy life. I am grateful to have been part of its life for a few moments in time. It feels like a gift to be able to be part of another creature’s journey and healing. In a world that can feel filled with so much trauma and pain these days, I find it vital to try and balance some of that with times of joy and healing. I still listen to the news, donate and participate where and when I can, but also realize that I desperately need to balance all the trauma with some joy and peace.

I think I can at times relate to all the injured or lost creatures that are brought into the wildlife center. Many of them may not make it, but many of them do. To be part of that effort and work toward healing is such an honor and gift.

We humans are complex, and depending on our own wounds, can be cruel and destructive. But we can also be very kind, can remember our own pain and want to spare others from that, or at least help them to try and get back on their feet (or wings). There is still much kindness in this world. It is important to remember that, to see that, to honor that, to claim our membership in that tribe and not let others fool us into thinking that we no longer exist or that all is hopeless.

We are better than the negative forces in power may want us to remember. We are more than they can defeat. We are stronger than we realize. And we can keep loving, keep being kind, keep helping to release us all back into life, back into healing, back into flying free while we still can.

It may take time to recover from the wounds now being inflicted, but we must keep hope alive and keep working toward healing, if not for ourselves (I don’t know if I will live long enough to see things turn around) but for the generations to come.

May we all heal, like my new crow friend, and fly free once again.

Shame can be a shroud that dampens your spirit and claims your life

As an elder now, I am humbled yet again by the power of deep shame when I do something that I perceive as wrong, as against my principles, against who I want to be. I intend to try and be the best version of myself, but don’t always reach that goal. At times, in fact, I fall far beneath that and find myself deep into shame.

I make mistakes, that is human. But I find it hard sometimes to forgive myself and to have self-compassion.

I have issues and incidents from my past that I regret and relive in my more vulnerable moments …like at 3 am when laying there awake. Of course, I still make mistakes these days as well yet somehow feel like I should be better at this age, should know better.

I often find that I make more mistakes when I am feeling rushed, pushed, overwhelmed, and cannot seem to slow myself down or stop to take some deep breaths. That is when I get into trouble, doing things too quickly, making less than great decisions, moving quickly to get things done, but not done well. And I pay the price for a long time.

We need to own our mistakes and errors and be accountable, yes. But the weight of the shame seems to be far too harsh of a sentence to pay relative to whatever the perceived crime may have been.

The lesson of shame is taught early, I think, even before we may have words. We learn to hide, that we should hide, that there is something deeply defective about us that we often hide from but that we can be drawn back into whenever we make a mistake. It is more than the mistake. It is as if we are the mistake. And that feels like something that cannot be fixed, ever… a life sentence and one that can immobilize us.

I like to think that elderhood brings wisdom, but this particular issue feels deeper than I can deal with at times. It’s as if I have been pretending to be someone that I am not, but when I make a mistake, that is the real me, the true me, the truth of who I am, the truth that wipes out all other versions. Why does this feel like the real truth of who I am and all the other parts feel like a fake version, an imposter if you will. It seems so much easier to believe the worst about myself and yet the best about others.

It’s a painful way to live. It immobilizes me, drives me to self-punishment, to isolation, to self-deprivation and self-imposed solitary confinement. It invites self-hatred, self-loathing, self-disgust, and so much grief and sadness. The word shroud feels appropriate, as it covers over me, dampens and deadens me..a shroud of death to myself and to any forgiveness and love that I may have tried to show toward myself.

And let’s talk about the shame heaped upon aging. We are invited to feel shame about our bodies changing, the lumps, bumps, and wrinkles, the slower movements, the forgetfulness, and a host of other things that are made fun of, as if we should be ashamed of the very process of aging.

I wonder if we could learn to be proud of having made it this far (and grateful), of being seasoned with experiences, failures, and lessons learned, of having had and still having love in our life, of coming to terms with mortality in such a more visceral way, of finally (for me at least) coming home to a deeper version of ourselves. The truth is that we can find ourselves being more comfortable with who we are and less worried about what anyone else thinks, being less tolerant of accepting disrespect, being stronger in our slowness, being measured, steadier, and more intentional, being so fully alive as we approach the end of the journey, being present to each moment of beauty in a way that only aging seems to bring.

So, I will make this my battle cry…to stop the shame, to talk back to the internal voices that join in the chorus of shaming ourselves, to learn to appreciate the changes, the life lived and still being lived, to see the glory of the later seasons, of autumn colors and winter’s quiet, to claim our own brand of beauty and serenity, to be ourselves unapologetically. I am not there yet, but God willing, I will keep working on it. I am still here, I am not dead. I am not less than. I am not deserving of shame simply because of my existence. I deserve to be here, to live fully, to claim back the right to live outrageously, if that is who I am, or quietly, if that is who I am, or a combination of things that defy categorization.

There is no need for this uninvited shame. We need not keep punishing ourselves. We can claim our right to be here, to live our lives, to set boundaries when needed, to simply be, to inhabit our changing bodies with grace (and humor).

It’s sad that it can take some of us such a long time to reach this place, that the battles must continue to be fought, but fight them we must. Let’s live fully while we are still here. Let’s dare to feel good enough, to feel deserving, especially of our own precious love.

It’s not time for that shroud yet.

Not visible, but no less painful

I recently took quite a fall, and one of the resulting bruises is a wonder to behold. It’s huge with colorful shades of purple, green, and red. I have been hiding it, I notice with interest, as if it is a shame to have fallen, another indicator of age advancing and things that are happening that are beyond my control.

How interesting it is to try and hide this bruise. It got me thinking …

We carry all types of bruises, most of them not visible to others. We have bruises on our psyches, our souls, bruises from lives lived, bruises from when we were little and did not receive the type of love that our soul may have needed. Invisible bruises can determine what we see and feel, whether it may be true or not. These are bruises that don’t want to be touched again, don’t want to remind us of the pain, or be retraumatized, bruises that we will most likely carry with us to our grave. Yet I believe that we can learn not to act from them or live as if they are the absolute truth. I think that we need to name them, acknowledge them, and come to terms with them as we try to heal.

As an older woman, memories come unbidden from the past, and aches and tears can come with them. It’s OK, it’s part of looking at the novel of my life as I come closer to the final chapter, whenever that may be. I know that there is more to write in this novel, and I am grateful. But the words that I write and have written thus far are colored with the hues of all the bruises and lessons accumulated — the traumas, the rejections, the pain of not being seen, heard, or valued. They speak to loneliness, the separation, the loves that may have been unable to be sustained.

We can remember the traumas, not to linger on them, but as a way to understand the paths that we may have taken. These paths taken were led by the GPS of our pain, decisions being made out of not wanting to reinjure ourselves.

Naming your bruises and tender places

What are the names and colors of your bruises? Were you made to feel somehow less than? Was your voice silenced and was that the only way you learned to feel safe, to quietly walk your path of life?

This is part of my story…to be quiet and not use my voice, to learn to hide, to shut down parts of myself to feel safer. I carried this lesson with me into adulthood. I remember a teacher giving me feedback about a paper that I had written…her written response on my paper was “How can someone with so much to say, not say?”. I had been quiet in class, and she let me know that she wanted to hear my voice more. That was such a surprise to me.

Were your natural talents perhaps discounted as you were forced into a mold that had been prearranged for you? Were you taught that you were worthy of love or did you have to earn it by twisting yourself into a pretzel to fit what was defined as acceptable?

I learned this lesson well, that of trying to figure out what was acceptable to others and somehow work to make myself fit into that mold. So, I never felt authentic, thinking that my genuine authentic self would not be accepted, only the version that I had been taught was the right one.

