Random Gifts of Love

Opening ourselves to the connections all around us

As an elder, looking back on my life thus far, I see that there are so many ways that I have been loved that I might not have seen at the time. I think my view and definition of love may have been too narrow, too defined by others and what love should look like.

There is the romantic Hollywood version of being loved. I have felt that romantic love and that has been wonderful. But the years and not-so-gentle lessons at times have taught me that I cannot place too much pressure on this one person, on this one type of love. It is not fair to them, not fair to me, and not fair to the relationship.

I have been loved as a daughter, which is its own special kind of love. I have no children, by choice, so I cannot speak to that parental depth of love, but have, and do, certainly see it in others, in my friends and neighbors and their children. It inspires me and gives me hope.

I have been loved as a dear friend, felt celebrated, included, cherished, seen, heard, paid attention to, remembered.

I can feel love at the zoo, where I volunteer, standing in front of an animal and connecting without words, as we share this moment of life together.

I have felt loved and welcomed home in a forest, by these ancient redwoods, who can teach us so much.

I have felt loved by God, Universe, all the names that are attached to that Presence that is greater than we can name or begin to understand. Life loves us, even in her harsh moments, by continuing to give us hope, strength, the will to carry on.

I feel love, at times, by the smile of a random stranger as we acknowledge each other walking by, by the grocery clerk where I can have a surprisingly random deep conversation with, by my postal worker when she brings mail to my door at times rather than leaving it in the mailbox at the bottom of our hill. I can feel loved by the barista who remembers my coffee order, by the waiter who remembers what I like.

I feel random love by watching, behind the door, the delight of the delivery folks when they pick up a treat from a box that I leave at my front door thanking them for all that they do. I think that I am even more pleased than they are when they help themselves to the snacks. I am trying to say I see how hard you work, I appreciate you, I want to thank you in my own small way. And when they accept my small offering, they are stopping to let that in. We are connected for that moment.

I feel loved by someone who asks a random question who seems interested to know more about me.

I feel loved when I am included in a new group that welcomes me with smiles and warmth.

I feel loved by my neighbor who randomly brings flowers from her garden. I feel loved by her dog, who I feel a special connection with, who jumps up excitedly and runs to see me.

I feel loved when I go to a monthly potluck that includes 5 dogs who welcome me with wagging tails knowing that I always have treats available for them.

I feel loved when I reconnect with a friend from years past and we pick up like we never stopped. honoring the continuity and long memory of love and the willingness and excitement to start again.

I feel loved by an ex who I now share a warmth and history with that, although different in form, is no less wonderful and appreciated. Perhaps it is even more appreciated, as it has withstood the test of a break-up and time, revealing that love can endure.

I feel loved when a reader resonates with something that I have written and takes the time and effort to write to me about that. We connect.

I still feel the love of those I have lost. They remain in my heart. Their love doesn’t leave, even if their physical presence does.

I realize that gratitude, which I feel in abundance at this stage of life, is all about love. I feel that more each day on this aging path of life where each moment and each breath becomes a gift, as we realize that the path grows short and our time limited.

I can even, and this one has taken me a lifetime, feel love for myself when I look back at all that I have endured, experienced, survived, lived through. I can begin to forgive myself for all my regrets, finally accepting that I am human, that I can keep trying to do better, be better. I realize that the person that I need to forgive most is myself, and that this will open the door to even greater connection and love with others. I think that others can sense when we have embraced our own imperfections, and they can therefore feel safer exposing theirs. We are all trying, doing what we can, in the time that we have.

During these challenging times in our country, our world, the earth…may we open our eyes to the love around us, let it in, let it help us through the painful times, let it heal us and connect us to each other and to the deepest part of ourselves.

The Bittersweet Joy of Elderhood

Growing older brings gifts of pain and joy, sometimes in the same package

Growing older is not easy, not always what we might want, but can bring such wondrous gifts if we stay open to it all.

It is yet another holiday season. They come so much more quickly now. Sometimes the days can feel long, but the weeks, months, and years fly by.

I have reached the age of 72, and am grateful. I hope to have more time left, but none of us really know when that last day will be. I want to live each moment as fully as I can. I want to inhabit each second, each breath, each achingly beautiful sunset, each connection, each gift of living in this temporary body that we have been allowed to borrow for a time.

I have no family close by and none far away that I really relate to on any kind of daily level, not having grown up with them. It’s ok. I have memories and I have families of choice, which are such exquisite gifts. I have chosen for the last several years to spend most of my holidays alone, which felt right at that time. I would perhaps take a walk in the redwoods or sit home in sacred solitude with cherished memories.

