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.

Welcoming my Elder Self

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

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

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

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

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

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

More of the not-so-welcome gifts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe we need a welcome-to-elderhood party

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

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

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

Welcome to the tribe.

The Center is Me

My feet are not too big for those shoes…the shoes are too small.

It occurred to me the other day that I have spent my life thinking that I was the wrong size, or wrong personality, or wrong whatever it was. It was me that needed to change, shrink, alter, bend, twist, flex. The center was outside of me, and I was supposed to adapt somehow.

Wait a minute! What?

I remember my parents trying to continue buying a certain size shoe for me, as they thought that my feet had grown as much as they should, and how tight those shoes often felt. I remember using band-aids to stop my poor feet from getting bruised or calloused. Now part of that is certainly the design of the shoes. They are designed for the sake of fashion, especially women’s shoes, and we somehow had to learn to adapt and figure out how to make them work. In whose world is a stiletto heel healthy for any foot or posture? And yet we strived to learn how to walk in those things, trying to adapt ourselves to make it work.

This attitude and pressure to make ourselves fit into things extends to more than shoes… things like our bodies and what sizes we are supposed to fit into. The smaller size is considered better for women. The opposite can be said for men and the width of their shoulders. We have tried to squeeze ourselves into clothing that did not fit properly, even using items (shapewear- as in this is the shape that you are supposed to be) that helped to make us look smaller underneath the clothing so that we could better fit into them. There has been a pattern of trying to change our bodies to get into a certain size, the right size.

Shoes, clothes….and even personalities became the focus for this all. If someone didn’t like part of you, then it was your job to fix that, and to mold yourself, shut yourself down, quiet yourself, to better fit the acceptable mold for what we were supposed to be to please others.

Here is a radical idea… what if the thing was the wrong size and fit and it wasn’t about us at all? No, my feet are not too big. Those shoes are too small. No, my body is not too big, that dress is too small.

No, my personality is not too much. Your expectations are too confining and they don’t fit me. I am the center, not the clothing, the shoes, or the expectations and molds that we are supposed to force ourselves into.

Ah, the gifts of aging. Aging can bring the realization that we have the right to finally occupy our bodies and ourselves as they are. It’s a shame that this often happens later in our lives, when our bodies and very souls are finally screaming to be heard for who and what they are, when lumps and bumps from what we tried to squeeze ourselves into now tell us they must be considered. They are part of us and need to be accepted. Perhaps even more than accepted, they/we need to be loved as we are.

I am righteously angry, not too angry. I am asserting who and what I am, not a bitch. I am entitled to what I want and need and am not too picky. I want to be up front and center with everyone else, not sit quietly in the background.

I do not need to shrink myself to fit your expectations. You need to change your expectations to fit who and what I am…or leave. Either way, it is not my job to change or bend myself to please anyone else. Enough already.

What if society’s expectations are the things that need to change and not us? How freeing that would be. We are ok and we don’t need to twist and bend ourselves to fit what doesn’t fit. We need to bring the center back into ourselves.

If someone doesn’t like that, they can leave, with my blessing, leave and go have a good life, just not be part of mine. I don’t have time for that crap anymore.

Life is brief, and we need to claim our right-sized space in this world, our size, our space, our very souls, and our right to have things be the right fit for us. Finally.

The Loneliness of Elderhood

Exploring the sometimes-unique qualities of loneliness as an elder

Lately I have felt such a deep loneliness. As an elder, this can have different qualities to it than loneliness did earlier in my life.

It seems to be much more frequent these days. It is often not a loneliness that can be soothed by others.

Rather, it begs to be heard, seen, felt, and acknowledged.

So, here I am doing that.

I feel lonely for days gone by…for casual glances that speak of attraction and desire, for feelings of looking forward to the future and all that it may hold, for easy laughter in the moment, for friendships that are formed easily and enjoy the light of day together, exploring what is there and what hopes and dreams for the future are there as well. I miss the excitement of not knowing yet looking forward to what may come next.

It’s different these days with fewer days to look forward to. My changing body gives me new glimpses into a future that can be scary. Things are not going to get easier. People are going to leave more frequently. Friends are not so easily found.

