Random Gifts of Love

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.

The Grace of Stopping

Giving ourselves the gift of time to stop and breathe

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.

The Bittersweet Joy of Elderhood

Growing older brings gifts of pain and joy, sometimes in the same package

Growing older is not easy, not always what we might want, but can bring such wondrous gifts if we stay open to it all.

It is yet another holiday season. They come so much more quickly now. Sometimes the days can feel long, but the weeks, months, and years fly by.

I have reached the age of 72, and am grateful. I hope to have more time left, but none of us really know when that last day will be. I want to live each moment as fully as I can. I want to inhabit each second, each breath, each achingly beautiful sunset, each connection, each gift of living in this temporary body that we have been allowed to borrow for a time.

I have no family close by and none far away that I really relate to on any kind of daily level, not having grown up with them. It’s ok. I have memories and I have families of choice, which are such exquisite gifts. I have chosen for the last several years to spend most of my holidays alone, which felt right at that time. I would perhaps take a walk in the redwoods or sit home in sacred solitude with cherished memories.

This past Thanksgiving, I chose to accept a gracious invitation from some friends to go to a movie. The 4 of us sat in the theater, enjoying the experience of being together on this day of gratitude. They don’t know what gifts they gave me with this invitation. I felt a part of this group, accepted and welcomed and genuinely invited to be a part of their holiday ritual. I will treasure that always.

We watched the movie, enjoyed our reactions to it together, and then went our separate ways. It was enough, and it was good.

This is one lesson that being around longer has taught me … that I can make room for some connection and can also keep sacred space for connection to myself that I only feel in solitude. I can have both and hold space for both in my heart.

I will join them for a movie on Christmas. I look forward to that.

Growing older brings so many gifts. I can look back and see the lessons, the loves, the losses, hold the grief and love (always connected for me), sit quietly in this moment realizing that there will be a last moment, this realization being much more real at this age. I see the changes in my body and try to accept and modify what I can do as needed, while still working to maintain what I can along the way. I see the changes in my face and work to love each new phase, realizing that I have not truly appreciated each look until it is in the past. So, maybe I can appreciate the face that I have today.

I feel my heart and soul opening and being increasingly sensitive as I continue on this life path. I feel tenderness more, moments of connection more, loneliness more, and the exquisite joy of each breath. I am still alive. What a wonder that is. I breathe the air and am part of this sacred earth and the circle of life. I feel so blessed.

And I appreciate my chosen family of you, readers who are gracious enough to read what I may write and sometimes even take the time to respond. That means more than I can even begin to express. You get to hear my deepest parts. It is such a gift to be able to share that with you and to have those parts of me seen, heard, and even sometimes responded to. Thank you.

I appreciate this day. I will go to the gym and do what I can and really try to not compare myself to others or even to my former self. I will prepare nourishing meals for myself. I will sit quietly and read with my twinkling Christmas lights on and the fire going. I will cry into the sacredness of the moment and my being able to be a part of it today.

I will take a break from listening to the constant ache of our world today, the pain that cuts so deeply. I will continue to contribute, fight, and protest where and when I can. But, for today, I will grant myself a break, time to simply breathe and be, to appreciate the gift of life, the gift of aging, the gift of feelings, the gift of it all.

I Gave Away My Bike Today

Letting go of yet another piece of my past

I have had a bicycle in my garage that I haven’t used for years. These days, I am not sure that I would feel safe trying to use it again. I love that some older folks bicycle regularly, but I am not one of those. This bicycle of mine is not one that is as friendly for older model humans, or at least for this older model human.

I know someone who has kids that could use this bike, love it, care for it, appreciate it, and enjoy it. So, they are coming to pick it up today. I am interested to notice my feelings about it all.

I feel sadness at letting go of this, of what was a part of my life, a way to move and enjoy exercise. I still want to move and exercise, and may even have a bicycle be part of that in the future, but a bicycle perhaps that is more accommodating to someone who is older, easier to use for someone who may not react as quickly, may not be as flexible, may just want to go slowly yet feel safely planted on the ground. Maybe it’s time to think about a tricycle or one of those “vintage” bikes that has foot pedals brakes. I could be one vintage model sitting on top of another one, yes?