This past Thanksgiving, I chose to accept a gracious invitation from some friends to go to a movie. The 4 of us sat in the theater, enjoying the experience of being together on this day of gratitude. They don’t know what gifts they gave me with this invitation. I felt a part of this group, accepted and welcomed and genuinely invited to be a part of their holiday ritual. I will treasure that always.

We watched the movie, enjoyed our reactions to it together, and then went our separate ways. It was enough, and it was good.

This is one lesson that being around longer has taught me … that I can make room for some connection and can also keep sacred space for connection to myself that I only feel in solitude. I can have both and hold space for both in my heart.

I will join them for a movie on Christmas. I look forward to that.

Growing older brings so many gifts. I can look back and see the lessons, the loves, the losses, hold the grief and love (always connected for me), sit quietly in this moment realizing that there will be a last moment, this realization being much more real at this age. I see the changes in my body and try to accept and modify what I can do as needed, while still working to maintain what I can along the way. I see the changes in my face and work to love each new phase, realizing that I have not truly appreciated each look until it is in the past. So, maybe I can appreciate the face that I have today.

I feel my heart and soul opening and being increasingly sensitive as I continue on this life path. I feel tenderness more, moments of connection more, loneliness more, and the exquisite joy of each breath. I am still alive. What a wonder that is. I breathe the air and am part of this sacred earth and the circle of life. I feel so blessed.

And I appreciate my chosen family of you, readers who are gracious enough to read what I may write and sometimes even take the time to respond. That means more than I can even begin to express. You get to hear my deepest parts. It is such a gift to be able to share that with you and to have those parts of me seen, heard, and even sometimes responded to. Thank you.

I appreciate this day. I will go to the gym and do what I can and really try to not compare myself to others or even to my former self. I will prepare nourishing meals for myself. I will sit quietly and read with my twinkling Christmas lights on and the fire going. I will cry into the sacredness of the moment and my being able to be a part of it today.

I will take a break from listening to the constant ache of our world today, the pain that cuts so deeply. I will continue to contribute, fight, and protest where and when I can. But, for today, I will grant myself a break, time to simply breathe and be, to appreciate the gift of life, the gift of aging, the gift of feelings, the gift of it all.

Fat-Shaming

Why do we fat-shame someone if we don’t like them

I am no fan of the current political administration and far be it from me to defend anything that they are doing.

But I do notice that when people are angry with someone, suddenly it seems to become acceptable to shame them and make fun of their larger body size. Can we not be angry without stooping to fat-shaming?

I am a larger size, and try to work on that, as I want to be healthier. But I cannot tolerate all the fat-shaming that somehow has become more of a routine these days. Someone’s swollen ankles are a sign of a medical condition, yet it’s ok to make fun of them. Bruised hands show that someone may be undergoing some kind of medical issue, and they are mocked for this.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate what is being done to our country and it’s hard not to let that anger go wherever it wants. We are being divided against each other. Hatred is becoming normalized. Bullying is modeled from the top down. Cruelty is now a new national language.

So, are we not doing the same when we make fat jokes? Are we not lowering ourselves to that level of insults and mockery? How is that any better?

Can we be angry with someone because of what they are doing, because of the evil that is being encouraged, because of the immorality of actions and words? Why does their size have to be used against them?

I protest everything that our country is being turned into. I am furious, but calling someone fat doesn’t help me feel better.

Think about insults that children can sometimes use…like telling someone that they throw like a girl or run like a girl? We call them various body parts. We revert to when we were children and used name-calling to try and feel better than someone else. We bully. We demean.

Yes, we need to be angry, and we need to act.

Name-calling is their language.

How about making our language be to call out what is being done and then take action to change this. How about reclaiming our country, its Constitution and everything that we have strived to be (yes, imperfectly, with much work to be done, but at least there was the intention.) The intention now seems to be to dominate, even kill others (becoming judge, jury, and executioner and disregarding the law). I hate this and hate that it is our country that is doing these things. I never thought this could happen here, but here we are.

Let’s look at where we put our anger and how it can be used to work toward something. I am talking about things like impeachment, calling for consequences for evil and criminal actions and crimes, taking back our power from those who abuse theirs…let’s channel that righteous rage and put it to work.

Let’s remember to look at our own inner bullies in this process.

We demean size.

We demean age. Being older comes with jokes and cruelty thrown our way, as well as invisibility.

