Listening to the Rain at 4 am

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.

Embracing the Darkness

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.

Talking Back to the Voices

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.

Fun at the DMV

Opportunities for connection can be all around us

Photo by Hoi An and Da Nang Photographer on Unsplash

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.

A Second Chance

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.

Holding A Single Candle

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.

Your Character Shines Through

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.

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.