Aging brings challenges. Realizing that our bodies are changing, assessing what we can continue to do and what we may have to make adjust can be humbling, sometimes sad, accompanied by grief at the losses. There are losses and to deny them doesn’t serve us in moving forward for the most part, I think. Trying to figure out the new normal and what that can include is a task that can be confusing, but important.

It looks like I’ll have to find new ways to travel for my next adventures. But I can still have adventures.

I can still get movement and exercise, although not the same as when I was younger. These days exercising is not to get shredded, but to keep moving and functioning. I am working my way through a depression of sorts, and I did let go of exercise as part of that depression for a while. I’ve quickly become deconditioned and returning to my routine takes much more effort. I am not going to give up, but I am humbled. That is certainly one thing about aging…it’s humbling.

I am discovering that accepting the changes is vital to keep going. If I deny that my body is changing, then I may either stop doing things altogether or do things where I may hurt myself. If I accept that there are changes, then I can figure out how to accommodate those changes to keep living as fully as possible. I can look at possible alternatives like a different bike, earlier dinners out, going to bed earlier but also enjoying getting up early and rested, wearing hearing aids so I can participate as much as possible, having an ample supply of reading glasses, wearing safe sturdy shoes, continuing to exercise to maintain functioning.

I learn to use pain meds when needed for my knees, or arthritis rubs (perhaps they need to start making those in perfumed varieties for us?) I now accept that I need to use cues to help me remember. I have night goggles for night driving. I need to continue to stretch my body and mind. I need to continue to grow, to learn, to accept whatever pace with which that happens.

I walk more slowly and notice that this helps me enjoy things more along the way.

I am coming to peace with my body. I have fought it, tried to bully it, hated it, judged it. I can work on whatever my best version will be, and I can love every version of it. It continues to serve me well.

There are changes that are not physical ones, like not caring about others’ opinions, speaking my truth, wanting authentic, genuine conversation or none. What a gift is has been to realize that I can more consciously choose who to include in my life. If someone does not feel like a good enough fit, I can let them go with no malice, but also with no need to force-fit myself to make things work. I am learning the joy of setting boundaries. The reality of mortality is a constant companion these days and reminds me that there is no time to waste.

I no longer fight what I feel. I can choose what I do, but not what I feel. Feelings are important and let me know what’s going on inside of me. I appreciate and honor them.

I feel grateful for it all…the joy, the pain, the hope, the despair, the struggle, the journey, all of it.

I have finally realized that the hero that I have been searching for all along has been me.

I can continue to be kind whenever possible, with boundaries of course. We all have our struggles. Everyone has a story and some kind of drama going on. I can also remember to be compassionate and kind with myself and allow room for my own story to keep unfolding and honoring that it is as important as everyone else’s story.

I work on forgiving when possible, including forgiving myself. Regrets are a heavy burden. Life can be heavy enough and there is no need to add more to it . We all struggle, we all make mistakes. We can keep learning from those to try and do better.

And I laugh… a lot. A sense of humor is vital these days.

So, yes, I gave away my bike today. I let go of another piece of my past and my youth. But I did not let go of my passion for life, only revised how to best enjoy it and live it fully. Rather than keep mourning what I may not be able to do as I did in my youth, I can embrace what I can do now. I am still alive, and so grateful. Let me embrace each precious moment.

Fat-Shaming

Why do we fat-shame someone if we don’t like them

I am no fan of the current political administration and far be it from me to defend anything that they are doing.

But I do notice that when people are angry with someone, suddenly it seems to become acceptable to shame them and make fun of their larger body size. Can we not be angry without stooping to fat-shaming?

I am a larger size, and try to work on that, as I want to be healthier. But I cannot tolerate all the fat-shaming that somehow has become more of a routine these days. Someone’s swollen ankles are a sign of a medical condition, yet it’s ok to make fun of them. Bruised hands show that someone may be undergoing some kind of medical issue, and they are mocked for this.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate what is being done to our country and it’s hard not to let that anger go wherever it wants. We are being divided against each other. Hatred is becoming normalized. Bullying is modeled from the top down. Cruelty is now a new national language.

So, are we not doing the same when we make fat jokes? Are we not lowering ourselves to that level of insults and mockery? How is that any better?