There are no more glances that speak of mutual attraction, only those feelings within myself that I keep quiet and that are only for me to see and acknowledge. There is not much space these days, I think, in society’s way of looking at elders, for acknowledging our desires, as if aging has destroyed those. Sometimes I just want to be held, have my face stroked with tenderness, have my forehead kissed tenderly, feel a hand brushing the hair away from my eyes. My body is older, my need for touch and connection never age.

No, a massage will not replace that. I am not comfortable with massages, given the changes in my body. Sometimes I have come out of massages in more pain, and I don’t want or need that. And it’s a touch from a stranger, which doesn’t address what I crave.

I don’t get pedicures very often, as I feel strange when others are touching me yet not looking at me while speaking to each other in a language that I don’t understand. They can only add, at least for me, to the jury within my head that is always ready to judge.

I bought a weighted stuff animal recently. It’s like weighted blankets that can help calm someone. Rather than a blanket, mine happens to be a sloth, which makes me smile. That’s a bonus. It feels comforting and I am grateful for that. It reminds me that we can be creative in finding ways to help ourselves. It’s not perfect, but at least it’s something.

I haven’t danced in a long time. That used to be a way to feel my body more. I think about taking dance classes again, although I hesitate as my body is stiffer and larger, and I am shy about it, as well as feeling some shame. Somehow part of me still buys into that message that only pretty bodies can allow themselves to be seen, to be enjoyed, to be felt, to be touched, to dance. I don’t believe that in my brain, but deep down, I can still feel those old messages that wound and judge. Now they come from me.

That hurts.

I used to have kitties but lost two (both were 17 years old) within 6 months of each other (at the beginning of the pandemic 5 years ago when I had just retired,) and I don’t know if I can go through that kind of devastating loss again. These days, I also wonder about who will take care of them if I precede them in death. That’s a concern that I have heard others talk about who are also in my elder tribe when they consider getting a pet.

I don’t have siblings, so I don’t know if that would help or not, to share these feelings of loneliness as we age together. I do miss having someone hold my history the way that a sibling might. I feel lonely for that these days, lonely for something that I never had but that I see others have.

I feel lonely for myself, as I tend to abandon myself when I feel sad and depressed. I miss the part that takes better care of me than I have been for a while. Maybe that is something that I can work on, once I climb out of this dark hole a bit.

I am still here.

Maybe I can begin to focus on what I do have here and now and keep focusing more on being present to the eternity held in each precious moment, the joy of still being alive, the gift and wonder of my breath, the feel of the wind on my face, the welcome warmth of a hug, the taste of morning coffee, the dance of the birds as I watch them take a bath. I can still feel and delight in the connections that I make with animals and people all around me, as well as with the majestic redwood trees in the park where I walk, who remind me that we are part of them and they of us.

I can appreciate this feeling of loneliness too, as evidence of a life lived, a heart opened, desires known and filled, tears and smiles…all the passion of being human.

I am lonely and it’s ok. It proves that my heart is still beating, still loving, still here, as am I. I have enjoyed all the feelings in my life, all the experiences, touches, companionship, and relationships. I love tasting it all, feeling it all.

Remembering is not a bad thing, even if it brings nostalgia and wistfulness. What a gift and joy it is to have lived this life so far, to have others in my heart bound there by love, to wake up to another new day each morning.

I am still here, still alive, still feeling, and so very grateful.

If Lady Liberty Could Speak

Remember who I am and who we all are.

I have always loved the Statue of Liberty. Her face is a strong one, filled with determination and force. She is not to be taken lightly. She represents freedom that has been fought for with blood.

Now as an elder woman, perhaps I relate to her on even more levels. I can hear her voice more as I can now hear my own voice. I have slowed down and stopped enough to hear us both and feel what lies deep within us.

She represents freedom won through the years, the right to speak, disagree, and be, and the right to breathe freely without fear. And as a citizen of this country that she represents and that I have deeply loved my whole life, I feel her essence even more, her fierce stand for freedom on so many levels.

Freedom that has been taken for granted.

Freedom that we are in deep danger of losing.

I wonder what she might say to us today. I wonder if she would be horrified at what is going on in our country, the country that she has proudly stood for, a country that she has been a welcoming beam for, where the first sight of her brought tears of gratitude and joy to those coming to her, coming for sanctuary, coming for solace, coming to give their children more than what they had, coming for the freedom to breathe.

