The Gift of Sadness

We need not fear it

I’ve noticed how difficult it can be at times to simply sit and be with someone in their sadness.

It can be hard to see someone struggling, especially someone that we care about. It’s hard to see their tears, feel their pain, and to be with them in the darker parts of being human. We are drawn to want to help them feel better. I know that I can fall into that pattern as well and have to try and catch myself.

Maybe their sadness also reminds us of our own struggles, pain, and grief.

And so, well intentioned as it may be, we may try to distract them, ask them about something positive, try to help them see things differently, tell them that this too shall pass, or relate our own sad story and how we got through it.

But what if we just sat beside them and listened, perhaps put a hand on their shoulder for a moment, and let them know we are there beside them, caring, hearing them, seeing them?

We are not taught to be comfortable with all of our own feelings, to honor all of them and not just those that may feel more pleasurable. And if we are not comfortable with our own feelings, it’s also harder to be comfortable with someone else’s.

I think that sadness can be a gift of being human. We feel, and that’s a gift. And to feel sadness can mean we have loved and lost, or that we have lived and been bruised by life in other ways…. and to then share that with another is to expose a very tender and vulnerable part of ourselves. Sharing that vulnerability can create more depth and true connection between us, as we acknowledge each of our fragile places inside and treat them tenderly and with love.

I was watching a TV program the other day as this soulful singer performed “What Makes You Sad” ( Nicotine Dolls/ Sam Cieri.) When he sang the line “Tell me what makes you sad”, that question went right to my core. I could imagine someone asking me that, how that would make me feel that they wanted to really know me on a deeper level. As the song continued and the camera showed members of the audience, I could see others reacting as well, especially women, holding their hands up to their hearts.

Think about it…. If I ask you to tell me what makes you sad, what does that touch inside of you?

I have a dear friend who frequently asks me, when we talk on the phone, about what good things happened to me that day. I appreciate that he wants to know that, but there are times that his question may shut down where I really am emotionally at the moment, as I get the message that he only wants to hear the positive experiences. And so that’s what I share. But it inadvertently can create a bit more distance rather than closeness. And he’s not someone that I would likely call when I’m upset and need to talk.

Life has joy and pain, laughter and tears, and much bittersweetness. It’s all part of being human, of who we are and what we go through on this journey. How sacred it can be to share all of this with each other, to acknowledge our pain and broken pieces, and to realize we are in this together and can offer each other understanding, comfort, and love.

Maybe we can begin by hearing our own sadness, by really listening to our hearts and asking ourselves… Tell me what makes you sad… So then we will know the answer when someone asks us, and can more deeply hear their answer when we ask them.

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!

Letting Go of Disappointment

The wisdom of aging can bring this gift

Aging brings many gifts, some more challenging than others.

Letting go of disappointment is one of those gifts for me.

Being in the land of elderhood can bring the wisdom to realize that there are many things (most) that we have no control over. I spent my youth trying to make things around me be as I thought that they should be, including people. I was trying to get my needs met through one person at a time, trying to mold them into being what I thought that I needed.

I was frequently disappointed.

Of course I was disappointed. It was a set up for failure, as people are who they are. I am finally seeing this more clearly, learning to accept things that cannot be changed, and instead learning to see what is there in front of me.

I don’t mean that people in relationships can’t ask each other for needs and wants so that then the other person can see if they give those. What I am referring to is something different. I, in my past, unfairly wanted someone who may have expressed their love in their own language, which didn’t match mine, to be who I wanted them to be, not realizing that this was someone who may have had a different view of what our relationship was and who could never meet what I thought that I needed.

As an elder, I now try to see people for who they are and what their gifts and strengths are. I am also more realistic about what I can or cannot give to someone else, if their needs may not be something that I can meet without sacrificing too much of myself.

What a relief it is to reach this point. When I work to accept others, I find that I am more open to receiving love in different forms. I am grateful for it all.

I can discern when I stop and take the time to see people as they are, who may be a good enough fit and who it may be better to let go and wish them well. Not everyone is a good fit, and that’s ok. It is such a relief to welcome the word no into my vocabulary.

This theme and practice of acceptance fits so many areas of my life these days. Aging brings many issues, and acceptance of each can bring its own gift.

Feeling invisible brings the benefit of feeling more comfortable in allowing myself to be more of who I am.

My changing body is teaching me to let go of defining myself by my physicality and to learn to embrace the whole of me.

Increasing losses and grief bring an appreciation for each moment and for who and what that I still have in my life, as well as gratitude for those gone.

Loneliness can bring the gift of remembering to go within, to explore my own company, to cherish the gift of solitude and the peace that this can bring me.

The reality of mortality brings more permission to let go of worrying about others’ expectations, of trying to please others, and realizing that now is the time to finally be myself.

Love now comes in different forms, like the smile of a stranger, the kindness of friends, the chance encounter that reaches a depth that can be such a delightful surprise. It can even come in the whisper of a breeze, the wag of a tail, the purr of a furry companion.

Now comes the real challenge for me…finally accepting myself with all my flaws and humanity. Can I forgive myself, can I realize that I did the best that I could at the time, even though the inner critic keeps telling me that I could have done better. Can I accept my mistakes?

Can I still keep growing while still loving the current version of myself, learn lessons that I still need, let go of any disappointment that I feel about myself? Can I give the love that I have craved all of my life to myself, finally?

As elders, I think that this can be one of our greatest lessons. We are all human, all flawed, all have made mistakes, all have regrets. The road from disappointment to acceptance can be a challenging one, but one filled with such rewards, as we learn to stop and see the love and gifts that are right there in front of us, as well as within us.