Can we be angry with someone because of what they are doing, because of the evil that is being encouraged, because of the immorality of actions and words? Why does their size have to be used against them?

I protest everything that our country is being turned into. I am furious, but calling someone fat doesn’t help me feel better.

Think about insults that children can sometimes use…like telling someone that they throw like a girl or run like a girl? We call them various body parts. We revert to when we were children and used name-calling to try and feel better than someone else. We bully. We demean.

Yes, we need to be angry, and we need to act.

Name-calling is their language.

How about making our language be to call out what is being done and then take action to change this. How about reclaiming our country, its Constitution and everything that we have strived to be (yes, imperfectly, with much work to be done, but at least there was the intention.) The intention now seems to be to dominate, even kill others (becoming judge, jury, and executioner and disregarding the law). I hate this and hate that it is our country that is doing these things. I never thought this could happen here, but here we are.

Let’s look at where we put our anger and how it can be used to work toward something. I am talking about things like impeachment, calling for consequences for evil and criminal actions and crimes, taking back our power from those who abuse theirs…let’s channel that righteous rage and put it to work.

Let’s remember to look at our own inner bullies in this process.

We demean size.

We demean age. Being older comes with jokes and cruelty thrown our way, as well as invisibility.

Body size and age seem to be two ot the categories where mockery and insults are still considered somehow acceptable. And add to those the categories of sexual orientation, preference, and others.

Things that we are that do not make us less, but stooping to the level of bullies does.

When you call someone fat, you insult an entire group.

When we label someone as different, that has somehow become synonymous with being less than or bad somehow.

Let’s do better. Let’s be better. United, with all of our differences, we can be stronger. Holding each others hands makes it more difficult to divide us. Accepting our differences makes our group larger and stronger. We bring different things to the table. Let’s put them all together in our common humanity. We don’t need to alienate others who are on the same team. Let kindness be our rebellion, and let our boundaries and appropriately directed anger work toward making things better.

A Random Gift of Light

A stranger gave me a gift that still resonates deep within

Oh, how unexpected small miracles can be!

I and a group of friends attended an annual holiday celebration at our local zoo, where I am lucky enough to volunteer. It is a glorious festival with life-sized animal lanterns and displays of lights throughout the zoo. We all look forward to it every year.

We were walking along, and I happened to see one of the other guests wearing a halo of lights in her hair and made the casual comment to my friend about how much I loved it and that I wanted to get one for myself.

A few moments later one of my other friends in the group came up to me from behind and handed me the halo, saying that the woman had heard me and wanted to gift her halo to me.

What???

I couldn’t believe this. I didn’t even know who this woman was, didn’t even get to meet her and thank her myself, as she had moved on by then. I was delighted and immediately put it on my head and continued to wear it for the rest of the night.

I am still feeling the reverberations and echoes of that gift this morning.

I have recently written about finally feeling seen and heard for who I am, now in my elder years, feeling welcomed by a new chosen family of volunteers at the zoo, feeling more authentically myself than I ever have before in my life, and grateful beyond description. And here I was at one of my favorite places with dear friends, and out of the blue comes this most delightful surprise and gift from this woman and from the Universe.

It strikes me how very important it is to stay open to all that is happening around us, to what may be coming our way, to beauty, to things that we may want and to speak those things aloud. And sometimes, the Universe hears us in that moment and grants us our wish. Sometimes we connect with someone’s heart randomly, never seeing them again, yet having shared a moment of human kindness, love, and connection.

I am so deeply touched by this. It strikes deep within in even more ways that I can articulate in this moment. I wanted to write about it, to express how I feel, to encourage others to be open to see what surprises may come their way, to acknowledge that we all are so hungry for these random gifts that come not from what we do, but simply because we are here, right now, in this body, in this place on the earth, and that others see our light and heart.

So, I got to wear my halo of lights all night long, got smiles about it along the way. I will cherish this halo and memory for the rest of my life. It says I see you. I value you. You deserve to show your light and love. It’s ok to be seen. You are safe. And you can let love in. Do not restrict your ideas of where this love can come from, and you may be surprised.

Wishing you random gifts of light and love as you walk your path. Let the gifts in. You deserve them, simply because you are.

