The Importance of Connections

They can be found everywhere

It is once again the holiday season, a time when many focus on families, close friends, and loving connections.

I live alone, have no family nearby, and yet feel very connected to others. For me, I realize more these days, as an elder, that connection can be found in the most interesting and surprising places, and that there are no rules for what makes us feel connected. For me, there is no minimum time or length of contact, no frequency that is mandatory for connections to happen.

I visited the mausoleum yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, to honor the memory of my parents. It is a peaceful place and reminds us to live fully while we are here. I see new residents there each time that I visit, of all ages, all walks of life. It is sobering, humbling, and thought provoking, especially as we age.

While I was quietly sitting there, a couple passed by. This is a place where we all go for the same reason…to visit those who are no longer with us, to pay our respect, to remember. As they walked by, they looked my way to see if I would welcome contact or would rather be left alone in quietness. We made eye contact, smiled, and wished each other a happy Thanksgiving. In that moment, I could feel that we shared much more than that warm greeting. We shared a companionship in grief, an acknowledgment of our loss, a welcoming to the sacred space of remembering and shared solitude. I felt much less alone after that brief, but significant, contact.

I think that this happens all the time. We may have a quick conversation with a grocery clerk or someone at a coffee shop, and depending on the conversation, may share a depth that might be surprising. It can change the course of our day, of our mood, of our spirit.

As an elder, I now cherish and appreciate how different my sense of time is, how I am no longer rushed by work or obligations, how I can be more attentive and intentional in my connections with others. When I ask someone how are you, I wait for an answer, and will follow up on what they might say, especially if they say more than the usual “Fine”. It’s such a gift, even for a moment, to connect in that way and share in the moment that we are both occupying right then, to be able to offer someone the gift of seeing and hearing them. We never know what someone is going through and what that moment of being heard and seen might mean to them.

It’s interesting to notice what does help me feel connected. I have a friend with whom I frequently have interesting phone conversations with. We talk about ideas, about changes in the world, about his work. This friend and I used to work together with a team that would take clients on a 13-week process to help them learn more about their patterns in life and how things from the past might be holding them back. So we can relate to that and connect it to the work that he does today as a consultant to business teams, trying to help them work better together.

I appreciate these conversations and my friendship with him. And yet, I noticed the other day, that I felt something missing after we hung up. I thought that was odd, but then I realized that he did not ask me how I was, and then wait to hear my response. I had, before this conversation, always asked him how he was as soon as he would call. But this time, I didn’t. I was quiet and waited to hear what he might want to talk about, or if there was something that he wanted to talk about since he had called. It was a fun talk, but I didn’t feel particularly close or feel that he had any sense of things going on inside of me.

That’s ok. I think that different people can give us different levels of depth and connection and that we can appreciate them for who they are. I also think that it’s important to notice if we are feeling any need or lack in that area so we can then figure out how best to get that need met.

Before that, though, I think that there may be something else that we may be missing… a connection to ourselves. How often do we stop and ask ourselves how we are doing, what is going on, what might we need right then. And if we are not aware of what is going on inside of us, if we don’t have the patience to ask and listen to our own depths, fears, anxieties and pain, how can we hear others? If our own internal waters are troubled and churning and we haven’t taken the time to acknowledge this in ourselves and take care of ourselves, then how can we offer others a quiet place of comfort and peace in which to share themselves. If we have not explored and heard the depths of our own pain, how can we sit with others as they talk about theirs.

I think that this lack of connection to ourselves is a pattern in our society these days. We have much to distract us, much to fill the quiet spaces, spaces where we might better be able to hear our inner spirit if we allow the quietness to speak to us.

Do we teach our children this? Do we teach them how to get to know themselves, their feelings, their internal states. How often are they taught facts and rules and shoulds, but not how to go inside and explore their own depths.

Elders have much to share. Yet they can often be surprised when asked how they are and then have someone stop and deeply listen. It can be hard to hear some of the issues and feelings that aging can bring. Yet there is richness there to explore, gifts to find, and connections to be made, connections that can help seniors feel less isolated for a bit.

There can be animal connections. Although they may not speak with us in our language, they speak the language of empathy, sensing how we feel, coming close to us in times of pain or need, offering comfort and love, and simply being with us.

There can be connections that don’t have to be in person. I am often touched by the comments and feedback that I get from others about something of mine that they read. They sometimes write that they feel heard and seen, that they feel a bit less alone, that there is some relief in knowing that others feel some of what they might be feeling. I feel the same when I read articles that resonate with me, and I try to let the writers know that I am grateful.

Aging can bring the gift of realizing that each moment is precious, that this moment can be more precious than years past or those to come, if we are paying attention. It’s time to realize that the time to be present is now, while we are still here, and that we can give this gift to each other, to share the path for a while along the way, to connect, to reach out and touch each other’s souls, and to realize that we are not alone.

3am Thoughts

It’s that time of the morning again

There is something special about 3am. I find it’s often a time when I wake up. Sometimes I go back to sleep, sometimes not.

Today was one of the days when I stayed up, had my first cup of coffee and sat still.

Being an elder is an interesting time of life. My thoughts wander and include the awareness of mortality much more these days. I am grateful for each new day and find I do not take things for granted nearly as much. When your family and friends start dying at a more frequent rate, it gets your attention. Even the deaths of celebrities and movie stars that I grew up with strike me more deeply these days. It is the passing of a time, of a generation, of my past and my time.

How to navigate this can sometimes be challenging for me, especially at 3am. I have thoughts of things past, thoughts of friends and family that I have been lucky enough to have in my life, thoughts of major milestones, of celebrations, of sad times, of regrets. My life flashes before me as if on a screen. I try not to linger on the regrets, although the drama of those can sometimes capture me for a while, along with the dose of guilt and shame that they can bring.