Were you taught to love your body or made to feel ashamed of its imperfections? Did they see your dancing spirit or laugh at your movements, thus teaching you to still not only your voice but your joy of movement and life itself?

My experience as a young girl was that I was taught to be ashamed of my body, to be relentless in criticizing it and trying to change it into what I was told it should be, what the magazines and society said was acceptable for women. So, I became alienated from my own body, thinking it had betrayed me, not realizing that I was the one who was betraying it.

Did they look at your face with love or teach you to dissect it feature by feature to better define what you should hate or hide? Did they teach you to love the soft animal of your body or feel ashamed of it and try to ignore or hide it?

I can relate to this and how I was taught that sensuality and sexuality were somehow bad, that my face was not right somehow…my eyes were not blue, my body was not thin, my hair was not blonde. Now I learn to embrace this body that I have been allowed to live in for a while, to appreciate what it does and the beauty that is not measured by external standards but by deeper values.

Did they hear your dreams, thoughts, and delightful fantasies or push you to face reality and grow up and get real, as if that version is more real than what came out from deep inside of you?

I learned this lesson so well that I thought that I had forgotten my dreams forever. Then I retired, and remembered. I remembered that I used to love to draw, to write, to be around animals. So now I paint (and have even joined a local art association), I write, I volunteer at the local zoo and at a wildlife rehab center. It’s never too late to give ourselves another chance.

Did they hear your words or teach you to silence them as not worthy enough somehow, a lesson that haunts you still?

I am thrilled to be writing these days, but to be honest, the inner voice (that questions whether I have enough skill to really do this) is still there, still haunting me. And I keep writing. I even get the most lovely comments from some readers who take the time to respond and let me know that my writing has touched them somehow. This is such a gift. Those parts of us from long ago are still inside of us.

Were you taught that you were enough and whole in yourself, or that you had to find what or who could make you whole, spending your life searching for what was inside you all along?

I think that for much of my life I was searching for someone, that perfect partner, to complete me and make me somehow more acceptable. This is such a burden to place on anyone else. In my elder years, I now find that a period of solitude has been vital for me to rediscover those parts of myself that I shut down long ago. For me, this finally gave me enough quiet to hear my own voice.

It has taken me a lifetime to remember who I used to be before I started trying to follow all the rules to make myself good enough. And now, I welcome myself, my soul, my thoughts and feelings…and am so grateful that those parts of me waited long enough for me to come back home to them.

Healing ourselves

How can we learn to look at those bruises and learn to love them into healing?

I think that we can finally work with them, listen to them, teach ourselves that we did not deserve to have that pain. We can begin to own it now so that we can look underneath the bruise to the tender places there, see what was hurt and reclaim those parts of ourselves.

We can gently open those dark and painful places so that we can begin the healing process while we are still here, so that we can walk this earth fully as ourselves and claim our right to exist as who and what we are. We still have time to be who we were meant to be, we do not need to be perfect, but just perfectly who we came into this world as.

Maybe we can stop hiding our bruises to realize that we all have them, and that we can share what that is like on this very human journey of life. We can hold each other’s hands in the darkness and fear, hold ourselves with love, embrace our humanity tenderly, learn that love begins at home … in the bruises and tender places.

Paying attention can be a gift of love

I have reached the chapter of elderhood in my life. It came quickly, surprised me (and still does), and comes with lessons.

Lessons and answers

Love is the answer, the songs say. Love makes the world go around. Love will conquer all. Love is greater than hate. All these are beautiful thoughts with truth to them. At this age, I find I now slow down more to ask the definition of words. What does love look like? How does it show up? How will I recognize it? How can I best express it?

One answer that I keep coming back to is that love means paying attention. Love can mean stopping your own internal noise to see and hear what is going on around you, what is going on for someone else, what we need to see, hear, feel, respond to, acknowledge, and learn from.

In conversations, I remind myself to stop figuring out what my next comment may be to focus instead on what someone else is saying, to try and hear their language, their music, their story. There is such richness there, such depth, such wonder, so much to hear and learn from. I can’t listen to music if I am always busy composing my own tunes. I can so easily miss what is going on around me...the colors, the tones, the nuances, the emotions, the very essence of life.

I take walks in the redwoods and listen to the trees and what their rustling leaves stir in me. I marvel at my tears. I listen to the song of the morning birds and am moved by the grace of their singing to the earth, to the universe, the song in them reaching my heart. I pay attention to an animal and get immediate rewards in their response to being seen right then. The connection becomes real and deep and the moment takes over from the past or future.

The present asserts its power when acknowledged and lived in.

I listen to someone sharing their experience with me and am honored to be able to provide a moment of witness to their lives. What a gift that they are sharing with me.

I listen to the questions of children and their innocence and awe as I volunteer at the zoo. Such genuine curiosity and wonder at what they are seeing brings a stop in my own never ending internal brain-noise.

I see the distraction of our electronic devices, which do have gifts to give us, but can take away our precious attention for long periods of time without our consciously having agreed to give that to them for that long. When I sit down to dinner with someone and they set their phone down on the table, I immediately feel that I will only get their attention until that device takes over, making me feel both rushed and less important somehow.

I listen to interactions between parents and their children. Do they know what a gift they are giving their children by really hearing them versus the generation with the motto children are to be seen and not heard. We are all still basically children wanting to be heard, to be noticed, to be treated as significant.

When I ask how are you, I try to really listen to your answer. When someone says not so great, I ask for more details, more info, more sharing so that I can hear their struggle. When someone asks me and then stops to hear my answer, I am grateful and surprised, given all the distractions in our modern world.

I may show you a photo that I took. What am I showing you? Do you ask me to tell you what this photo may have touched in me at that moment?

I sigh and say that today has been rough. Do you ask me more or say you know how that feels and go into your own description of your day, thinking that you are relating to me but not realizing that you took the attention away from my experience back to yours?

I write and get such delight when someone really takes the time to hear what I write, when something that I have written touches something in them, when they pay attention to the voice of my heart and soul. I also notice when there is judgment made without asking for more information, or when there is a need to take over the conversation with their own phrases and words, at the expense of hearing me.

Listening to ourselves

And another surprise I have found is how little I have paid deep enough attention to my own voice, my own self, my own soul at times. In the distraction of trying to attend to everything and everyone around me, I can get lost somehow in the process. Do I acknowledge my own pain? Am I gentle with myself or do I just keep pushing myself in a way that I would never do to someone else? Why would I, or any of us, deserve any less?

I am learning to slow down, to hear, to ask and then wait for an answer from deep within me. The realization, as an elder, of having less time ahead of me these days gives me the wisdom to know to slow down for each moment and truly live in it.

We are all hungry to be seen and heard, to be acknowledged, to be understood. We can chase that desire with distraction, with speed, with volume, with demands, with anger, even with violence at times, rather than understanding that real power and attention happen in moments of quiet, in moments of listening, in moments of coming back into our own bodies and acknowledging what we see, hear, and feel around us. Life and love mean feeling each precious breath, each sigh of another, each note of our own symphony, each touch of grief, sadness, joy, connection, of love being expressed daily.

Paying attention requires presence, quietness, stillness, patience, trust that there is enough time, trust that there will be room enough for everyone, realization of the honor of being shared with, of being trusted with what that quietly lives inside us.

I can tell you that I love you, which is beautiful. And I can slow down to hear you, see you, and show you my love by giving you the sacred gift of my attention, putting my love into action.

You never know when a gift will present itself

I made it to the gym the other day, a success in and of itself. ( I claim my successes where I can these days!)

I was working out when I noticed this woman not far from me. She was working out steadily, strong and focused, radiating strength. She inspired me. She was a middle-aged woman who quietly with her very presence claimed her space and right to be there.