Body size and age seem to be two ot the categories where mockery and insults are still considered somehow acceptable. And add to those the categories of sexual orientation, preference, and others.

Things that we are that do not make us less, but stooping to the level of bullies does.

When you call someone fat, you insult an entire group.

When we label someone as different, that has somehow become synonymous with being less than or bad somehow.

Let’s do better. Let’s be better. United, with all of our differences, we can be stronger. Holding each others hands makes it more difficult to divide us. Accepting our differences makes our group larger and stronger. We bring different things to the table. Let’s put them all together in our common humanity. We don’t need to alienate others who are on the same team. Let kindness be our rebellion, and let our boundaries and appropriately directed anger work toward making things better.

Being Seen and Heard When Least Expected

Feeling welcomed simply for who I am

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

I recently had an experience that hit me with such force and surprise.

You never know where a gift will present itself

I have been volunteering (on the Behavior Observation Team where I got to observe and record behaviors of animals) at our local zoo for years now, with elephants. We no longer have elephants, having sent our last one to an elephant sanctuary in Tennessee, where he is doing very well, I hear. I am glad, although I miss him terribly. So, I decided to try and learn a new position, that of a Zoo Ambassador.

A Zoo Ambassador basically greets guests and helps them with any general questions. I went through training and recently signed up for my first shift. When I walked in for that shift, the people who had been in my training group, as well as some of the regular volunteers who I had come to know through the years, were in the office. I expected to be greeted, yes, but did not expect the warmth of the welcome that I received. It took me by complete surprise.

They were smiling and said that they had just been talking about me. (What? Why would they possibly be talking about me, I wondered.) They went on to say how great they thought that I would be in the new position. Now, I have not done anything, as far as I could think, to even have them think that this could possibly be true.

So, and this is the strange part, all I did was to be myself!

What?

I felt pleased with such a warm reception, although of course my inner critic (ever ready to prepare me for the worst) was already beginning to stir fears within me of disappointing them. (Ah, the joys of a busy brain and inner critic. She really needs to take a vacation, or maybe even retire…but that is for another story.)

Volunteering at the zoo has been such a pleasure for me. I get to be with animals, which I love, at a zoo that tries really hard to be an ambassador and advocate for them (it’s a zoo, so it’s not perfect, but they do try and do the best for their animals, rescue quite a few as well as accept others transferred to us that are no longer able to live in the wild, and also do quite a bit of conservation work and education. ) And I get to be around other people who share this passion. We are of the same chosen family. Many of the volunteers are retired, so we also have that in common. We now get to spend time doing something that we love as well as being with others who feel the same.

That, I believe, can bring out the best in us. I don’t have to try and pretend to be anything different than who I am. This never really felt true during my career. I never felt the depth of camaraderie that I feel now, never felt the sense of welcome. Being a social worker had changed over the years in ways that I felt uncomfortable with. The reasons that I became a social worker were not valued as much anymore, with the new pressure to be efficient. I understand that businesses need to make a profit, but not at the expense of human values.

Finding pockets of peace

So, here at the zoo, I got to be in a place where I could do what I loved, be with people who spoke my language of connection. I could be sensitive, empathic, friendly, help others, help educate about causes that I believe in, be at a place where people were happy to be (a true gift, given the current tense atmosphere in our country and the world).

I think that when we find places that resonate so deeply within us, we finally can relax into who we are at our deepest level. It’s a fit, so, we can allow ourselves to be seen, appreciated, and welcomed into the tribe.

It has taken me a lifetime to experience this. I am grateful that I got to experience it while I am still alive. I come from a small family (an only child of immigrants) so I never got to feel that as part of a big family growing up. I never felt that comfortable in any of the jobs that I had. I did my best, but in hindsight, I never felt comfortable enough to be myself because I was always trying to prove myself.

Of course, I want to do a good job at my new position, but it is not a painful challenge. I want to help people enjoy their experience during the time that they are there. I want to spread the love and welcome that I feel to others so that we can share in the moment, in the joy of being there together. I can give from my heart.

The gift can spread to all areas of your life

This is also how I feel about writing and painting. These are activities that come from my soul. Because of that, I can radiate that to others, and those who may relate to what I create can feel it. There is connection, acceptance, and welcome. I feel that when readers respond to something that I have written that may have touched them. I feel that when others respond to something that I may have painted.

I have waited a lifetime to feel this. I was always trying to figure out what I could do to improve or change myself in most situations. How ironic it is that what I needed to do was to come home to myself, then see if I could find where I fit, to find where my tribe is, rather than trying to force-fit myself somewhere else.