How do we acknowledge, remember, appreciate our lives and not judge ourselves too harshly, so that we don’t lose the present time lost in those judgments. They can immobilize the best of us.

I remember my childhood, especially as I recognize things that I can still carry over from that time, ways that I learned to cope that helped me survive then but that may not be so helpful these days. There were behaviors that I learned like trying to please others to feel worthwhile and safe, trying to present what I thought others wanted to see and hear. I do that much less these days, but it can still creep in. There is healing yet to be done.

I remember my adolescence, my young adulthood, family dynamics, the story of my life. I wonder about the purpose and meaning. What does it all mean? Did I do any good? Did I touch anyone’s life in a meaningful way? Have I tapped into my purpose?

What do I have to show for it all? Do we have to justify our existence, I wonder. Do I have to prove that my life was worth something? Did I matter, and do I matter now? These elder thoughts float through my mind and my body as I feel the reactions in my heart and gut.

I can feel my body declining. Did I use it as well as I might have? Did I appreciate it enough or take things for granted that I can no longer simply do without thinking about them first. Am I utilizing it now, taking care of it now as best as I can.

I look around at all the stuff that I have accumulated. What for? I don’t need or use most of it. I try to declutter, and am dismayed that I can quickly fill up the spaces with more stuff. Why? Am I trying to hang onto life with the wish that I will still be around to use these things?

So many questions, so many thoughts. I think about things I must do yet, like final arrangements. I have taken care of the financial details, but not the final details of what to do with my body. I resist this one somehow. I have a pretty good idea of what I want to have done, but have not taken any steps toward it yet.

I look around at my home. When, or should, I move into a different type of living arrangement, like senior living, perhaps. I am alone, with no family, so making some kind of decision about that seems important.

It’s very busy inside my head, buzzy sometimes. Memories, reflections, questions, and random thoughts all clamor for my attention.

Maybe it’s time to go outside today for a walk. Be in nature. Breathe in the air in the redwoods. Notice the wildlife there. Smile at people walking by, acknowledging our bond in this sacred space at this moment.

Maybe it’s time to bring myself back to the present, to now, to let my brain take a rest and let my body and spirit take over…and breathe.

How Do We Heal this Division?

Post election thoughts

I feel sad about the deep division in our country. I don’t want to debate political views here, as we have had enough of that recently. I want us to come back together, as Americans, and as humans on this planet trying to do the best that we can.

There is pain on all sides. There are needs and wants and wishes on all sides.

What I think we don’t have to do is come to hate each other, to see our neighbors as other, to call each other names, insult each other, and sometimes even come to the point of physically hurting each other.

I think we can do better, that we are better than this. Maybe this is naive and idealistic. So be it. It is my hope. It is something that I must hang onto.

We are fellow Americans. We are neighbors, friends, acquaintances, people you see in the coffee shop, people going to their jobs, trying to support their families. It has been hard to do that for a while, to provide for your family, and this causes frustration and anger. I understand that.

I don’t think that it adds to any solution to try and blame each other, spew mean comments at each other, or arm ourselves against each other. We all have families that we love and want to take care of. We are all striving to do what we can.

It’s hard for some to feel their power being taken away, to feel devalued and made to feel less than, to have decisions about themselves taken out of their own hands and to not be trusted to make decisions for their own lives.

It’s scary to feel like you may die because you cannot get medical care.

It’s hard to have family in wars in other parts of the world and feel hatred coming toward your people, your tribe, from others who do not know any of you or those that you love. There is much pain on both sides of the wars, the children crying, the hunger, the people holding their dead, sobbing.

It’s scary to feel that others may be coming into the country to hurt you, with leaders feeding this fear, which then makes it easier to think that all those who come from somewhere else intend to hurt you. We all, unless you are Native American/Indigenous, come from immigrants. We come from families who wanted better for their children and were willing to go to great lengths and sacrifice to try and get that.

We become afraid of those who may be different than us. There are those who may not feel at home in their bodies, who struggle to try and express who they really feel themselves to be. Who, if they could, would choose to go through such pain and suffering to try and express this if they felt that they had another choice? How painful it must be for them to feel the hatred and disgust coming toward them, to feel like they have to hide, be careful where they go and truly express who they are.

We have distanced ourselves from this beautiful earth and its creatures, forgetting that it is our job to take care of and preserve this for those yet to come. We are all humans on this planet, sharing its beauty and resources. It is up to us to take care of our precious earth and all of its inhabitants.

How do we come back together?

I don’t want to hate you, and I don’t want you to hate me. We are Americans. We can get back to being proud of that, of ourselves, of each other, of the beautiful mix of everything that can make Americans special.

We can ask our leaders to step up as well. They can debate, express opinions, and have us choose whom we will, but not have to resort to creating enemies out of anyone who may not agree with them. Kindness does not mean weakness. And anger and hate never work well in the long run. Let us hold our leaders accountable to try and call up the best in us. Let’s listen to what they say and believe them when they tell us who they are, how they treat others, and the messages that they give us. Let’s discern what comes from hatred and division, and what comes from an intention of unifying us, even if imperfectly. Let us see the leader and not the color or gender, but rather the message, to really hear what is being said.

I am tired of seeing the map divided into red and blue zones. Our flag is red, white and blue, all together, all representing the United States of America. Let’s find our way back to each other and to our home in this country that we all share and love. We are not the enemy within. We are humans struggling to do what we can. I believe that our core, past all the fears that have been stoked, is love and kindness and I want to, and must, believe that we can come back to this.

There is Healing Yet to be Done

It’s time to heal those old wounds at a deeper level

I have been having memories and feelings from my past and from my entire life come up more as I continue my path of aging. I finally stopped and began to listen, rather than judging myself for ruminating and dwelling too much on things gone by.

Maybe, I thought, there are good reasons that all this seems to be coming up so intensely right now.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the self-judgments about not wasting time worrying about things long gone, about needing to let go, about moving on, about not obsessing. Judgments and negative critical inner voices abound. They always have lived in my head.