I love seeing women and their strength, especially those of us who are no longer in the youth club. It means even more to me these days to see the spirit, perseverance, and self-care.

I took a risk to reach out and say something (I can be shy at times) as I was walking by her and told her how strong she looked while I pumped up my arm in a gesture of strength. She giggled a bit. I walked on to my next machine.

Later, as I was on another machine, I heard a voice behind me saying “Excuse me”. I turned around and there she was. She smiled and said that she had seen me on the quadricep machine and that I also looked very strong, as she could not lift the number of weights that I was lifting at the time. I smiled as she left and as we wished each other a good rest of the day.

Here was a random connection of a mere few seconds that turned my day around. We had acknowledged each other and given each other a nod of appreciation and camaraderie. I had gone into the gym that morning feeling a bit down and less than motivated. Yet totally out of the blue, I received a gift of connection with a stranger that made us both smile.

It reminded me that you just never know where you will get a surprise connection if you take a chance to reach out to someone and let them know that you see them at that moment in time. I had been shy about approaching her yet felt compelled to say what I did. How many of us could use a moment of being seen, of being reached out to, simply because and for no other reason.

A random moment where two human beings stop their own individual routines to greet each other doesn’t sound like much on the surface but can go to surprising depths within.

There are so many opportunities for moments like this. If we take the chance, the rewards may be so much greater than we could ever expect.

We are all trying to do the best that we can, at least most of the time. Some days that may simply mean showing up and putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps we can take a moment to look around, see who else may be putting one foot in front of the other that day and say hello, heart to heart. Everyone wants to be seen, heard, and to be acknowledged. What a gift to be able to do this randomly for someone with no expectations of anything in return, but simply to let them know that you see them right then.

This life is not easy. Aging is not easy. Some days the strength it takes to just get up is about all that we can manage.

We never know what someone else may be going through that day as well.

It can be easy to look for major moments and big thrills, which are fun, of course. But it can be the small random moments that give us the gift of realizing that we are not alone, that we belong, that we are part of something bigger, that we deserve to be celebrated simply for who we are at each moment.

As I continue my path of elderhood, these moments become more important to me. I realize how many of them that I may have missed in the past while I was busy working on my various to-do lists. I’m grateful to be more aware of these moments of grace now as I slow down to allow myself to see more around me.

And along those lines, I appreciate you, readers, who stop to take a moment to read something that I have written and then reach out to let me know how some of my words may have touched you. You don’t realize how that can turn around my day like a breath of fresh air.

We can do this for each other in the simplest ways, simple, but not without depth and meaning. A memory can be created, a gift of being touched, of being seen, of being recognized.

As Ram Dass wrote We are all just walking each other home. Maybe we can look around, reach out, and share a smile along the way.

From feelings, not alcohol

I made it through my birthday yesterday. And I am surprised at the hangover feeling today. I feel hung over from feelings, thoughts, inner reactions, unsettledness.

Don’t get me wrong. I am so very grateful to still be here, still alive and on this earth and able to experience it all. It is a sacred gift and one that I realize that many people do not get to experience anymore. There are so many people that I have lost in my life, family, friends… all gone. I am blessed to still be here.

It’s interesting as I allow all the feelings and thoughts to surface and listen to what they have to tell me.

I had lovely calls, texts, and emails from friends that meant so much to me. I felt significant to them, seen, noticed, and honored that they took time to acknowledge and celebrate my special day.

My young neighbor stopped by with a cupcake with a candle singing happy birthday to me, while her puppy gave me lots of affection and playfulness. This was such a delight and gift. It touched my heart.

I tried to limit how much news I watched yesterday to take a bit of a break from the constant trauma of it all, but of course, the headlines still come through and I want to keep up with the latest so that I know enough of what is going on without constantly retraumatizing myself into immobility.

I feel a quietness inside, quietness that is tinged by some sadness and some bittersweetness. I look back at my life, marvel that so many years have gone by. I look at myself in the mirror and can still see all the faces that have looked back at me throughout the years, even if others only see the current version.

I look at my body and have the same experience of all the different bodies that have been reflected back at me, knowing that the only one seen today is the advanced version, the one that is more invisible, the one that can be categorized, discounted, and seen as less than, even by me.

I look around my house and see things that I still hang onto from years past, realizing that my house truly reflects an older person and not the modern clean versions that my younger neighbors have. I don’t know when that happened, and it catches me by surprise.

I see my closets and cupboards and see that it becomes easier to look more like a hoarder these days, and I don’t really know how that happened either. I used to have regular cleaning out and purging times and seem to have let that slip over the years. I have boxes in the garage whose content I don’t even remember. How important are they if I don’t even know what is inside?

I felt remembered on my birthday and that was special to me. I felt acknowledged. And I also feel the passage of time on this journey where I more and more feel the reality of the end of the path approaching.

The delightful woman who I have clean my house, who now feels like a friend, came by, having mistaken the day that she said that she would be by this month. She has also been a caregiver for an elderly woman for years, a woman who just turned 102 this week and who died the day after her birthday. She had been determined to celebrate this birthday, and she did. My friend, her caregiver, came in and sat down and talked about her grief, about the lovely relationship that she had experienced with this woman that she came to love. She let her tears flow. I think she needed to talk more than anything else, as she decided after we spoke for a while, to come back next week for the cleaning. I was honored to be able to listen to her and hold her grief with her for a while. Those moments are such precious random gifts in life, to be able to connect and touch another soul as we navigate this road of life.

My young neighbor’s playful puppy jumped up an down in excitement and accidentally scratched my arm. I still get amazed at how easily my skin tears these days, as I looked down and saw the blood flowing. I had hardly felt it, but there were the bleeding skin tears that needed to be dealt with. When did my skin get so fragile? Are things that fragile on the inside as well? It seems such solid proof of the deterioration of my body, things that we cannot control. The passage of time and its effects remind us of this all as we make our way to the end.

I felt slowed down and needing solitude yesterday, not going anywhere that I had planned. I needed to be quiet and in my home. I will go out today, perhaps make it to the redwoods today to hear their whispers and feel their wisdom.

I will keep going, keep doing things that I love as I am able…volunteer at our local zoo, volunteer at the wildlife hospital, write, hopefully paint again at some point, be in nature and honor this sacred gift of life to the end. But I know that the feelings will keep coming and I will do my best to listen to them all. They are part of the journey, some more pleasant than others, but all part of it. I will honor them all, with gratitude. What a journey this life has been and continues to be.

It’s time for my hangover cure….to breathe, get up, take a step, and keep going, with gratitude for it all.

The next birthday is upon me

Tomorrow I will reach the age of 73. The number still somehow amazes me. When did that happen? I don’t remember. It’s all a blur after reaching 70. That felt like a major turning point.

Yes, I will hear age is just a number, life is what you make it, be grateful you have arrived as many people don’t get the chance to get here. I agree with all of that. And I still have the right to all my feelings about it. I feel gratitude for life, for being here still, for each breath. And I have other feelings about it too. That’s part of the joy and challenge of being human. We can contain so many different and sometimes conflicted feelings at the same time.

So, please bear with me as I express some of the feelings that can sometimes make others feel compelled to give me advice, which feels like telling me to not share those parts of me. The feelings are part of the mix, part of my story, part of my journey and do not negate the rest of the feelings. We sometimes have such a need to categorize things as good or bad, ok to feel or not, worthwhile or not. But they are just feelings that are part of my human experience. And it’s ok to feel them all. We can learn from all of it.

With that in mind, here is a bit of what is going on inside me today.

I am increasingly aware of the road before me being much shorter than the road behind me. I sometimes get scared of this great unknown. I am thinking that it is time to make the final arrangements. I have the estate plan, but have procrastinated on this last detail. It’s time.