What might she say to us all? I can almost hear her voice speaking…Can you hear her?

This is what I hear…

Listen to me. I have been a proud symbol for you. I have stood for the best of what you are and for all that has been fought for. I have been a reminder of what we are, all that we can be, for hope, faith, inclusion, and a sense of welcome and hope.

I am still here and am so sad at what I see happening. I feel the pain of the division among the people that are all part of this great country. I have stood for the freedom and rights that lives were sacrificed for, for the relief of the first breath taken in a free country by those who have been punished, stifled, beaten into submission in other countries where they came from. I have been the symbol for the promise of better things, for the right to speak the truth, the right to protest what feels wrong and unfair, for the right to disagree and yet all be together in one country that is home to us all.

I have been your home, I have been proud to stand tall for you and with you. I want to keep doing that. I am in danger. You are in danger. Our freedom and very breath are in danger. Our lives are in danger.

I know that there has been, for a long time, much to work on, that there have been problems and inequalities and pain for so many. But our intent was still there, written on my very being. Our morals and values were still there, even if we had a long way to go to achieve them. We can work on those problems together, but we do not have to destroy ourselves.

Confusion is planted everywhere. Words are used to mean the opposite of what their intention is. Anyone labeled as other has become demonized. Privilege and power are being granted to the few. Color, race, and different countries of origin are demonized. Humanity is being divided against itself, while those doing the dividing are quietly destroying everything for their own purposes.

Listen to me before it is too late.

I was born out of revolution and the desire for freedom. It was a fight that was hard won. Now I see it being dissolved and “disappeared”. We are deporting people that helped to make this country what it is, people who work hard to provide, who are proud and grateful to be here, and who don’t take this for granted. People, most of them not criminals, are being kicked out and sent to prisons and detention centers. Those who are different are being hated and named the enemy. They are your brothers and sisters. They may have come here to find me later than you did, but your ancestors were just like them. That is why you are here. Now you want to take that away.

We are a country of immigrants. Coming together should make you stronger, the differences weaving into a cloth that is harder to unravel because of all the variations, colors, hues and fabrics that come together to make it stronger. It is beauty that is being painted as ugly. It is our very foundation that is being destroyed around us.

What do I need to do to get your attention? What can I say? How can I make you hear me and heed my warning, pain, and fear?

To those who have been chosen to lead people, represent them in government, but are now quietly submitting to a dictator and would-be-king… Wake up. What are you doing? Listen to the crowds protesting. Listen to the fear and hatred that is being sown to distract you from all the destruction that is being done. Listen to those for whom you work and their pleas to you to do what is expected of you, to do what they voted for you to do, to do your job.

To those quietly despairing, I hear you and I understand. The danger is real. Do not give up. Do not be quiet. Do not be hopeless. I come from revolution, from fighting, from refusing to be dictated to, from refusing to have liberty taken away. Do not let them win.

I am still here. You are still here. There has been a lot of damage done, yes, but it is not over yet. If you start believing that it is over, then it will be. This is what they want you to believe. This is why I am speaking to you, calling you to be your best selves, crying out to you to keep me standing here, proud and welcoming. I am you. Do not let me die. We are stronger than this. Stand behind me and with me. United we are more powerful than evil. United we are America. Help me continue to stand proud for generations to come. We can do this, and we must.

Maybe it’s time to listen to Lady Liberty and all the older women among us and heed our call. Hear our strength, listen to our memories of battles fought and won, feel our spirit and determination, and carry forward what is the best of us all.

The Need for Touch

A human need, no matter what our age

At the age of 72, ( I keep talking and writing about that number to help it sink in), I realize more than ever how important touch can be.

I live alone and am grateful for all that this brings. But I do find that I miss human touch. I don’t mean sexual, necessarily, although if that were to present itself in a way that felt safe and ok, I would be open to it (even though that may shock younger readers to know this. We are old, not dead!).

What I really miss is the gentle touch, a hand on my shoulder, a soft physical acknowledgment of our togetherness in this moment. The sensuality of feeling something alive and soft touching you, human or otherwise, is such a gift.

