Birthday Hangover

From feelings, not alcohol

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listening to the Rain at 4 am

Lessons from the storms

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

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

An unexpected gift

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

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

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

Hope is still alive

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stepping back to really see

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

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

Weathering personal storms

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

Gratitude

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

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

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

Embracing the Darkness

It’s all part of this human journey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of my own personal battles

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

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

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

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

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

Could this be one of the major lessons?

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

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

Talking Back to the Voices

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.