I have issues from my past that I contain within me still. Somehow part of me must have believed that I would magically work through them all one by one and reach a state of not having them anymore. Well, that didn’t happen!

I still feel the feelings of my childhood, the critical voices that became part of my head that tried to steer me and protect me from more pain coming my way, the feelings of inadequacy, shame, regret, not being good enough, feeling less than whomever I might be comparing myself to, guilt about mistakes, and more.

I sometimes get lost in memories of the past that come uninvited. I try to acknowledge them, give them their due, and keep going. Some days that is easier to do than others. Today is not one of those days. It’s ok. There are still lessons to learn.

I have had my battles, my victories, my defeats. I have been in and out of relationships. I could have done better in them, but I did what I knew at the time. They each taught me something and got me to where I am today.

I was married and am so grateful for that experience and for the husband that I had. We divorced, and I am happy that he found someone that is a good fit and that he is still married to. I want the best for him. That wasn’t me. Too many conflicts arose from issues from my childhood that made it hard for me to allow intimacy beyond a certain level. I am single these days and grateful for the time left to be able to explore what is still within me that needs to be heard, validated, and allowed to be expressed and nurtured. I can now face myself alone (along with all the internal voices, of course) and really listen…at least some of the time.

I chose a career that might not have been my first love. But, I learned from it and now, in retirement, can choose activities that fit better with the voice of my soul.

I have been a people-pleaser and have chosen relationships from that dynamic, which has not always been the best for anyone. I look at that now and choose differently as to who is in my tribe and who I spend precious time with. There are times that spending time alone is the best companion that I need right then. I don’t give people a ticket to comment on who I am nearly as easily as I used to.

I have reached elderhood and find myself surprised to not have all the answers. Indeed, I seem to have more questions than ever but seem to have learned to live more comfortably with and in the questions. It is more ok to not know and say that.

Saying I don’t know is easier. Saying no is easier. Saying I need time to think about that is easier. That is a relief beyond description.

Today I will go and do one of my volunteer shifts at the zoo. It brings me joy to be around the animals, especially at our local zoo which works hard at putting the animals first, at conservation, at education. I love talking with the guests about their experience, teaching what I can, sharing the joy of being there, especially these days and with what we are dealing with in our country and in the world.

Tomorrow I think that I will take a long walk in the redwoods, which is my cathedral. Those ancient beings speak to my soul. I feel held there, loved there, accepted there, part of it all.

I will hear from friends with well wishes, and that is such a gift to have people in my life who remember me, care about me, and take the time to reach out and make contact.

Most of all, I will spend the day asking my soul and spirit how it is, what it may need from me, and do my best to listen and give myself what I need. Most of the time that is done in solitude for me, probably coming from having been an only child and having alone time be my safe place in the world.

And I will be expressing and feeling deep gratitude for it all. I feel grateful for the joy, the pain, the lessons, the grief, the connections, the very air that I breathe in this body that I have been gifted for a while. Part of my gratitude will be for you, who take the time to read what I write. That is an honor for me and a sacred gift. I write from my heart and soul and you take the time to hear that, which can be rare in our world today. Thank you.

My final words to the Universe for this moment in time?

Thank you for it all. Thank you.

Lessons from the storms

I woke up at 4 am to the sound of the rain coming down. This has always been such a soothing sound for me. I love the rain. The earth needs it. We need it.

Speaking of storms, next week I will reach the age of 73. I am still amazed that I am this age. I don’t feel this age, whatever that means. Well, maybe some days I do.

An unexpected gift

I watched the live coverage of the Artemis II space capsule as it splashed down into the ocean this past week. A lot of us were watching. I was surprised when I burst into tears when it landed safely. What, I wondered, was this about? And why am I in tears at 4 am this morning?

I think that there has been a part of so many of us that has been hungry for positive news, like this collective experience of watching what humanity can achieve when working together. We became mesmerized watching these astronauts travel to and around the moon and back and come home safely…knowing that this is the beginning of more to come, that humanity marches forward, that progress continues in the midst of all the darkness that we have been experiencing lately, that goodness and hope will not be killed. They may be silenced for a bit, but not killed…claiming their space, saying I am still here. Do not despair.

Watching space travel was part of my childhood. I remember watching in wonder and amazement and listening to the hope for the future in those moments, the promise of things to come. I love seeing that again.

Hope is still alive

We have been, and are still, going through a dark time in this country and in the world. Evil has been prominent and bullies have been loud and active. It has been easy to slip into despair.

And yet, watching a space capsule splashing down into the ocean and astronauts climbing out to the cheers of those watching can remind us that we are more, that we are better, that we still have hope and love within. I have hope for future generations, in their quest to keep learning, keep pushing, keep doing what is needed to survive, grow, and thrive, to keep working together, to keep believing in the best of us. I once again could feel the love that I believe is at our essence, at least for most of us, except those that may be so wounded that there is no coming back for them. We must be careful not to allow these souls into positions of power.

I could hear the wonder spoken by the astronauts that were more than words can express. They had experienced something greater, something that gave them hope, gratitude, love, and left them in awe.

So, here I sat crying as I watched the landing, crying at the cheering, at the feeling together with humanity as we were watching, at the positive news on the screen, something that we have been missing for a while. My tears reminded me of how much we have been in constant trauma, and also reminded me that we are more, that we are better than the evil, that we do not give up, even if pushed down for a while, that the best of us is still here, and God willing, will prevail.

I am nearing the end of my road here on earth. There is much less time ahead than behind me. It’s such an interesting experience to try and really absorb the feeling of the reality of one’s own mortality, of the coming expiration date. It becomes much more real as I continue aging, as I continue watching the changes that I see in the mirror and feel in my body and its altered movements. This time of life can bring things into focus more quickly.

The astronauts and all the people who worked to make this happen give me hope. The world has been in shock at the constant trauma. I pray that we are working our way back from this toward reclaiming hope…hope with action to take back our humanity.

Stepping back to really see

I listen to what seems to be the universal experience of the reaction of those space travelers when they look back at our beautiful blue planet. This is what we need, to step back and look at the wonder of it all, to see the bigger story, to remember who we can be, to remember the love that is at our core, to reach out and hold each other’s hands yet again and to see how united we all really are, how separateness is an illusion used to control and gain power, but power that is fleeting and not based in reality.

Can we step back, those of us here still on this planet, and see the wonder of us? Can we remember how much we embody and contain within each sacred soul, how we still can feel amazement, awe, deep gratitude and connection? Can we remember how there is still so much kindness deep within us that we can see every day around us, how the news is but a tiny piece of what is happening, how the darkness tries to tell us that it is all that there is, that the light is gone. But the light, if we step back a bit, is still there.

Weathering personal storms

In stepping back to look at my own life, I have faults, regrets, and have made mistakes. I have tried and sometimes failed. And yet, I have kept trying. I have tried to give voice to kindness and compassion, learning that boundaries are necessary to protect those sacred qualities, and that they will not be destroyed. I have learned forgiveness of others (although I still need more work on that) and continue to work toward forgiveness of myself. That one is harder. How strange of me to think that I should somehow be different and not make the mistakes that we humans all can make.

Gratitude

I have learned to appreciate the storm at 4am and being alive and awake to hear it and feel its sacredness. I have learned to appreciate the lessons that darkness has to teach us, and there are many. If we do not have the courage to investigate and step into the dark, we will not learn its power and lessons and cannot learn to navigate it rather than drowning in it. We must honor the darkness within so that it doesn’t take over outside, so that it acknowledges that the light still exists within. We are both the storm and the clarity after the storm. We must learn to see and embrace both and work with it all rather than allow any one side to take over and claim its power.