To come home to oneself, to accept oneself and then find where that might fit, to do what one loves, to feel as if you have not only found yourself, but found where you can let your light out and have it be seen and welcomed…these are some of the gifts of this elder time of my life. It’s interesting to receive these gifts while I also feel such sadness at what is happening in our country and in the world, to still be able to show up in my own life while still doing what I can to fight and be part of the resistance. Life contains it all, and we get to feel it all.

And then there are boundaries

Reaching this time of life with its lessons also helps me to set limits with friends that I have. I have begun to realize, as I have aged, that I have not always set boundaries when needed, have accepted behaviors that I no longer can tolerate. I now speak up, spend less time with some folks and appreciate that the level of friendship may be changing because I am changing. That does not make them bad, it just means that I no longer want to tolerate what may not feel safe enough for me. One friend is fat-phobic, and constantly talks about everyone’s weight, or how many exercise classes she is taking, insensitive or oblivious to my struggles with weight. I now limit my time with her. Another friend constantly interrupts me and can tend to lecture me on what his views are, tells me that I am wrong sometimes based on the scientific literature that he has read. I now can disagree, state that I don’t feel seen or heard when he doesn’t hear my views or opinions.

Coming full circle

And then this happened… a young man came up to me while I was standing in front of the chimps at the zoo. He asked what had motivated me to volunteer at the zoo, what drew me there. How delightful it is to be asked. I responded from my heart that being part of this place had helped me survive during the last several years of my career, that I could relate to the animals and the folks who also loved them, that it became a safe place for me to heal. He went on to talk about his own love of animals, his quietness that may not always be understood or accepted, his shyness about this all. I was delighted to be able to tell him that his sensitivity was a gift, that what he felt was wonderful and expressed who he is deeply, and that he need never question or doubt the sacred value of that. I encouraged him to be himself, find his tribe, follow his heart and passion. He smiled, expressing how glad he was that we met.

There are no accidents. I had received this gift of feeling authentically welcomed as myself, and then got to pass that along to someone else. We bonded, he and I, at that moment. I may never see him again, and yet, we shared a precious moment in time where masks were dropped, and souls were recognized.

My wishes for you and for us all

Come home to yourself, find your tribe, find where you can be seen and loved, and claim your own special gifts in these few precious moments of life that we are given.

The Power of Words

Not allowing others to define them for us

Have you noticed how certain words can been turned around to almost mean the opposite of what they originally were, or at the very least, been given a very negative connotation that twists everything around and makes no sense.

Woke

When did it become a bad thing to be awake to what is happening around us, to others, to the earth, to pain and suffering? I want to be awake, aware of all that is going on around me, awake to the feelings and injustices and pain, as well as to the joy and kindness unseen. I claim my wokeness with pride.

Sensitive

I think of sensitive as being sensitive to the nuances of what is going on, sensitive to what others may be feeling, sensitive to the sound of the trees whispering, the tides, the rivers and creeks, the breath of another, the touch of a breeze, the smile of a loved one, the deep pain of loss and of love (two sides of the same coin), the joy of deep laughter, the suffering of others, including non-humans, sensitive to the screams of the earth as we destroy her. Sensitive listens differently, listens with the heart as well as the ears, listens for what might not be said with words, but with eyes, with body, with atmosphere, with sighs. Being sensitive is being open to what is around us, feeling others’ pain and therefore not wanting to cause any pain to others.

Please stop calling our narcissist-in-chief sensitive. He is easily wounded, as narcissists can be, easily offended and immediately driven to vengeance. He has a fragile and fear-based sense of self that is easily offended and shaken, a deep insecurity that cannot withstand a mirror being held up to it. He uses bullying, name-calling, hatred-spewing, division-spreading, all while normalizing cruelty and finding someone else to call as enemy and then blaming them for everything. This is not sensitive, but rather the traits of a narcissist, sensitive only to his own ego.

He, as someone who is so deeply injured and furious with everyone who does not adore him, cannot fill the empty space inside, try as he might. He can only look outward as to what he thinks might be causing his pain, never able to see inside his own soul. Perhaps he is the definition of what abuse can do and can look like if left unchecked and then given power, dangerous in projecting everything onto others and seeking retribution for wounds that cannot be healed. He is weakness disguised as blustery anger. It may be that his very soul was taken, with cruelty being the language that was spoken. He seems to have learned that lesson well.