Being Seen and Heard When Least Expected

Feeling welcomed simply for who I am

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

I recently had an experience that hit me with such force and surprise.

You never know where a gift will present itself

I have been volunteering (on the Behavior Observation Team where I got to observe and record behaviors of animals) at our local zoo for years now, with elephants. We no longer have elephants, having sent our last one to an elephant sanctuary in Tennessee, where he is doing very well, I hear. I am glad, although I miss him terribly. So, I decided to try and learn a new position, that of a Zoo Ambassador.

A Zoo Ambassador basically greets guests and helps them with any general questions. I went through training and recently signed up for my first shift. When I walked in for that shift, the people who had been in my training group, as well as some of the regular volunteers who I had come to know through the years, were in the office. I expected to be greeted, yes, but did not expect the warmth of the welcome that I received. It took me by complete surprise.

They were smiling and said that they had just been talking about me. (What? Why would they possibly be talking about me, I wondered.) They went on to say how great they thought that I would be in the new position. Now, I have not done anything, as far as I could think, to even have them think that this could possibly be true.

So, and this is the strange part, all I did was to be myself!

What?

I felt pleased with such a warm reception, although of course my inner critic (ever ready to prepare me for the worst) was already beginning to stir fears within me of disappointing them. (Ah, the joys of a busy brain and inner critic. She really needs to take a vacation, or maybe even retire…but that is for another story.)

Volunteering at the zoo has been such a pleasure for me. I get to be with animals, which I love, at a zoo that tries really hard to be an ambassador and advocate for them (it’s a zoo, so it’s not perfect, but they do try and do the best for their animals, rescue quite a few as well as accept others transferred to us that are no longer able to live in the wild, and also do quite a bit of conservation work and education. ) And I get to be around other people who share this passion. We are of the same chosen family. Many of the volunteers are retired, so we also have that in common. We now get to spend time doing something that we love as well as being with others who feel the same.

That, I believe, can bring out the best in us. I don’t have to try and pretend to be anything different than who I am. This never really felt true during my career. I never felt the depth of camaraderie that I feel now, never felt the sense of welcome. Being a social worker had changed over the years in ways that I felt uncomfortable with. The reasons that I became a social worker were not valued as much anymore, with the new pressure to be efficient. I understand that businesses need to make a profit, but not at the expense of human values.

Finding pockets of peace

So, here at the zoo, I got to be in a place where I could do what I loved, be with people who spoke my language of connection. I could be sensitive, empathic, friendly, help others, help educate about causes that I believe in, be at a place where people were happy to be (a true gift, given the current tense atmosphere in our country and the world).

I think that when we find places that resonate so deeply within us, we finally can relax into who we are at our deepest level. It’s a fit, so, we can allow ourselves to be seen, appreciated, and welcomed into the tribe.

It has taken me a lifetime to experience this. I am grateful that I got to experience it while I am still alive. I come from a small family (an only child of immigrants) so I never got to feel that as part of a big family growing up. I never felt that comfortable in any of the jobs that I had. I did my best, but in hindsight, I never felt comfortable enough to be myself because I was always trying to prove myself.

Of course, I want to do a good job at my new position, but it is not a painful challenge. I want to help people enjoy their experience during the time that they are there. I want to spread the love and welcome that I feel to others so that we can share in the moment, in the joy of being there together. I can give from my heart.

The gift can spread to all areas of your life

This is also how I feel about writing and painting. These are activities that come from my soul. Because of that, I can radiate that to others, and those who may relate to what I create can feel it. There is connection, acceptance, and welcome. I feel that when readers respond to something that I have written that may have touched them. I feel that when others respond to something that I may have painted.

I have waited a lifetime to feel this. I was always trying to figure out what I could do to improve or change myself in most situations. How ironic it is that what I needed to do was to come home to myself, then see if I could find where I fit, to find where my tribe is, rather than trying to force-fit myself somewhere else.

To come home to oneself, to accept oneself and then find where that might fit, to do what one loves, to feel as if you have not only found yourself, but found where you can let your light out and have it be seen and welcomed…these are some of the gifts of this elder time of my life. It’s interesting to receive these gifts while I also feel such sadness at what is happening in our country and in the world, to still be able to show up in my own life while still doing what I can to fight and be part of the resistance. Life contains it all, and we get to feel it all.