We are humanity, both at its worst and its best. And we can move forward, sometimes in fear and sometimes with great awkwardness, but forward none-the-less. We are still here. We can travel with love and compassion, filling ourselves with kindness, awe, and hope, while firmly setting limits when necessary. Kindness is often portrayed as weakness, but it can contain much strength. May that kindness rise with all of its strength and save us all.

I am so very grateful for it all…the storm, the tears, the courage, hope, the connection that cannot be destroyed, and for this messy sacred life.

It’s all part of this human journey

I have been feeling the darkness that is part of life lately. It descends and drapes over me, feels familiar. I am learning to acknowledge and let it be.

I think that the temptation to run from darkness is strong within us, that it can frighten us with its depth and heaviness, that we can become afraid that we may never find our way out.

Aging seems to bring this on more frequently these days, at least for me. I am acutely aware of the swift passage of time, of mortality’s call approaching ever closer, of the ending of things. I feel the losses all around me. I have lost family, friends, those who held pieces of my past that no one else ever will. Former roles and self-definitions are gone. A sense of the coming future is gone, with the ever-growing reality of an expiration date.

What has been happening to our country and the world provokes even more grief within me. Loss of things that I somehow did not think could be lost finds me in despair and wandering around in circles in my own mind and spirit. There is new trauma added every day. I have no answers for any of this, just deep grief.

I wake up in the middle of the night with thoughts about all of this with the feelings washing over me. I have been working to breathe into this, to have faith that I will come through it yet again, reminding myself that I have come through it before. But sometimes I wonder if this time will be different.

I am very grateful for life and for still being here. Part of that gift for me is to try and experience all that is going on within me, to honor it all as part of this journey.

I see my body changing, new pains appearing, and I cope as best as I can. I am never sure what to try and ask my doctor about, and what is simply part of this path of aging, this path of mortality, this walk toward our inevitable death.

I see that patterns that I have struggled with in my life have never really left me. I embark on new adventures, try to learn new things, try to engage and participate in life as much as I can, try to honor that I am still here. And yet, issues that I thought that I had worked through are still within me. I am beginning to realize that these are in my core, that they have been with me for as long as I can remember, that they are hard-wired. I finally realize that for me, I will not suddenly become free from them (as part of me had fantasized that I would once I worked through it all). No, they are part of me. They have helped form who I am. They have been my internal voices of caution that took a harsh tone to try and stop any further pain.

But life has pain. That comes with the admission ticket. We all have it, our own version, our own story, our own battles, our own hero or heroine’s journey with its tasks and lessons.

Some of my own personal battles

I have never been confident, have easily given away my power to anyone I thought was somehow better than I was, who I thought knew more than me, had more rights than I did. I learned this attitude toward myself very early. I say that not to blame, but to understand how this has been built into my core.

I immediately can take blame for things. I can feel less than others around me. I can compare myself and be tempted to hide, thinking I may fail because I am not adequate in whatever cruel measurement I may be using at the time. It feels like being swallowed by a river of mud, pulling me down into the dark depths.

So, now I try and say to myself …let me learn about these depths, since they seem to be clamoring for my attention. I marvel at others who do not have the issues or fear that I bring with me to almost everything. I know that they have their own battles, as do we all. But I still marvel at their confidence, their assuredness, their apparent comfort with and belief in themselves.

Being exposed has felt dangerous for me in the past, and it is a hard fight to change the pattern of living from that history and fear.

And yet, as I approach what is closer to the end of my time on this earth, I wonder if I might be able to let go of responding automatically to the fears and harsh voices within, if I might add a voice of self-advocacy (even if it’s very shaky) to the chorus within, if I might really try to live more fully and expose more of who I am, if I might try to believe in myself, even if forced and feeling unnatural, if I might take that leap into whatever unknown that I am facing with a bit more belief that I can do this. Dare I believe that I have the right to try, that I am not less than, that I am ok, that I have a right to this precious life. Yes, I have made mistakes and have regrets, but that this doesn’t make me a total failure. Can I finally learn that forgiveness can also apply to myself?

Could this be one of the major lessons?

Maybe this is the ultimate lesson..to learn self acceptance, to realize that the journey is not to get rid of faults and issues, but to admit them, accept them and learn to work differently with them, to learn patience and kindness toward myself, to learn that I will be leaving with a lot of what I came in here with. Maybe I can accept that I will not have mastered it all. that this life has not been a test that I either pass or fail, but rather an experience to be learned from, to be lived, to be embraced in both its light and darkness. I can embrace my own light and darkness. I can learn to let go (more) of the regrets and should-haves and could-haves. Dare I allow myself to love who I am, faults and all. I can begin to see that coming full circle to who you have always been is ok, that you don’t have to figure it all out by the end. In fact, the end can bring more questions than ever. Perhaps we learn to be comfortable in the land of I-don’t-know, and realize that this not-knowing is part of the journey, part of the task, to learn to live with this all, but to live none-the-less, to claim our right to be here fully with all of our faults, lumps, and bumps.

It’s time to tell ourselves that we deserve to feel love, especially from and toward ourselves, so that we can let our final words be Thank you for the bittersweet beauty of it all. Thank you.

The issues that I grew up with are always with me, but at least now I can question them

I have been feeling so anxious lately. I am volunteering at several places that involve training, remembering, learning, tests, anxiety. I am retired, so I have time to pay attention to what my passions are. I love writing, painting, being in nature and around animals. Writing and painting are activities that I can and do enjoy in solitude. Being around animals and working with them is a different story, as it involves lots of people contact and rules.

I am studying to try and become a docent at our local zoo. It is a lot to learn. Will I be able to remember, retain, learn enough to be of good enough service? I am also training to be a volunteer at a wildlife rescue hospital. They assure me that I will be able to retain all the info about the various different species and what cage set-ups they need, what their diets involve, so many details.

It’s interesting to notice how my old patterns stay with me still. I hesitate, doubt my ability to do things well enough, compare myself to others and generally have always felt that I was not good enough. As an elder, I can look back through the years to see how true this has been for me for most of my life. It has taken so much of my energy and stopped me at times from participating in or trying things.

And here I am again, hearing that inner voice, that lack of confidence, even as I try to volunteer with things that I am so very drawn to. It makes me sad to realize how much of my life has been taken up by these critical voices. I know that I internalized those voices to protect myself and to beat others to the punch…to criticize myself before anyone else could.

And yet, I have made it this far. I made it through college and graduate school. I have survived, supported myself, somehow have come this far. I must have some skills, I say to myself and to the relentless inner criticism and judgment. I have learned things in the past, so maybe I can still learn new things. I might be a bit slower, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t learn or do things.

It’s a gift to finally have that inner voice that talks back, to claim my right to take up space and try new things, to finally be my own advocate, to say stop to those voices, to say it’s ok, we can do this. I can do this.

The inner mean voices can get so easily triggered. I hear others being confident and I look at them with amazement. It is not something that I have been very familiar with. Their confidence somehow makes me withdraw a bit more, since I don’t feel that way.

Do I know where these voices came from? Yes, I can remember the criticism, the doubt in me that I felt growing up. This is not to blame anyone, as life is just each of us passing along what we know, trying our best, but passing along some not-so-great gifts at times.

And we, as children, can learn to internalize those voices and make them feel like our own true voice.

I am tired of having always felt somehow less than, shrinking myself out of shame and self-doubt, tired of quieting my voice as it didn’t feel as strong as the voices of others around me.

And yet, there is, and I am so grateful that this never left, a voice inside me that questions this. Why am I less? So maybe my voice is quieter, but no less valid. Maybe I can do things, and just haven’t believed in myself enough along the way. And that has cost me so very much.