I love to touch. I will put a hand on someone’s shoulder when saying goodbye, give hugs often when they are welcomed, touch someone’s hand if they start talking about things that are vulnerable or painful, to let them know in a more visceral way that I am there and hearing them.

I have lived with cats for many years of my life. I have loved their purring and snuggling up against me. Sleeping with a furry buddy at night is a pleasure that is beyond description, to reach out and feel that presence beside me, hear a purr in response to my touch, or a nuzzle in the morning. This is such a wonderful way to start and end a day.

I have known the pleasure of human physical touch, both in romantic relationships and friendships, and am grateful.

But these days, unless I intentionally create opportunities for touch, it is not so frequent. I miss it.

I am a woman of solitude and enjoy a significant amount of alone time. It is where I renew myself, where I replenish myself after I have ‘peopled” too much. So, it’s not a lot of contact that I crave, but it is a meaningful, present-filled contact that I miss, a way of being together that words alone cannot fill.

In my career as a social worker, and especially in my last position in a nursing facility, there were times that words were no longer available for some of the patients. So, I touched gently, where I could and when it felt like it would be welcomed or accepted. I like to think that my touch reached people in a place where my words could not.

I stop and lean against the redwood trees when I go for walks in the park. I feel both of our roots in the ground as we inhabit this space and moment together. The feelings that flood through me can bring me to tears and I’m grateful to let them flow.

I have, since I retired, enjoyed doing more of the things that I love. Writing is one of my passions, as are painting and reading. But these are all solitary activities. I also volunteered at the local zoo, as part of the behavior observation team, with elephants. I felt such a deep connection with these majestic creatures, but again, for the zoo’s very appropriate safety reasons, I wasn’t able to touch them much.

So, I need to be more intentional these days on getting the touch that I crave.

Today I reached out to another possible volunteer option, at a local wildlife rescue place, where some of the positions seem to allow handling or helping with animals in the hospital. I hope to be able to do that. I think that the healing will go both ways.

We are human and much of what we need does not really change over the years. With aging and wisdom comes the realization that we must acknowledge those needs, feel them, and then provide the self-love and care to get what we need.

It’s a gift to be human, to crave touch, to connect, to embrace all that being human involves. Let’s give that to each other and to ourselves while we still can.

Finding Balance

From hikes in the redwoods to protests in the city

I celebrated my 72nd birthday last week. What a time that we are in these days, and my birthday felt different in the midst of it all.

I am grateful to have reached this birthday and to still be here. And I am in turmoil with everything that is going on in our country, the world, and the earth.

I continue to struggle with how to hold onto some semblance of balance.

I want to keep informed, but as has been said before, it’s a fine line between staying informed and maintaining one’s sanity. I keep working on how to walk that line.

So, on my birthday, I signed up for one of my volunteer shifts at the zoo. Being around animals helps soothe and center me. I am training in a new area as a behavior observation volunteer. I did this task for 11 years with the elephants when we had them at the zoo. Now I am learning about a variety of other species that I will be observing during a shift. Pretty much everything moves faster than an elephant, so that is a challenge. And there are a whole lot more animals in this new area, so that’s another change, as are the number of guests, given the huge playground that is also there in front of one of the exhibits.

I will keep learning and training and see if this new area is a good fit. In the meantime, I am falling in love with all of the animals up there and making connections, as well as interacting with the guests and offering what information I have at this early point. I spend time getting to watch eagles, condors, wolves, jaguars, brown bears, black bears, mountain lions, and bison. They are all so special in their own unique ways. It is such a gift to spend time with them all.

Our zoo does a lot of conservation work, education, and does its best for the animals we have, most of them rescues. We even are helping to repopulate the bison tribe for the Blackfeet Nation in Montana. When we have bison calves, and when they are ready and able, we transport them from California to Montana, with ceremonies and prayers held along the way.

It was a good birthday morning. I came home and was quiet for most of the rest of the day, happy to receive birthday messages from friends. A friend had taken me out for a wonderful birthday dinner the evening before, as the restaurant that I wanted to go to was closed on my birthday. It was a day filled with much love and gratitude. I also tried to limit the amount of news that I watched that day, which helped.