So, maybe it’s time to get curious with them, to ask them to talk with me.

I have had losses lately, as we all do. They come more frequently as we age. I wrote about one major loss for me lately, the loss of my elephant friend.

I wanted to explore within myself and go a little deeper with the pure pain of this loss, the loss that seemed to hit in a different way and depth than human loss. What was this, I wondered.

I came to realize, as I lay awake at 3am one morning, that this was a relationship where I felt totally accepted without judgment, seen without comment, observed and felt without advice, and included in breathing together at that moment in time.

I do not go into the past to assign blame, but rather gather up my younger self and hold her, embrace her, understand her, and love her. As an adult, and now especially as an elder, I think it’s time to give her what she has needed from me all along, to finally let her know that I am here, that I hear her, that I acknowledge the pain and hurt that she felt, that I feel her aloneness and can now step in to fill some of that empty space inside of her that has been with her for so long.

The empty space is one that I learned to look outside of myself to try and fill, which never worked. That emptiness cannot be filled from outside or from others, but must be filled from within, from self and from whatever that spiritual connection is for each of us, both inside ourselves and with the Universe. For me, it can be filled with things like connection with the trees in the forest that can bring me to tears, or the connection with animals that makes my heart smile and their tails wag or their internal motors purr.

Some of my background

I was an only child of immigrant parents who were trying their best to do what they could to give me a better life than they had. And they did. But they had their own deep wounds, and those are passed on through the generations as each layer tries to heal a bit more.

I came from the time when children were to be molded, to be seen and not heard, to be told who they were and what they were supposed to do. And as a girl, I was taught to look to a man for definition of self, to look forward to embracing motherhood and all the roles.

Except that this didn’t fit for me. And that was not ok in my family. My mother never forgave me for abandoning her to go away to college. The truth is that I felt like I was suffocating at home and fought tooth and nail to get out of the house, and ended up, in my sophomore year at college, having to support myself. And I did. I knew that my very life, my core, was at stake. I had to save myself.

I learned to look for other relationships to try and get love. I looked for a career where I could earn my right to exist on this planet. I tried to be what I thought was a good person. I tried to fit in. But I didn’t.

I had no children. I am ok with this decision. I doubted my ability to parent and thought that I would once again become part of the enmeshment with my family of origin and then forever lose my separate identity.

I chose partners who were sometimes familiar with the pattern of not really hearing or listening to me. It was what I was used to, what I was trying to heal, trying to get things from someone who might not have been able to give that to me. This was in no way their fault. These were just choices made from our mutual wounds that are often destined to fail.

The pain is still there and asking for my attention

And now I lay in bed sometimes and feel that little girl within me. At this age, I can feel embarrassed about this, but it’s real, and she is there, asking to be heard, seen, protected, and held.

I have been isolated quite a bit since retiring and have been curious about that. Now I see that it has taken that long for that child part of me to trust and to come back out from deep inside me to tell me her story, my story.

My story is one of feeling alone, not heard, not seen, not accepted. And the painful part is that I learned to continue those judgments toward myself, to see myself as not good enough, as wrong and defective somehow, as needing to justify my existence, and as needing to try and shape, bend, and twist myself to try and meet other’s expectations, causing me to abandon myself.

Enough. I would say to that inner little girl still so very much inside of me…I am here, and I will hear you and listen. We can be alone and quiet for as long as you need. I will keep you safe. If I make a mistake, I will catch it as soon as I can. I see and remember and feel your pain and deep loneliness. You have been lonely for me. I am here, finally.

I can’t change the past, but I can learn from it. I can now learn how to give myself what I need. And this can help me be better able to be with others. As I feel nourished, I can give more authentically.

Becoming my own grandmother

I think that maybe I need to be the grandmother to myself, the elder, the one with wisdom of an even older generation, without the mother-daughter dynamics getting in the way. The elder wise crone can perhaps give more of what the child within needed then and what I need now…an elder, a wise woman, a soft place to be comforted and loved without anything getting in the way of that pure love.

I can now love myself into safety and wholeness, finally, heal the layers of grief, and begin to take care of all the unfinished business. There is healing yet to be done, while there is still time.

The Ache of Grief

Saying goodbye to my elephant friend

My time volunteering (as a member of the Behavior Observation Team) with the elephants at our local zoo has come to an end. It’s a poignant, bittersweet time.

Osh, our male and last remaining elephant, left to go to his new home in the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee this week. There will be no more elephants at our zoo. Sanctuaries are better anyway, so it’s a good place for him to go.

Goodbye to the elephant who I had spent hours observing, standing in front of him and feeling a connection that is beyond and deeper than words can express.

Goodbye to the young and compassionate young zookeepers who worked so lovingly with him each day, tending to his care, tuning into his needs, caring for him during days he might not be feeling so well, as he could sometimes get colicky.

Goodbye to the beautiful 6-acre elephant exhibit where I spent days and some nights. These times could be so peaceful and serene in the presence of these majestic beings. It became a place where I could truly appreciate the magnificence of this earth, its beings, its sacred night.

There were 4 elephants when I began this journey with them over 11 years ago. Several years ago, our oldest female died at the age of 50. Then over a year ago, another of our females, Lisa, became ill and was beginning to fall, unable to lie down to sleep. She was humanely euthanized. That left two elephants, our female, Donna, (who was a very close companion of Lisa) and our male, Osh. Females need to be with other females more urgently than males (who can be solitary in the wild), so last year we sent Donna to the sanctuary in Tennessee. And now Osh, who has been on his own for a year now, is moving there as well. He needs to be around others of his herd and kind. It’s a good thing. And he and Donna will have the chance to reconnect.

My heart is breaking. I want him to be happy, so I am glad that he will be around other elephants and get to live his life as an elephant. They don’t allow guests to see the elephants at the sanctuary, so he will be in peace and provided good care by the wonderful staff there. For this, I am happy.