What’s the point, the voices continue, as this later time in my life? I am an elder now and it’s too late and it doesn’t matter anymore.

I am still here, I counter. I am still alive, and I have the right to learn, to try things. to maybe fail and try again. I am tired of always putting others above me and shutting myself down. I am so very tired of that. Enough. ENOUGH.

And so, with fear coming along with me, I try. I will keep going, I will keep learning, I will keep talking back to those voices and tell them that their input is not going to be the loudest voice in the chorus anymore. I know that they have been trying to protect me, but the protection has become deadening and stifling and I don’t want to be dead before my time comes.

I have the right to try. I have the right to be awkward, to be a beginner, to be shy, to be afraid, and to be brave enough to try anyway. I have the right to not be ashamed to show myself and who I am. I have the right to be here. I have the right.

So, with anxiety, I put another foot forward. Because if not now, then when? Because there is enough time to be quiet once I am gone. I still have the gift and chance to keep learning things, and to keep working on believing in myself. I am still here. I am still alive.

Maybe as elders we can also continue to encourage each other along the way. We have light within us still, light to share, light to guide. As I continue to cheer myself on, I also want to cheer you on in whatever you may be drawn to do. We can do this, even if scared. We can hold each other’s hands along the way, and take that step.

Opportunities for connection can be all around us

Now that I am past 70, I must go to the DMV in person to renew my license. From now on, I can renew it for only 5 years at a time rather than the 10 years that I have been used to. I suppose they want to make sure that you are not losing it, in case they need to take you off the road. I get it, but it is humbling.

I have never enjoyed the DMV, and that has not changed. Walking in, I was once again amazed at the crowd, the busy atmosphere, the constant mechanical voice letting us know which number was being served and at which window. I had made an appt and walked up to let them know that I was there. I was early, which is my preference for this type of thing. I was informed that I was too early and had to wait to register until just 10 minutes before my appt.

So, I took a seat to wait to check in, still glad that I had arrived early, found parking, and did not get caught in traffic. I try to focus on gratitude where and when I can these days.

I was called when it was my turn, answered their questions, and took the eye exam. I looked at the woman helping me and could feel her fatigue, even though it was still quite early in the day. I spoke to her, saying that she must want total quiet once she gets home from work, after dealing with the crowds and noise and general feel of the place. I told her that I understood, having been a social worker in my career, that I did not want to speak with a single soul upon arriving home from work and could see how she might feel that way as well. She stopped what she was doing, made real eye contact, said Oh yes, and that as soon as she gets home, she went directly to her couch to sit and do some mindless scrolling on her phone, not speaking to anyone for a while.

We finished and she sent me on my way to get my photo taken (or rather to stand in the long line of people waiting to get their photo taken).

Is it intentional, I wonder, to have our photos taken after we have already been through their process and most likely not feeling our most patient or kind, and certainly not looking our best….but here we were. I spoke to some of the women around me as we commiserated about our experience. It helped us to share and to smile together.

The woman behind me talked about how she needed to sit down, that she had some back and sciatica issues, how she had been prescribed pain meds at one point, had become addicted, had gone through Rehab for that. Isn’t it amazing how eager we can be to share our stories with someone who might listen?

I could tell that she was uncomfortable just standing there, trying to find something to lean against.I asked her to please go ahead of me so that she could get through at least a bit quicker. It’s not much, but it was a little something that I could offer.

Up I stepped to the counter. The young man there was processing people quickly as he could, taking photos, gathering signatures. I mentioned that he seemed to be doing remarkably well with his smile while working at such a pace and with so many people. He seemed to appreciate that, then took my photo. He asked if I was ready. (Well, I thought to myself, there’s not much that I can change about the way I look, so yes, I was ready.) He took the photo and we were done.

I drove home, glad to be done with that, amazed that I was home in about an hour and a half after my scheduled appointment time. Somehow I thought that I had been there much longer than that….much longer.

And yet, I was pleased to have connected with a few human beings sharing that moment in time, sharing that experience of being at the DMV, and stopping the madness for a few moments to breathe and to connect.

That, I think, is a gift that we can give to ourselves and to others. Wherever we are, we can take a moment to look around and see who is there, who may appreciate a smile and kind word, who may have a better day because of it. I helped myself that day to feel less like a number or a faceless being just being stamped through a process.

We are so easily lost these days in the crowds, the impersonal (if efficient) processes that we must go through. The least that I can do is to try and make it a bit more pleasant for myself and maybe another person. We are there, sharing a moment. Why not look at each other for that moment, say hello, and be present before we go our separate ways.

As I continue my aging journey, I ask myself isn’t that what life is…a brief few moments. Perhaps we can remember to stop, to see who may be beside us and who we may be able to relate with. Maybe we can create a memory that can bring a smile, however brief. A moment of eye contact can help us to step out of the hustle and back into humanity and back into our bodies…even at the DMV.

Letting myself do what I wanted all along

Being an elder now and looking back, it can be easy for me to ruminate on regrets, dreams that I wished I could have followed up on, roads taken that were the best I could figure out at the time, but not really in tune with my soul.

I have felt regret, wished that I had known better, wish that I had been stronger and better able to handle all the doubts and dreams.

I had a career as a social worker. It was a decent career, and I hope that I provided some help and hope to others along the way.

But to be honest, my passions were along different lines. The choices were not apparent to me then, and I got into what I thought that I needed to do to survive, to go for a degree that I could put to good use, to get a job, make a living, save for my retirement, and try and make a good life as it had been defined for me.

I got married. I loved my husband. But, with the wisdom of hindsight, I now realize having been very sheltered as a child, I was in no way mature enough to even know what marriage or commitment to someone else was about. I was married for 12 years and am grateful for the experience and the connection. My ex-husband and I have a lovely, authentic connection these days, reaching out to leave messages on holidays and special anniversaries. He is remarried and I completely respect that and would never do anything to hurt or change that. But it has been healing for me to have some contact again after all these years. Love remains, even if it changes forms.

Remembering my passions

I have always loved to draw, to write, and have always loved animals.

I wasn’t allowed to really have pets much as a child and didn’t really know about careers where I could work with them, my intellect and background telling me I needed to be realistic and do a “real” job.

So, here I am retired. I am writing now and I am so grateful to have found my voice and a way to express it that feels like coming home. I paint and find such joy in letting that flow through me.

I have been volunteering at our local zoo for years. I was on the Behavior Observation Team with the elephants where I got to spend hours just watching, recording behavior, and being in the sacred presence of these animals as well as being around the wonderful young zookeepers who loved them and took such good care of them.

Our elephants are no longer with us, the last of them having been moved to an elephant sanctuary in Tennessee. It is a wonderful place for him, and I am happy for him, even though I miss him so very much. I want what is best for him, as we all did. Once he became our last elephant left, we knew we had to move him. Elephants, even males who are more solitary, need to be around other elephants. He is doing well and has begun making friends there. I will never be able to adequately describe what it has been like to stand in front of this sacred creature, with barriers in between us of course, simply being in each other’s presence.

Once our last elephant left, I decided to stay at the zoo and try to learn how to be a docent. This zoo does wonderful conservation and rescue work and also works very hard to help educate people about wildlife, teach them respect for these creatures that we share the earth with, and hopefully instill a new sense of connection and responsibility inside them.

I have a lot to learn, and hope that my brain can retain enough information. I love interacting with the guests, and of course, I love being around the animals. They bring me peace. They help me connect with my soul.

I also have wanted to volunteer at a local wildlife hospital, and finally got a call to come in for their volunteer training. The timing was not great, given that I am training for the docent position at the zoo, but I figured I would try. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to become part of their caring organization. There is a lot to learn there as well. Here I go…let’s see how my brain holds up!