The next day, earth day, (at this age, I celebrate my birthday week, and even birthday month! Why not?) I took myself to the redwoods for a long walk. That is my cathedral, where I most feel the Sacred Presence of God/the Universe/all the names we use for that which is greater than us. The trees are sacred to me. I feel their essence when I touch them. Yes, I am a certified tree-hugger and proud of it! They don’t hug and tell, either, as they are discreet and I know that my secrets are safe with them. I feel safe being with them, which is not how I feel in the world these days.

The following Saturday, my neighbor and I attended a protest (against what is currently happening in our government) that was held downtown. We took our signs and yelled, clapped, and shared that time with others who were like-minded. It warmed my heart to see all ages represented there, from all walks of life. It felt right to be among the crowd, to use our voices, to stand up for what we believe in and what we have fought so hard for in this country. I have marched in demonstrations before, being 72, for various causes. I have been in marches for peace, for the women’s movement, against the slaughter of elephants for their tusks, and other causes. I treasure my freedom to do that, and I don’t want future generations to lose that, to lose our beloved freedom of speech.

Looking back, I am struck by all that the week contained, from the animal connections, the peace of the redwoods, the celebration of this beautiful earth and wanting to heal the damage that we have done, to the anger and pain of the protest. This is a metaphor for life, I think. It contains joy and pain. It’s important to remember to take moments of peace, as well as to use our voices. It is all part of the journey, Balance means including it all, but not getting too lost in any one part of it, so that we maintain our sanity and wholeness, so that we can keep carrying on, so that we can try to save what we can for those to come, so that we can try and take care of things that we can while we are here.

I love being alive, with all of its gifts, including the painful ones. If we are truly alive, we feel it all. We celebrate, we mourn, we love, we fight, we live. I am grateful for what I have, for all that we still have, and for the energy and love that I still see around me that I pray will overcome the hatred and division in the end.

I have hope, and will continue to hang onto that, even if I don’t live long enough to see things turn around. I must believe in the power of love, and that keeps me going. I will keep celebrating being alive, celebrating human kindness, compassion, strength, resilience, and hope.

I will keep working on finding balance each day, even if with wobbly steps. And I will remember to reach out and hold onto others’ hands as we walk together.

Women of a Certain Age

Certain about what?

We females of the elder tribe are often referred to as”women of a certain age”. What does this even mean? What are we supposed to be certain about? Did I miss something somewhere?

I find that I’m not certain about a lot of things these days. I’m not certain about where my body and face will end up as they morph into what seems to be a combination of my mother’s and father’s aging faces and bodies.

I’m not certain how far south my breasts will travel. I’m not certain if my lips will disappear altogether as they roll back into my mouth, or how much more decorated my face and body will become as they get increasingly adorned with lines, wrinkles, and spots.

I’m not certain about which hikes I can take until I research the location of restrooms along the way. (Is this what they mean by “golden years”?)

It’s so important to keep our sense of humor, yes?

I’m not certain about whether I’ve fulfilled my purpose thus far in my life or even whether I know what that purpose might be.

I’m uncertain about where I’ll end up living as I continue aging, which of my friends will be on this path with me, who may leave too soon, whether my mind will stay with me. So many questions, so much that we cannot know.

And yet, I realize that I have had lessons and experiences along the way that do help me become more certain about at least a few things.

I’m learning to let go of things that I cannot control. That list gets longer every day.

I’m learning about the power of kindness, the exquisiteness of silence in a forest, the deepening connection that I feel with the earth and its creatures, the comfort of touching a tree and feeling that touch to my core, the loveliness of random connections, the gift of a smile that can change the course of my day, the slowing down that elderhood can bring, the slowing that helps me look around me and see more deeply, the relief of forgiveness and letting go, the bittersweetness of loss and grieving that is a testament to the depth of love felt.

I am learning that I still feel hope, even in the darkest times, when I look into the faces of my neighbor’s babies. And I’m hopeful when I see examples of human kindness every day.

My memory may not be as sharp these days, my body may not have its youthful vigor, but my heart expands and my spirit grows ever deeper.

I’m grateful these days for each morning that I wake up, for each breath, for my life.

And about all of that I’m very certain!

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.