But I am once again deep in grief. As an elder, this seems to be the time of life when I have to invite grief to come in, tell it to grab a chair and come sit beside me to teach me what it will, as it is with me more and more with each step on this journey of aging.

My heart aches deeply. I feel the pain in my heart area that erupts into tears at times, and other times simply radiates throughout my chest and entire body. I feel consumed by it and I am going to allow it to do what it will. I am retired, so I can stay home and allow whatever comes up inside to come. For that, I am grateful.

I spent the entire day at the zoo the day before he left, being with Osh and also with the compassionate young keepers, saying goodbye to them all, saying goodbye to that part of my life. This was a part of my life that helped keep me sane during the last years of my career. It became my elephant meditation. Quietly standing and observing other beings simply living their life reminded me to slow down and be more present to each moment. The stress of my job would fade away.

And as this time of life seems to fill with goodbyes more and more, I also find that the new hellos are not quite as easy at this age. I am not as eager to fill the spaces left. For me, I need to feel the empty spaces, the loss….as I begin, in a much more visceral way, to feel the space that I will create when it is my turn to leave.

I am so grateful to have been able to have had this sacred experience. And the loss is excruciating. The price of love is the grief of loss. I pay willingly, even if it is a painful exchange. I have been so blessed to be able to have done this in my life. It was a gift beyond description that surprised me with its depth.

I have friends and connections in my life, but they do not compare to the connection with Osh. What an gift Osh gave me, to feel our spirits connect as we shared a bit of our time on this earth together, as we acknowledged each other and as we stood silently in front of each other. I am in awe of him, complete awe, wonder, and mystery. My soul has been filled with unconditional love for another being. It has been a connection that helps ease the human condition of loneliness for a while. It was being seen by another being in a way that is real, as words and roles could not get in the way.

His deep rumbles, a way that elephants can communicate, I would feel to the core. His trumpets, when he became excited, were thrilling. His connection with the keepers and his intelligence were amazing. His tenderness and sweet disposition would bring smiles and such contentment. I could become calm in front of him when nothing else seemed to work. I could slow down, breathe, and be, simply be.

And now he has gone to his new home. I miss him so much already. I will honor that hole in my heart, a 15,000-pound hole. I will feel the pain, remember and hold the love. To know that I can hold an elephant in my heart…I am grateful to know how big a heart can become, how much love it can hold, how tender and strong it is, both fragile and raw in its strength.

Goodbye, Osh. Have safe travels and enjoy finding your herd again. You will always be in my heart. Thank you for sharing time with me on this earth. I’m sending rumbles, trumpets, and so much love.

Peeling Back the Layers

Coming home to my core and authentic self.

Ah, the gifts of aging. They may not always be welcomed, but this one is.
I can feel myself shedding the layers of a false self that I learned to add on, hiding behind, to try and be loved and accepted.

Did it work? How could it? If there was love, it was misguided and deceived by the layers that I had learned to wear to feel safer in the world. I didn’t let others see the real me, so how could I trust any love coming my way?

These were all the layers that I learned and figured out that I needed, growing up feeling like I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, everything enough, just plain not enough.

So, pretend and put on masks it was. I found myself trying to become those masks, then wondering why things never really worked out.

The cost of pretending

Masks aren’t real. I don’t hate the masks, as they helped me, in my best attempt at the time, figure out how to survive. Survive I did, but at the cost of being separated so far from myself that I forgot who I was.

Except, thank God, that I didn’t really forget. It just took years and finally, for me, retiring, getting older and joining the land of elderhood, to wake up to the truth, to my truth.

Time grows shorter as I continue aging. What good does it do me to pretend and twist and turn myself into a pretzel to please others, or to at least try and avoid more conflict and negative judgment. That is a no-win proposition. I lose either way. I lose if my masks work (where does the real me go?) or if they don’t work and I still don’t know or trust my authentic self.

Going deep within, during a time of solitude

I retired at the beginning of the pandemic, 2020. No longer was there such a reason to run or hide as much. There was no reason for the masks when I lived alone and didn’t see anyone much anymore, given how we were all isolated at that time. In a strange way, that time became a gift (although I would never wish a pandemic to be the way to get that). But it was what happened, and it started a major shift in me.

Looking back, I see that it was a cataclysmic shift, an earthquake from the cracks deep inside me from all the years of pressure of trying to contain it all. I could no longer do that. I had enough. My soul screamed, and I listened.

I embraced solitude and slowly dug my way down inside as I began peeling back the false nice layers.

Listening to the desires within

I wrote. I painted. I increased my volunteer hours at the zoo to be around the animals who are some of my best teachers in authenticity. I was quiet, watched them, and listened to their language. I began inviting my own inner voice to speak, letting it know that I was finally ready to learn how to listen.

It takes time to learn to trust yourself. I am still learning, but I am learning. I am learning to say no, or to at least give myself time to think about things before I answer. It’s ok to take some time to sit quietly to see what my core may say. I have said yes too much in my life, to many demands and requests, at the cost of my integrity and at the cost of putting everyone else first and not pleasing myself.

I’m also giving myself permission to change my mind as I learn this new way of being. If I say yes to something too quickly and come to feel that something is not right, I can change my mind.

I write from my heart and soul and from a place where ideas seem to channel through me. I have cleared away enough of the debris to finally have space for these truths to flow through me. I’m learning to trust what may come up, and to trust that it comes from a self-loving place, a place of who I was meant to be, and I’m learning to trust the process.

I now trust that my words have value. I have things to say. And the responses that I get from those who are touched by my writing feel more real, because what they see and read on the pages is the real me, not someone that I formed to try and please others.

I paint and am learning to simply let myself play with that. I’m working on quieting the inner judgments, whether I have “real” talent or not. I enjoy it. Some folks seem to like it, and that is a gift. I finally let the little girl who always loved to draw come out and play again.