And then there are boundaries

Reaching this time of life with its lessons also helps me to set limits with friends that I have. I have begun to realize, as I have aged, that I have not always set boundaries when needed, have accepted behaviors that I no longer can tolerate. I now speak up, spend less time with some folks and appreciate that the level of friendship may be changing because I am changing. That does not make them bad, it just means that I no longer want to tolerate what may not feel safe enough for me. One friend is fat-phobic, and constantly talks about everyone’s weight, or how many exercise classes she is taking, insensitive or oblivious to my struggles with weight. I now limit my time with her. Another friend constantly interrupts me and can tend to lecture me on what his views are, tells me that I am wrong sometimes based on the scientific literature that he has read. I now can disagree, state that I don’t feel seen or heard when he doesn’t hear my views or opinions.

Coming full circle

And then this happened… a young man came up to me while I was standing in front of the chimps at the zoo. He asked what had motivated me to volunteer at the zoo, what drew me there. How delightful it is to be asked. I responded from my heart that being part of this place had helped me survive during the last several years of my career, that I could relate to the animals and the folks who also loved them, that it became a safe place for me to heal. He went on to talk about his own love of animals, his quietness that may not always be understood or accepted, his shyness about this all. I was delighted to be able to tell him that his sensitivity was a gift, that what he felt was wonderful and expressed who he is deeply, and that he need never question or doubt the sacred value of that. I encouraged him to be himself, find his tribe, follow his heart and passion. He smiled, expressing how glad he was that we met.

There are no accidents. I had received this gift of feeling authentically welcomed as myself, and then got to pass that along to someone else. We bonded, he and I, at that moment. I may never see him again, and yet, we shared a precious moment in time where masks were dropped, and souls were recognized.

My wishes for you and for us all

Come home to yourself, find your tribe, find where you can be seen and loved, and claim your own special gifts in these few precious moments of life that we are given.

The Power of Words

Not allowing others to define them for us

Have you noticed how certain words can been turned around to almost mean the opposite of what they originally were, or at the very least, been given a very negative connotation that twists everything around and makes no sense.

Woke

When did it become a bad thing to be awake to what is happening around us, to others, to the earth, to pain and suffering? I want to be awake, aware of all that is going on around me, awake to the feelings and injustices and pain, as well as to the joy and kindness unseen. I claim my wokeness with pride.

Sensitive

I think of sensitive as being sensitive to the nuances of what is going on, sensitive to what others may be feeling, sensitive to the sound of the trees whispering, the tides, the rivers and creeks, the breath of another, the touch of a breeze, the smile of a loved one, the deep pain of loss and of love (two sides of the same coin), the joy of deep laughter, the suffering of others, including non-humans, sensitive to the screams of the earth as we destroy her. Sensitive listens differently, listens with the heart as well as the ears, listens for what might not be said with words, but with eyes, with body, with atmosphere, with sighs. Being sensitive is being open to what is around us, feeling others’ pain and therefore not wanting to cause any pain to others.

Please stop calling our narcissist-in-chief sensitive. He is easily wounded, as narcissists can be, easily offended and immediately driven to vengeance. He has a fragile and fear-based sense of self that is easily offended and shaken, a deep insecurity that cannot withstand a mirror being held up to it. He uses bullying, name-calling, hatred-spewing, division-spreading, all while normalizing cruelty and finding someone else to call as enemy and then blaming them for everything. This is not sensitive, but rather the traits of a narcissist, sensitive only to his own ego.

He, as someone who is so deeply injured and furious with everyone who does not adore him, cannot fill the empty space inside, try as he might. He can only look outward as to what he thinks might be causing his pain, never able to see inside his own soul. Perhaps he is the definition of what abuse can do and can look like if left unchecked and then given power, dangerous in projecting everything onto others and seeking retribution for wounds that cannot be healed. He is weakness disguised as blustery anger. It may be that his very soul was taken, with cruelty being the language that was spoken. He seems to have learned that lesson well.

Kindness and empathy

Kindness and empathy have been called a form of weakness. The truth is, it takes strength to be kind, to look outside yourself and see someone else, really see them, to feel what they might be feeling, to allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to reach out your hand to them, open your heart to them, stand beside them in their/our humanity and suffering.