Sitting still at home the other day, I realized that I have given myself a second chance to go back and make different choices as to how to create my life. I have allowed myself permission to do the things that I pushed aside in my earlier years. There is a bittersweetness about this, as it comes later in life and my body cannot always do everything that my younger self would have been able to jump into, but I can still participate. I can still go and do what I want to do. I can still be part of it. I can give myself now what I wish I had the chance to get before.

We are still here.

I can write and let my soul finally speak in the way that she loves best…through written word. And I am grateful to have found one of my tribes in those who respond and resonate with what I may write.

I can paint and allow that part of me to express herself and give her room to play and simply be. Once I begin painting, it feels as if things flow through me and not from me. Writing can feel the same…a sense of connection to a depth in me that is greater than just me.

I can be around animals, teach about them and allow that part of me to finally come home as well.

If not now, when?

It is never too late to create the life that you want, even if it must be modified with the realities of aging. We can still do what we can. We can still say this is who I am.

I encourage you to ask yourself what did you love, who were you that you may have pushed down and aside? Are there things that perhaps still call to you? Dance? Music? Art? Is there a kind of work where you may be able to volunteer, even if it no longer can be your career? It can still be the space where you express yourself, where you give yourself permission to have the voice that you silenced so long ago.

I invite you to dream about that and maybe take a tiny step toward it.

Perhaps one day, you will be sitting there and realize that you finally gave yourself what you had asked for so long ago.

There is still time, even if it may take a different form. You are still alive, still here.

Alone, yet connected to so many

I walked to the end of my tiny street with my candle, tears beginning to flow.

I had been following the horror of another person killed by Border Patrol, Alex Pretti, only weeks after the killing of Renee Good by ICE.

I cannot absorb the pain at times. I cannot imagine what their families are going through. I feel such deep sorrow and outrage and, at times, bewilderment. How did we get here?

I watched the news in horror all day covering the death of Alex, as I had watched about Renee. A friend sent me a message that there was going to be a time that evening, 7 pm local time wherever you were, when people were invited to be outside, on corners, on their street, holding lighted candles in a ritual of remembrance.

So, I got my candle and walked down the hill of our tiny street. I did not see anyone else around, and thought that maybe others had organized themselves to be together in a more main location. Still, there I was with my candle and matches.

I took a deep breath and lit the candle, placing it on top of our row of mailboxes as I stood there. Cars drove by, some looked. It was a quiet evening. I thought about Alex, an ICU nurse. I’m retired now, but in my career as a social worker, I have worked with a lot of nurses and have such respect for all that they do and the care that they provide.

Here was an ICU nurse, shot down after trying to help someone else who had been shoved down. I watched the different versions of the videos that people had taken and saw what happened. Thank God for videos. I am enraged at the government trying to spin the story as they are, when we can see with our own eyes what happened. Of course there should be a full investigation by all, including the local authorities.

Standing there with my solitary candle, I could feel the connection to others who were doing the same, even if I could not see them right then. I felt my heart ache for this young man and his heart to protest and to help others. I could feel the still fresh pain from the killing of Renee Good. I could feel a part of all of us that are outraged and sometimes don’t even know where to put our anger. There was a video of a 70-year-old gentleman who was in agony and enraged at what he had seen, at what happened. I know that many of us understood and felt that inconsolable pain.

I see many of my peers, elders, at protests. We have seen much in our lives, have been involved in other protests perhaps, and are feeling the trauma that we are now in. We are out there, using our voices, holding up our signs, holding our candles.

After a little while, my neighbor, who had wondered who was hanging out by the mailboxes, came down to stand by me. We talked about what had happened, about our pain and outrage, about the loss, the death, the crumbling of our democracy. We hugged each other and honored the memory of Alex, as well as Renee.

I walked back up to my home after a bit. I felt as if it had been important to my soul for me to to be out there with my solitary candle, to take action, to bear witness to the pain, to express it so that others could see and also remember and feel it.

As an elder, sometimes it is easy for me to discount that my actions can make any difference. What can I do, as a 72 year old woman? What difference will it make? Who cares if I light my tiny candle alone?

It made a difference to my soul. It made a difference to my heart. And it motivated me to see what else I can be involved in, in addition to attending protests, writing post cards, contributing financially where I can.

I went to bed, sobered, deep in thought and feeling. Around midnight I woke up and felt compelled to open my back door and step outside. At that moment a strong breeze swept through me, which is unusual around my area, as the wind usually dies down at dusk. It stopped as soon as it came, but it felt as if it went right through me. I felt the spirit of all that is going on, felt the pain of those we have lost already in this crisis, of all those that we don’t hear about who have been “disappeared” (what an interesting term that has become common these days), of all the suffering being inflicted, the separations, the young children, the people just trying to make a life for their families, all of us Americans who they are trying to turn against each other.

I have written before about walking in the redwoods and sometimes hearing the rustling of the leaves and feeling as if I am hearing the whispering of the Voice of God. Maybe God was speaking again, through the wind, through the outrage of so many, through the compassion and love that we can still see and feel in the crowds that hold each other and sing and chant together, in the light of a tiny candle multiplied even if we do not see it at the moment. We are many, and we have more power than we know. We are all Americans and we cannot let them divide us against each other. We all want the best for our families and for our beloved country, a country that has stood for so much, imperfectly for sure, but at least had been trying to move in the direction of creating a better world for all.

Let’s use our voices, make our signs, call who we can, come together so that we can see how many of us there are, and light our candles to begin to burn away this hatred and evil.

Our essence shows itself if we pay attention

These are such challenging times in our country and in the world. I try to figure out the balance between staying informed so that I can participate, where and when I can, but also taking time away from all the news to re-center myself and find some balance. I look for stories that can help me through a bit.

So, let me tell you a little story, a story that happened this past week that is still echoing inside me.

My neighbor called me to tell me that a man had just been in her back yard, someone that she didn’t know. She said that he looked a bit disheveled, was carrying a bucket, and looked like he was picking things up. She went outside to check in with him. He talked about having been trying to pick up some things, having fallen, become lost and then climbed my neighbor’s fence to get back onto a road. She spoke with him for a while, found out his name and a bit about him, what his work had been earlier in his life. She could see that he was not harmful but perhaps confused. She directed him onto the road and then noticed that he had come to my front door for a few minutes before going on his way. She called me to ask me to check outside my door to see if everything was ok.

I looked outside and saw no one, so I assumed he had moved on. I stepped outside to look around and once again saw no one and then talked with my neighbor who had come out to talk with me. As I was walking back into my house, I noticed something.

I have been leaving a box of treats out this holiday season for the delivery folks to thank them for all their hard work. It has been such a pleasure for me to do this and to even be able to sometimes get a glimpse of them looking through the box for what might be their choice for a snack.

There, carefully placed on the top of the treats, were two one-dollar bills left in plain sight. Apparently our visitor had taken a few treats, which I was hoping that he would, but had also decided to leave some money for them. This touched me in so many ways. I know nothing about this man, but I know his character. He wanted to pay for what he took. He wanted to be fair and not take things just because they were there. (I would have been happy to have had him take some treats, of course). I don’t know this man, and yet I know a lot. I know what code he lives by. I know what some of his values are. And I know that he has integrity and honor, even with whatever it is that he may be going through right now.

That got me thinking. Who we are, deeply, shines through. Who we are in character stays and can be seen by those who take the time to look. How easy it may be to judge others by their appearance or by whatever circumstances that their lives may have taken them to in the moment, without knowing what lies beneath what we can see.