I’m learning to trust my intuition. When I get messages from deep inside that warn me about someone, I’m learning to listen. I don’t have to wish them harm or think badly of them. I must know and trust that for whatever reason, we are not a good mix and I can let them go. I can teach that small child still within me that I will protect her from harm in ways that I have not before. I will keep her safe. I will have boundaries and enforce them fiercely.

With those boundaries, when I do allow and choose love, it will be clearer and purer, as I know that I can say no to what does not work for me so that I can better know what does work for me. My yes will be purer.

The rewards of letting go

Peeling back the layers can be painful, but it is a pain that heals. Those layers may have felt like protection, but they ended up being permeable to dangerous things and people. Layers are created out of fear. Boundaries are created out of strength.

Not everyone has to like me. That’s ok. And I don’t have to like everyone. There are those who are in my tribe or herd, and those that belong to another tribe. We can be civil, we can respect our difference, but we do not have to be close. And that’s ok.

What a blessed gift and relief, to discover that the hero (or heroine) that I have been looking for, the one to help save me, has been inside of me all along. I was taught, out of other’s wounds, to not see my own strength, power, compassion, love, and fierce wildness.

I see it now. It is a strength that brings me to tears with things that I see around me. Things in the world that are painful and destructive and things in the world that have such beauty can become an ache inside me….an ache of gratitude, wonder, and awe. These tears come from the strength of allowing my vulnerability to it all, to the joy, pain, and exquisite bittersweetness of this journey of life.

I can even allow myself to see the wonder and awe inside me, as I can see it in others around me. How precious we are, we human beings. We can be capable of great things, both greatly wonderful and greatly horrible. Our choices, our actions, our beliefs, our having worked through enough of our own issues from our past, these things can determine wonder or horror.

I stand before you with so many less layers (and continuing to work on reducing them), yet I feel strong in my vulnerability. I am strong enough to see and hold your vulnerability when you may need it. If I can see and hold and accept my own fragile places within, then I can offer you the same acceptance.

How bittersweet to arrive at this at such a later point in life. And yet, that makes it all the sweeter, I think. I feel a depth of gratitude that I think only having lived this long can bring, a depth that contains a lifetime of joy, pain, sadness, love, loss, and so much more. I have felt it all, still feel it, and am here to embrace it all. It is life, and I am a part of it, especially as I get closer to the end of my time on this earth. How much more precious each moment becomes.

Come, join me

Here, you can take my hand, let me show you what I have learned. Let me talk with the part of you that may be behind those layers. I can hear you, because I can finally hear myself. Come, sit beside me. I have touched my core, and I can show you that it’s a safe and powerful place to be and to live from. This must be in your own time, of course, but I can at least tell you some stories that may help light up your path a bit. You have a safe place to come home to, deep within you. Welcome back, welcome home.

Animal Connections and Love

They listen better. We can learn.

The older I get, the more I seem to enjoy being around animals.

I have always loved animals. My parents got a dog at one point when I was a child, but coming from a different culture and with their own childhood wounds, I was not allowed to get too close to this sweet dog. As an only child, I craved that connection, that touch and love. That desire never went away.

I have had love in my life and am grateful. I was married for 12 years and my ex-husband and I have arrived at the place where we can have a friendship with love that is at a distance and respectful of the boundaries of each of our lives. That is such a gift.

I have had other relationships and am grateful for all the caring and love.

I have had and have friends, relationships where I can give and receive love that needs to be shared. I am grateful.

The difference with love of and with animals.

I notice these days, as an elder and with less patience for any need to defend or explain myself, that I tend to feel the most open and comfortable to relax and simply be myself either when I am alone, or in the presence of animals. There is no judgment (except maybe for the look that lets me know that there should be treats available!)

I have had the delight of living with kitties. My last two kitties were with me for 17 years. I miss them still. They made the best sleeping buddies, with their purrs and leaning into me as we all slept in one big pile, where we would end one day and welcome a new one together.

And now, at 71, I do not so easily run to get another pet. I am older, and would need to make sure that they would be taken care of if I should precede them in death. And I have less energy these days, and wonder if I could give them enough of what they might need. Perhaps one day I will consider getting an older pet. We can continue aging together, comforting each other on this path.

A gift from elephants.

I am lucky to have been able to volunteer at our local zoo for the past 11 years. I have been on the Behavior Observation Team with the elephants. Can you imagine? I get to spend several hours during each shift observing and recording the behavior of these amazing beings. How can you not fall in love with a being that you simply get to watch and be in their presence for hours on end? I now have elephants in my heart and will always keep them there.

They gave me gifts. The gift of watching a fellow being simply being who and what they are. The gift of feeling a connection that is beyond words when our male elephant would sometimes simply stand in front of me (with safety gates in between, of course) and we would be in that moment together. It took my breath away. Time would stand still.

My time with the elephants is coming to an end. After losing several of our females, we will soon be moving our only remaining elephant, our male, to a beautiful and spacious elephant sanctuary in Tennessee where he can be around other elephants. This is a place where he can be in peace, as guests are not allowed to visit the elephants. These majestic creatures can simply be themselves in this beautiful place, be given good care and attention, and have thousands of acres in which to roam. They can be with their own kind, if they want, or be alone when they need that.

My heart is aching at this loss and yet I am happy to know that he is going to a beautiful sanctuary where he can be around other elephants. Yet another lesson emerges…love sometimes means letting go.

Growing up learning the comfort of solitude.

I think that one reason that it has been easier for me to be more myself around animals is because I was an only child. I never had siblings to share my childhood with. Yes, I had friends, but they could not really understand the experience of growing up in my family like a sibling would have. I learned to go inside myself, to retreat to my room in silence, to comfort myself in complete solitude. I am an elder now, and seem to crave that sacred solitude more than ever.