Diversity and inclusion

Diversity and inclusion are now portrayed as things to be destroyed. Yet diversity can bring richness as we weave together different colors and cultures into a tapestry of all that humanity can be. Being inclusive is the opposite of what bullies do. It is seeing the connection between all of us rather than being threatened by what is different. It welcomes, much like Lady Liberty does (or did), with arms that can hold us all, can love us all, can bring us all together as one family.

Old

Here is another word that can be maligned. Old somehow is feared, pushed aside and out of view, discounted…rather than seen as wisdom, experience, the future of us all if we are lucky enough to reach old age. Old is proof of resilience and a life lived, of risks taken, of pains endured and grown from, of eyes that have learned to see beneath the surface to what is real and authentic for those with the courage to look and see. I claim my membership in the powerful tribe of elders with humility and hopefully some grace.

Feminine

Being called feminine has been used to mean being less than, weak, referring only surface appearances and sometimes used in a derogatory way toward men. But feminine is the source of us all, it is where and who we came from. Femininity is soft yet resilient, able to withstand the pain of the generations and keep pushing forward, has strength (even if quieter at times) that will not be stilled, will not be stopped, will not be conquered. It can be the soft embrace that can melt monsters, and when necessary, stand up firmly against them.

Masculine

This word has at times been defined in terms of conquering, taking, bullying, attacking, dominating. Yet being masculine can be both strong and gentle, protective without claiming ownership, powerfully soft and calming, kneeling in humility to powers greater than itself, melding and joining, unafraid to combine with feminine, to become stronger together.

Emotional

This word has been defined as being weak and out of control. Yet those who can feel their emotions, work with them, understand them and what they are trying to tell us, can weave them into a life that includes this rich part of being human. Emotions can call us to action when needed, can rally us around a cause that is just. If we don’t own our own emotions, then others can manipulate and use them against us and against others, can divide us rather than unite us, can spark into fires that burn and destroy rather than into flames that get to the truth to create room and air for growth.

Rage

Rage can often be defined in negative terms, especially for women. Yet rage is what is needed to know that something is wrong, that battles may need to be fought, that there is injustice around us. There is righteous rage, with the purpose of protecting ourselves and each other. This is not rage that divides, maligns, and creates false divisions, but rather, a rage that slices through rhetoric to the truth, rage that says enough, rage that sets needed boundaries, rage that speaks in a voice that demands to be heard.

Immigrants

I am a daughter of immigrants. I have always seen immigrants as brave, as having the courage to leave home and look for a better life, trying hard to learn about their new home and its ways, struggling to learn a new language, a new culture, while still maintaining some sense of the home that they used to belong to. Now the word immigrant has been given a label oof enemy and something to be removed, like a disease. We are a country of immigrants. And many immigrants are not criminal, but rather fellow humans trying to find a home, a place to live and raise their families, a place to grow. These are new members of our country, like our ancestors once were, trying to live, provide, and thrive.

Words can be powerful. Let us use them for the power that they can wield and not allow ourselves to be manipulated or let others define what our reality is, when we know our own truth deep inside. Maybe kindness, inclusion, empathy, sensitivity, femininity, rage, being emotional, getting older, being woke…all of these are badges of honor and labels we can reclaim with pride. Let us defend our right to own our words and use them as intended in a world where we can care for and about each other, where we defend each of our rights to live and be who we are.

Researching Final Arrangements

Planning for the end can wake us up

Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash

I have been feeling sad for a while now. Life feels so painful these days…the state of the country and the world, my aging process, declining body parts, general wearing out and wearing down. Some days it all feels like too much. Today is one of those days.

So, I finally did one thing that I have been putting off forever…starting to research my final arrangements. I have been curious about water cremation, and about a place where they mix your cremains with the right nutrients to then bury them under a tree that you choose, with a small plaque with your name on it. I love trees, and that feels like a good final home for me. Under a tree, where I can help nourish that tree and we can become part of each other.

Is it worth making all these final plans? Some people just donate their bodies to science and are done with it. Maybe I need to think about that option. What does it really matter? I will be dead. I won’t care anymore.

Strange, this preparation for your own exit. But it must be done. So, here I am.