In my many years on this earth, I have learned (and am still learning) that there is more to see than what we may initially perceive. People have lived lives that we have no idea about and they may be battling demons that we cannot see, and yet, they still retain who they are at their deepest level. His character shone through. His integrity shone through. Who he is in essence did not change due to where he was in circumstance.

I felt as if I had received such a gift from this stranger. Here was a reminder to stop and look long enough to see who someone is at their essence, to not let fear dictate my vision, to not let different circumstances and appearance alter my ability to see the true essence and character of someone…whether it be to assume someone’s goodness because of how well they may dress, or how smoothly they may speak…or to assume danger based on differences that could be due to life events that may happen to us all.

We are all here, doing what we can, coping as we can. Everyone has a story. Maybe we can take the time to hear them, to see them, to connect, to realize that their voice may be quiet, but their character strong. Maybe we can even do this for ourselves, with our own story and struggles. (Those self-judgments can be so very critical.)

Stop, take time to see and hear. The world is harsh enough these days. Let’s be kind where we can. Let’s take time to see true character shine through.

Opening ourselves to the connections all around us

As an elder, looking back on my life thus far, I see that there are so many ways that I have been loved that I might not have seen at the time. I think my view and definition of love may have been too narrow, too defined by others and what love should look like.

There is the romantic Hollywood version of being loved. I have felt that romantic love and that has been wonderful. But the years and not-so-gentle lessons at times have taught me that I cannot place too much pressure on this one person, on this one type of love. It is not fair to them, not fair to me, and not fair to the relationship.

I have been loved as a daughter, which is its own special kind of love. I have no children, by choice, so I cannot speak to that parental depth of love, but have, and do, certainly see it in others, in my friends and neighbors and their children. It inspires me and gives me hope.

I have been loved as a dear friend, felt celebrated, included, cherished, seen, heard, paid attention to, remembered.

I can feel love at the zoo, where I volunteer, standing in front of an animal and connecting without words, as we share this moment of life together.

I have felt loved and welcomed home in a forest, by these ancient redwoods, who can teach us so much.

I have felt loved by God, Universe, all the names that are attached to that Presence that is greater than we can name or begin to understand. Life loves us, even in her harsh moments, by continuing to give us hope, strength, the will to carry on.

I feel love, at times, by the smile of a random stranger as we acknowledge each other walking by, by the grocery clerk where I can have a surprisingly random deep conversation with, by my postal worker when she brings mail to my door at times rather than leaving it in the mailbox at the bottom of our hill. I can feel loved by the barista who remembers my coffee order, by the waiter who remembers what I like.

I feel random love by watching, behind the door, the delight of the delivery folks when they pick up a treat from a box that I leave at my front door thanking them for all that they do. I think that I am even more pleased than they are when they help themselves to the snacks. I am trying to say I see how hard you work, I appreciate you, I want to thank you in my own small way. And when they accept my small offering, they are stopping to let that in. We are connected for that moment.

I feel loved by someone who asks a random question who seems interested to know more about me.

I feel loved when I am included in a new group that welcomes me with smiles and warmth.

I feel loved by my neighbor who randomly brings flowers from her garden. I feel loved by her dog, who I feel a special connection with, who jumps up excitedly and runs to see me.

I feel loved when I go to a monthly potluck that includes 5 dogs who welcome me with wagging tails knowing that I always have treats available for them.

I feel loved when I reconnect with a friend from years past and we pick up like we never stopped. honoring the continuity and long memory of love and the willingness and excitement to start again.

I feel loved by an ex who I now share a warmth and history with that, although different in form, is no less wonderful and appreciated. Perhaps it is even more appreciated, as it has withstood the test of a break-up and time, revealing that love can endure.

I feel loved when a reader resonates with something that I have written and takes the time and effort to write to me about that. We connect.

I still feel the love of those I have lost. They remain in my heart. Their love doesn’t leave, even if their physical presence does.

I realize that gratitude, which I feel in abundance at this stage of life, is all about love. I feel that more each day on this aging path of life where each moment and each breath becomes a gift, as we realize that the path grows short and our time limited.

I can even, and this one has taken me a lifetime, feel love for myself when I look back at all that I have endured, experienced, survived, lived through. I can begin to forgive myself for all my regrets, finally accepting that I am human, that I can keep trying to do better, be better. I realize that the person that I need to forgive most is myself, and that this will open the door to even greater connection and love with others. I think that others can sense when we have embraced our own imperfections, and they can therefore feel safer exposing theirs. We are all trying, doing what we can, in the time that we have.

During these challenging times in our country, our world, the earth…may we open our eyes to the love around us, let it in, let it help us through the painful times, let it heal us and connect us to each other and to the deepest part of ourselves.

Giving ourselves the gift of time to stop and breathe

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

I woke up not feeling my best the other day. I am retired, so I have the luxury of not having to follow any routine or call off from a job, and I am very grateful for that. I realize that not everyone has this option, but I wonder if we can find different ways to give ourselves permission to stop, breathe, and simply be.

Often it takes not feeling well to give ourselves this kind of time and gift. We need that. But I think that there are other times when our soul and spirit may feel unwell or like we need a break from everything, where we can take stock of how we are feeling, how life is going, what we might need at that moment.

I gave myself permission that morning to stop. I had some coffee, felt like I needed to rest more, and took myself back to bed. I grabbed a book, snuggled under the covers, and let myself read, snooze, read, snooze, and repeat as needed.

When I had enough of that, I got up and had some nourishing food, moved slowly around the house, and felt the wonder of stopping time for a bit, stopping the schedule, stopping the list, stopping everything… and just living. What a concept, to take breaks and simply have time to check in with our souls and ask how we are.

Thoughts intrude, of course. Judgments rush in. Messages and name-calling come uninvited…stop being lazy, you need to get things done, at least do one thing on your list, stop being so indulgent. I resisted. What, I wonder, was so scary about doing nothing? What was so awful about that? Would my world really fall apart if I checked out for a day? I didn’t answer the phone, didn’t work on emails, didn’t do, do, do.

Apparently, I survived this frightening experience. Indeed, it was such a marvelous gift. How much of a wonder it is to really take time for oneself, to stop, breathe, allow each moment to unfold, ask myself what would I like to experience next. Do I want to walk in the woods? No, I decided, it was a day that I needed to stay home, rest, take care of myself and allow healing to occur.

How little, I think, do we really check in that deeply and consistently with ourselves. How little we dare to actually give ourselves the gift of an entire day. How little we give ourselves the gift of allowing the experience of nothingness. What might we find there? What might we be afraid of? What might we be surprised by? How can we meet ourselves and confront what we might run into?

I found that I had been tired, not felt well for a bit, but had kept pushing through, and had needed to rest and nap more than I realized. At the end of that day, I felt rested in a way that I had not allowed myself to experience for a long time. Things didn’t fall apart, nor did I. Rather, I came together with the parts of me that needed my attention, that needed to be pampered, heard, attended to, taken care of. I needed to be my own parent that said it’s ok to stop everything today just because.

What a treat. The next day I felt ready to get started again, to get back on schedule.

There is a calmness that comes with knowing that you can be intentionally alone and with your own company …that you can care for and about yourself, that you can stop and be with yourself and face what is inside you that you don’t have to run from everything, that you can stop and take stock of where you are, where your life is, how you feel.

There is a peace in knowing that you are enough. I am not saying that we don’t need each other and our families, chosen or otherwise, but to know that we can be completely alone with ourselves and say I am here for you. Rest, I will take care of you. It will be ok. You are ok, and you deserve to stop. You are enough just as you are.

It has taken me a lifetime to learn this, finally, and has been one of the gifts of aging for me. Maybe I can pass along this gift to others…to remind us that we can stop and breathe. Stop and rest. Stop and check in on ourselves. Stop, breathe, and be.