This is where I find comfort these days, in the solitude of a forest, and in the presence of non-humans in my life who may come to me and connect in a way that is beyond words.

Words can sometimes be difficult when negotiating the connection with another human. Yet I notice that I can allow animals free reign to cross my boundaries knowing that I will not have to defend who I am or what I feel.

The birds and the bees.

I never thought that I would take such great pleasure in watching the birds bathe in my backyard. Their ballets delight and mesmerize me.

I never thought that I would be out there rescuing bees that may have fallen into the water of the bird baths (I do try and leave a way for them to get out, but they sometimes still get stuck in the water). So, I, who have been fearful of bees most of my life, am out there carefully offering them something to climb onto so that they can be rescued. They remain there resting after being rescued before flying off again. I am grateful.

We can learn from animals.

I sometimes make eye contact with someone’s dog when they walk by me on a path. They will come up to me and, with their owner’s permission, I pet them and talk with them. I feel that connection and love.

I do love my friends. And I have always been someone who does more of the listening than the talking. I know that there are ways that I set that up, but it has been a pattern in my life. And now, I find that I can sometimes get tired of the one-sidedness of that. I can feel drained at times, when someone doesn’t ask how I am, or when they ask me to tell them something happy that happened to me recently, when that is not the mood or place that I am in. That request only serves to let me know that this is what they want to hear and perhaps not the truth of any depression and sadness that I may have been struggling with lately. I do not blame them, but it can leave me with an ache. Perhaps they don’t know what to say if I talk about the deep sadness that I feel sometimes, the sadness that is part of life, the moments of grief that are part of aging.

The truth is that they don’t need to say anything. I simply need someone to sometimes be with me, stay beside me as I express what I am feeling, and hear me and accept me. That would be a gift.

Animals do that. I can cry in front of them and they will often come close and make contact, offering me comfort. That comfort of being seen, heard, and loved, with nothing more and nothing less, can be everything.

The gifts of connection, no matter where we find it.

I know that some people pathologize the deep connections that some of us feel with animals, implying there is something wrong with loving animals as much as we do and not perhaps loving people as much. I would respond to that by saying that it’s a gift to be able to feel that connection with another being, to feel less alone (no matter how we may achieve that), to feel love (no matter where we find it), to feel a part of something greater, to feel the comfort of another being that is beside you, to feel nourished by a mutual bond that is deeper than words can explain. Animals have taught me about pure love, about simply being with each other and bearing witness to the moment, side by side.

Applying the lesson to humans.

Maybe I can try and apply these lessons when being with someone else who may be in deep pain or grief, where words can fail us. Maybe I can try to simply be in my animal body, next to their animal body, witness their pain and be together at that moment in time. Perhaps that may be the greatest gift that I can give right then, this gift of animal connection, being beside each other in the darkness, listening without judgment, loving without words.

A Letter to Young Women

I am so very proud of you.

Photo by LinkedIn Sales Solutions on Unsplash

As an elder, with no children of my own, I am lucky enough to have wonderful young women in my life and I am in awe and proud of them all.

I have been privileged to work with young zookeepers at our local zoo, where I have volunteered with the elephants for the last 11 years.

I have watched these young people, mostly women (the wages are too low for most men to accept, sad to say, on so many counts). They are amazing. They work with a 15,000-pound creature, which is no small feat. They look tiny next to him, yet have loved him and taught him things, as he has taught them. They provide physical and emotional care. They love and they work hard, very hard.

They do what they must and do whatever it takes to provide care for these wonderful creatures. They put in extra hours as needed. They stay late. They lift, move, push, and shine.

What I want to say to them all.

What I want them to know (and do say to them) is…

I love your strength, your passion, your partnerships with each other, your power, your fearlessness.

You are so powerful, compassionate, and you give me hope for the future. You treat elephants with kindness, and you also treat me with kindness. I am not invisible to you, at least in many important ways.

You face such deep losses with courage and openness. We stand, hold each other and cry together as we prepare to lose the last of our herd at the zoo, who will soon be moved to a beautiful elephant sanctuary. There are no words necessary, just being together and understanding the pain of loss, the pain of love, the pain of letting go, and for you all this happening at such a young age.

You inspire me. You fill me with pride for women everywhere.

Role models everywhere.

I watch the young women newscasters on TV and am in awe of their courage, poise, ability to handle tough situations, and stand in their own power in what was such a male dominated field when I was growing up. I delight in thinking about all the young girls who get to see and hear these powerful role models.

I feel such respect as I go to our local coffeeshop and talk with the young family who owns this. The woman proudly displays photos of her service in the navy. Her pride in having this history is evident. And her children know how important that piece of her history is for her. This is who their mother has been and is.

I have many women doctors at this point. I am saddened by the pressure that they also feel to rush patients through (I belong to an HMO) and then end up not having enough time to bring their superpower, as women, to our time together. One superpower of many women is that of being able to be with me, hear me, listen to me, or sit with me in any pain that I might be in. I pray that things can change so that these young people (young men and women) can bring all of themselves into this important profession that deals with people at their most vulnerable.

And now, a woman running for president.

And I am lucky enough to be alive at a time when there is a woman running for president again. And the race is a close one.

I love watching young girls see her as a candidate and as being a strong woman. They get to watch both her husband, and her male vice-presidential candidate, support her. The role models that I didn’t get to see enough of are now available. I am grateful.

I worry about freedoms that generations before you fought hard to attain, seeing that these freedoms are now threatened.

I worry about the still apparent societal pressure and expectations of how you should look, what size you should be, how you should manage to do it all. It makes me sad that you sometimes don’t see how beautiful you are, each in your own unique way.

I see the battles still ahead. Among these are the battles to be heard and respected, not interrupted, and to be able to express your voice and have it be heard and seen as the important contribution that it is.