I have been so stressed and have not been feeling well physically. I finally went to see my doctor, as I have been extremely fatigued, have had some shortness of breath, have gained weight (which may be the reason for all this), have stopped exercising, and can’t seem to find my spirit to participate in my own life. I love to write, to paint, yet both are slowed down. I have been isolating more. And I cry… a lot. It feels deeper than depression. There is anticipatory grief as I witness and feel the decline of my body. I don’t have any motivation or energy. Add to this the horrifying state of our country and the world where we are witnessing the daily attacks on our democracy, if we even have one left at this point. How did this happen, and so quickly? Daily trauma has become the new normal.

This is where I can get into a negative spiral down into the dark places of my soul.

I begin to wonder what I have contributed to this world, what have I done? What good have I done? Who really cares?

I can’t talk to many people about this. They don’t know how to simply listen, often feeling compelled to give me advice. I already know what would help, I just can’t seem to do it.

I wanted to enjoy retirement as I began that journey 5 years ago. Then came the pandemic, and then several major losses in a row. And now, this political environment that is also sickening. I have lost much already in my life, which is part of aging, but I never thought that I would lose the country that I loved and fought so hard to remain in, the ideals that we stood for, the freedom that I felt, that I never felt as a child but finally did as an adult, my beloved country where you could say what you believe, believe what you want, and be who you want. Of course, we had a lot of work to do toward living these values, as we were far from perfect in all of this, but we were trying. Not anymore. We have been taken over by a group of fascists with their narcissistic puppet-king. And it feels devastating to me, as I know it does to many of us.

Every day there are more threats to freedom and liberty. I can feel Lady Liberty’s pain within my soul. Her pain is my pain, our pain.

Is this what makes us ready to go, finally? Do we get tired of the fight? Do we tire of setting the boundaries until our bodies finally set the eternal one that cannot be crossed.

When I do allow myself to simply sit and feel, the tears always come. The pain feels intolerable.

And yet, I am still here, still on this sacred earth, still feeling, still loving, still crying, still alive.

I will go for a walk in the redwoods again soon. I will talk with and touch the trees, listen to what they may have to say to me, feel what wisdom they can share. I will feel a part of the earth again, while I am still walking on it.

I will keep writing, start painting again, hopefully. I will let the tears flow before I try to stuff my feelings down. I will listen to the owls at night.

I will take one breath at a time, get back up and start trying to live my life again, intentionally. I will continue to protest, contribute, speak the truth, be kind, be present, join hands with those of my tribe, live as fully as I can and use my voice. I am still here, and still alive. Let me be part of it while I can.

I will make my arrangements for death, then walk away and keep living.

Welcoming my Elder Self

Inviting my 72-year-old self into my inner tribe

I like to think of myself as welcoming and inclusive. I am humbled to realize that I have not spread that welcome so much to this latest version of me, the 72-year-old version.

We have rituals and ceremonies for other times, other selves. We honor and celebrate milestones like the first day of school, turning sweet sixteen, high school graduation, reaching adulthood, marriage, perhaps, going to college, career beginnings and milestones, parenthood for some, retirement, grandparenthood.

Then the rituals seem to stop, until a memorial service. Oh, there are milestones, like surrendering our car keys, downsizing, losing life partners, having our functioning change (vision, hearing, flexibility, mobility). Perhaps these things may feel like they are not so much to celebrate.

What about a formal acknowledgment, though, of entering this new phase of life. Could this be useful to help us step into this less celebrated time on the path?

Aging is humbling, to say the least. It brings gifts, some of them more welcome than others. My inside doesn’t feel like it has aged that much. My mind, although it can be more forgetful, is still perceiving itself as younger. My spirit still feels all the feelings, desires, and passions….it still wants to dance in the moonlight (although I tend to be in bed by the time the moon comes up these days). I still want to live, laugh, and enjoy life, because each year I grow in appreciation of how special and sacred that this brief time on earth really is.

More of the not-so-welcome gifts

I feel a bit of shock at how my body has stiffened up so quickly and is much less forgiving when I don’t move enough for a while. It is much more challenging to start again than it was in my youth, where I could hop up and get back on track within a week or two.

Gaining weight is easier, as if aging brings its own weight to the table.