It all brings me to tears. I, as a daughter of immigrants, had a smaller space that I thought I could occupy in this world. There seemed to be fewer choices in line of work, and in life in general. And with parents coming from another country with different family ideals and values and expectations of women, I tried my best to figure out how to survive and not squash my voice completely. I realized over time that I had forgotten my own voice, being so busy trying to fit into what was mandated, expected, or allowed.

I don’t want any of that for you.

My hope and wish for you.

I want you to know your own spirit, your own passions, your own strength, your own voice. I want you to follow that and have the freedom to do that. I want you to have domain over your own bodies. I want you to stand together and not be divided and conquered. I want you to have yourself at the top of the list as to whom you should please.

I want you to be able to claim your strength, to be able to better discern who and what you may need in a relationship, to mother yourselves and each other. I want you to run free, wear what you want, dress as you please, and know that you are more than enough. You are valuable and wonderful and have every right to claim your space on this earth, in your world, and in the Universe. I want your biology to help raise you up, not to define you by things that you can or cannot do.

I want you to dance your own dance and to be able to dance even if you don’t have a partner. If you find a partner, I want you to be happy, loved, respected, nourished and cherished, as I would hope that you can do for each other.

And if you are not partnered, I want you to know that you are perfectly ok as you are, by yourself. You can build a community around you, have family and loving friends, and you are no less because you are single. It’s ok. You are ok. You are more than ok. Of course, I wish you love and a partner of quality, but more than that I want you to know that your primary partner is yourself. You are at the top of the list of whom you need to pay attention to and take care of and love.

You don’t have to twist yourself into shapes and sizes and values that do not fit you. You can be all that you were born to be. You can be your magnificent self. I may not be able to see where you end up and all that you will do, but I am cheering you on every step of the way. You inspire me. And if I can stand with you from beyond, know that I will be there right beside you, with love.

Letter From a Childless Cat Lady

Childless, not heartless, not purposeless.

I need to address the childless cat lady comment that was recently made by JD Vance, a candidate for vice president. This comment was so deeply offensive and completely ignorant of what we childless cat ladies can offer and who we are.

Full disclosure- I currently do not have any kitties. I lost two 17-year-old kitties (I had them with me since they were kittens) within 6 months of each other soon after I retired, four years ago. My heart is still broken. And I hesitate, at age 71, to get another. What if the kitty outlives me? I would need plan for this possibility. Can I handle yet another deep grief of loss? I don’t know. Aging brings so many losses, and to invite another furry creature into my home can invite loss. But I may still do so at some point, given that the joy of love can outweigh the pain of loss, and armed with the knowledge that love and loss are always a package deal.

Yes, I am one of those childless cat ladies.

And I have a huge heart. I love deeply. I am compassionate. I care-take and give from my core.

I am strong. I support and give to many causes. Those causes include children and all those suffering, both human and non-human. I contribute to the future. I mentor. I try to help pass along the torch to younger women.

I am more than a potential child-bearing human. I have a worth that is separate from that. I mother others in many ways, as the word mother can also be used a verb that has nothing to do with biological children.

I can teach about solitude, about ways to love that are other than bearing children. I honor mothers deeply and all that they do. It is a sacred role. And I can offer support to those women that do have children. I can be a member of their tribe and offer comfort and kindness.

Rather than accept once again the frequent pattern these days of trying to separate us all from each other (childless versus not), perhaps we can focus on coming together and offering more to the world in our different ways. United together, we can be stronger, unlike what this pattern of divide and conquer can offer.

I can help, in a different way, teach young girls of their intrinsic worth, so that those that may choose to not have children (or cannot for other reasons) are encouraged, by seeing role models, for all that women can be, for the complex beings that we are and all that we can do.

As a cat lady, I have learned humility. I have learned about a deep love that is different yet no less worthy. Even when living alone, I have often had furry companions, so that I have learned how to keep myself connected to life and to love. I have found solace, when weary, in the form of furry paws and purrs that greet me when I come home. I stay soft and open. And I think that openness can help the world.

In the past, women who were seen as different became threatening somehow and might have even been labeled as witches …witches with their cats. These witches were portrayed as evil, rather than seen as perhaps women of the earth who might know how to use herbs and plants to cure, who might have had their kitty familiars as loving companions, as soft touches in a world that needs so much healing, as a furry creature to perhaps to come home to after trying to deal with and trying to help heal the earth in some small way. A furry companion can teach humility and lessons in what we can and cannot control. (Cats are excellent teachers of this lesson, a valuable lesson that some of the world might be able to benefit from these days.)

Women of power are often insulted or somehow told that they are less than, that power is not their right. Who has defined what power truly is? Is it in being aggressive, domineering, and invasive, or can it be gentler, kinder, and inclusive of all? Perhaps it can help build relationships rather than amass more land or control. Perhaps it can help bring people together rather than create divisiveness. Maybe it can teach us to love each other rather than promoting fear and conflict.

Yes, I am one of those childless cat ladies.

I am happy to be a cat lady who cherishes solitude from which she can gather herself and her strength to go back out and love, and who understands the difference between alone and lonely. I stand with other women who may have either chosen not to bear children (or perhaps could not for various reasons) but who gives to the next generation, nonetheless. We are women who can remind other women of their intrinsic worth that is separate from any childbearing capacity or history, who can remind young women that their biology does not define them or limit what they can do.

I come to you as an elder at this point, as an elder woman of solitude who very much enjoys the companionship of cats. I am a cat lady who finds solace and love in all of earth’s inhabitants — trees, animals, everything, who can help teach that we are all connected to each other and to this earth, this earth that we must love and take care of, including each other.

Cat-lady? Yes, proudly so, purrfectly so.

A Love Story

My time with an elephant taught me a new kind of love.

There was a time that I was so tired, burned out, feeling lost at my job and the changes that seemed to invalidate me, my values, and my work. My job, even though in the human services, became more about efficiency and less about human kindness. I wasn’t sure if I could survive much longer.

And as life is, there was also stress from trying to take care of my aging mother in what had always been a complicated relationship. There were other significant relationships that ended. At one point I had some health issues that were terrifying for a while but thankfully turned out ok. I felt like my world was falling apart and that I couldn’t cope anymore. I felt done with people, burned out and drained.

Maybe, I thought, I could do something during my free time to be around animals, as I have always felt such a connection to them. They bring me peace and joy. They bring me quiet in the middle of all the noise.

I contacted the local zoo that I had visited many times. It was a zoo that seemed to care about its animals (yes, it was still a zoo, which is not ideal, but compared to other zoos that I had seen, it seemed much better. They had many rescued animals and worked hard to educate people about animal advocacy and co-existence.)

So, off I went to sign up for the volunteer informational meeting. I learned in that meeting that there was something called behavior observation, where volunteers observed and recorded behaviors of the animals to gather more information to help the zoo provide better care for them.

Liking the sound of that, I signed up and attended the orientation session for the behavior observation team. After the informational session, the staff asked which animals we each might prefer to work with. I had no idea, so I put down three possibilities, knowing that I would accept any assignment. Elephants were one of my three choices.

I got chosen for the elephant behavior observation team.

Little did I know that this assignment, this change in my structure and routine, would help save my sanity and my life.

For two-hour shifts, I would observe these amazing animals, these majestic and sacred creatures, live their life. Sometimes I even got to do longer shifts in the evenings. Those shifts were filled with walking up and down the walkway in front of the exhibit, trying to stay warm and awake, bundled up in layers, with coffee and some snacks. The snacks were mostly for some other little friends, like the squirrels, who would stop by to see what was being offered.

Photo by author — What’s on the menu tonight?

I laugh when I remember at one point putting down the bag of nuts on a bench while I stepped away for a few moments to better see the elephants. When I returned to the bench, the bag was completely empty! Clearly, I needed to bring even more snacks for the next time. Message received and understood.

Back to the elephants.

I have been lucky enough to have had the privilege of observing these wonderful elephants for over 11 years. I never tire of watching and being with them.

During these past 11 years, we have lost our three females. A year ago, we moved the last remaining female to a beautiful elephant sanctuary, as females need to be in a herd, even more quickly than males do. Males in the wild will often be solitary, being kicked out of the herd when they reach a certain age, or they will hook up with other males and be part of male bachelor groups. But even male elephants eventually need to be around their own kind.

Our male, Osh, has been on his own for a year now, and it will soon be time for him to move to this same sanctuary. There are thousands of acres and other elephants there for him to get to know and be with and there are no visitors allowed. These wonderful elephants get to live their lives in peace and just be elephants. I am happy for him.

I am also deeply sad to lose him in my life. I have been grieving this upcoming loss for a while now and will continue to do so as we prepare for his departure this fall. And I remember that I want the very best for him. Love means letting go when you need to, difficult as that can be.

During my time of observations, Osh and I got to spend extra time together. I would show up early for my shift and then get to spend extra time watching him before the keepers were ready to have the elephants on the exhibit. He would be in a grassy meadow just to the side of the main exhibit while the staff was down in the barn area providing daily care to the females. There were times that he would stand in front of me (with heavy gates and fences always in between us, of course). We would stand there feeling each other’s presence, being together in that moment.

I felt his essence. I remember one of the zookeepers, when walking by, commented that Osh and I seemed to be having a moment. Yes, we were. I cannot explain it, but I felt it. I like to believe that he did too.

I have come to deeply love this elephant. It is a love that is beyond words. What a gift that is, to know how deeply we can love and connect. What a beautiful part of being human and connecting not only with each other, but with another species.

There is something so amazing about being able to stand in front of another being, simply watching. I think that it is impossible to not fall in love with that being. There seems to be a lesson in that (one of many) about love. Love is watching, learning, observing, and paying attention, with no expectations of anything in return.

But the truth is that I got a lot in return. A lot.

All these elephants have taught me about being in the moment. They helped me survive what felt like brutal work weeks. They helped me smile and enjoy, stop, slow down and see beauty in the differences between us. (And they made being large, having wrinkles and having saggy skin look good!)

Time with Osh has been one of my most precious gifts. As an elder, I have noticed that I am much more selective about who I spend time with, opting for quality much more than quantity. For me, it is better to be alone than to be in the company of someone who does not nourish me. Time is precious. I don’t wish anyone harm, but I don’t have to spend my time with everyone. This, for me, has been one of the gifts of aging.

Lessons of Wisdom from my Elephant Friends.

There are so many lessons that I have been lucky enough to learn from these wonderful beings.

Size doesn’t matter. Slow down and be who you are. Enjoy each moment. Savor each treat. Don’t tolerate those you don’t want to have around you and don’t hesitate to let them know. Reach out to those of your herd. Touch each other. (Elephants have the sweetest way of touching and twirling their trunks together when they are close to each other.)

Spend time with your herd, and spend time alone when you need it too, although you can keep your herd in sight. Stand in your own presence and power. Calm down and breathe. Do what you need to when you need to do it. Connect with your herd and with others who are kind. Remember who those beings are. Play when you feel like it, simply for the joy of playing. Get mud all over yourself to protect your skin, to cool off, and to keep the pests away. Don’t worry about what you look like. Own your majestic muddy presence.

Just be and don’t worry about doing or performing or pleasing anyone else. Never forget that you are wild. Never let others forget that either. Remember your power and your voice. Trumpet as needed.

One of the biggest lessons of all is that even though it can be excruciatingly painful to lose who and what we love, loving deeply is worth the pain. I have, in the past, doubted my ability to love deeply, due to childhood issues. I don’t doubt that anymore. You taught me that my heart is big enough to hold an elephant inside. And so, it does, and always will.