Getting motivated to get going on my to-do list is much more of a challenge. Gone are the days when the list itself would be a fun challenge and way to propel myself into action. Take for example, the task of decluttering. How is it that I seem to add more things rather than lighten the load? How long do I think I might live? It’s time to let go, I know. Perhaps the accumulation of stuff helps me still feel part of it all. Perhaps it gives an illusion of a future longer than it most likely will be.

I sometimes find (very colorful) bruises on my arms and have no idea where I got them. My skin is much thinner these days, tears more easily.

Naps have become more familiar, and also show up when and where they like.

Trusting that I will remember something and not writing it down or doing it immediately is no longer a realistic choice. I have always compulsively paid my bills on time. Recently, I forgot when I didn’t jump up to pay them right away, thinking I would get to them when I did get up. I have been late for payment for two bills. It was nothing serious, just a reminder notice, but that NEVER happened to me before. Never say never. Note to self — either do it now or write yourself a note to do it later and place it where you will see the note.

Getting dressed has become a different creature altogether. There is the dance of putting your slacks on without falling. I now must admit that I need to ask my handyman to rinse off the skylight, as I dare not climb on the roof. My mind and spirit say I can do it, but I shudder to think about what that would be like to try and call 9–1–1 from up there. My neighbor’s son is a firefighter and says that they have seen it all, but I don’t really want to be on that list.

Choosing walking trails and other outings based on whether there are rest rooms available is yet another joy of aging. So that is what they meant by golden years…so many thoughts of peeing and where and when to do that?

Driving at night is no longer appealing. It’s interesting, because some of these changes feel like they creep up on you. Suddenly you notice that you don’t go out as much at night anymore, but really don’t remember when that started, just like those grunting sounds I sometimes hear myself make when getting up out of a chair. When did that start?

There are now medication boxes to organize because I don’t trust myself to remember if I took my meds that morning or not.

And yet, we can celebrate, as some of the gifts are treasures

Like my skin, my spirit is also more sensitive, feeling things more quickly and deeply. I am grateful for that, although it does sometimes surprise me how tears can easily come with no advance notice whenever something moves me. I love that sensitivity, as it brings such color and passion and depth to my life. I just have to let go of the illusion that I have any control over it.

This time of life is not only about loss of things. It can also be about now living with more conscious intention with our choices, more authentic communication from the heart, more of our genuine selves showing up. If not now, when?

These days I get to enjoy other surprises of aging as well. I can finally realize that I have the right to choose who to spend time with, the right to say no to anything, if I don’t feel like doing something or if it doesn’t feel nourishing right then. Finally understanding that No is a complete sentence has been a gift.

I now know that there are days that I simply need to spend hours in the forest. I’m so grateful to have a park nearby with beautiful redwood trees.

I can enjoy providing random acts of kindness to people, realizing that those are a gift as well. I know that a stranger’s smile and hello can certainly change the tone of a day for me. Maybe I can do the same for someone else.

I realize that my schedule now needs to be structured in a different way, in a way that includes daily movement, so that I can keep moving, in a way that includes enough socialization, so that I don’t completely isolate, in a way that builds in time for pursuits that speak to my heart, because if not now, when?

Maybe we need a welcome-to-elderhood party

Can you imagine what the party decorations might include? We can wrap up tubes of arthritis rubs, bottles of ibuprofen, canes, walkers, pads, shower grab bars, compression stockings, comfortable shoes, wrinkle creams, antibiotic ointment and band-aids for skin tears, hearing aids, reading glasses, neck pillows to prop us up on the various pieces of furniture that we fall asleep on, sock puller-uppers, super bras, pill boxes in different shapes and sizes…you get the idea, yes? Thank God that this elder self also brings a sense of humor.

I think that I need to have regular meetings with all of my selves, with the next one being a formal introduction of my older self to the rest of the inner tribe. It is time to formally acknowledge and welcome her in, as she certainly is not going away anywhere. She has gifts to bring as well, even if my other selves are sometimes afraid of her. Shall we have a ceremony? Yes, I think that it could be helpful in entering this final phase, in hearing what our elder self has to say as she becomes one of us, the last to lead us all along.

So, elder self, come, pull up a chair and talk with me. Teach me.

Welcome to the tribe.