Kindness and empathy

Kindness and empathy have been called a form of weakness. The truth is, it takes strength to be kind, to look outside yourself and see someone else, really see them, to feel what they might be feeling, to allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to reach out your hand to them, open your heart to them, stand beside them in their/our humanity and suffering.

Diversity and inclusion

Diversity and inclusion are now portrayed as things to be destroyed. Yet diversity can bring richness as we weave together different colors and cultures into a tapestry of all that humanity can be. Being inclusive is the opposite of what bullies do. It is seeing the connection between all of us rather than being threatened by what is different. It welcomes, much like Lady Liberty does (or did), with arms that can hold us all, can love us all, can bring us all together as one family.

Old

Here is another word that can be maligned. Old somehow is feared, pushed aside and out of view, discounted…rather than seen as wisdom, experience, the future of us all if we are lucky enough to reach old age. Old is proof of resilience and a life lived, of risks taken, of pains endured and grown from, of eyes that have learned to see beneath the surface to what is real and authentic for those with the courage to look and see. I claim my membership in the powerful tribe of elders with humility and hopefully some grace.

Feminine

Being called feminine has been used to mean being less than, weak, referring only surface appearances and sometimes used in a derogatory way toward men. But feminine is the source of us all, it is where and who we came from. Femininity is soft yet resilient, able to withstand the pain of the generations and keep pushing forward, has strength (even if quieter at times) that will not be stilled, will not be stopped, will not be conquered. It can be the soft embrace that can melt monsters, and when necessary, stand up firmly against them.

Masculine

This word has at times been defined in terms of conquering, taking, bullying, attacking, dominating. Yet being masculine can be both strong and gentle, protective without claiming ownership, powerfully soft and calming, kneeling in humility to powers greater than itself, melding and joining, unafraid to combine with feminine, to become stronger together.

Emotional

This word has been defined as being weak and out of control. Yet those who can feel their emotions, work with them, understand them and what they are trying to tell us, can weave them into a life that includes this rich part of being human. Emotions can call us to action when needed, can rally us around a cause that is just. If we don’t own our own emotions, then others can manipulate and use them against us and against others, can divide us rather than unite us, can spark into fires that burn and destroy rather than into flames that get to the truth to create room and air for growth.

Rage

Rage can often be defined in negative terms, especially for women. Yet rage is what is needed to know that something is wrong, that battles may need to be fought, that there is injustice around us. There is righteous rage, with the purpose of protecting ourselves and each other. This is not rage that divides, maligns, and creates false divisions, but rather, a rage that slices through rhetoric to the truth, rage that says enough, rage that sets needed boundaries, rage that speaks in a voice that demands to be heard.

Immigrants

I am a daughter of immigrants. I have always seen immigrants as brave, as having the courage to leave home and look for a better life, trying hard to learn about their new home and its ways, struggling to learn a new language, a new culture, while still maintaining some sense of the home that they used to belong to. Now the word immigrant has been given a label oof enemy and something to be removed, like a disease. We are a country of immigrants. And many immigrants are not criminal, but rather fellow humans trying to find a home, a place to live and raise their families, a place to grow. These are new members of our country, like our ancestors once were, trying to live, provide, and thrive.

Words can be powerful. Let us use them for the power that they can wield and not allow ourselves to be manipulated or let others define what our reality is, when we know our own truth deep inside. Maybe kindness, inclusion, empathy, sensitivity, femininity, rage, being emotional, getting older, being woke…all of these are badges of honor and labels we can reclaim with pride. Let us defend our right to own our words and use them as intended in a world where we can care for and about each other, where we defend each of our rights to live and be who we are.

Researching Final Arrangements

Planning for the end can wake us up

Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash

I have been feeling sad for a while now. Life feels so painful these days…the state of the country and the world, my aging process, declining body parts, general wearing out and wearing down. Some days it all feels like too much. Today is one of those days.

So, I finally did one thing that I have been putting off forever…starting to research my final arrangements. I have been curious about water cremation, and about a place where they mix your cremains with the right nutrients to then bury them under a tree that you choose, with a small plaque with your name on it. I love trees, and that feels like a good final home for me. Under a tree, where I can help nourish that tree and we can become part of each other.

Is it worth making all these final plans? Some people just donate their bodies to science and are done with it. Maybe I need to think about that option. What does it really matter? I will be dead. I won’t care anymore.

Strange, this preparation for your own exit. But it must be done. So, here I am.

I have been so stressed and have not been feeling well physically. I finally went to see my doctor, as I have been extremely fatigued, have had some shortness of breath, have gained weight (which may be the reason for all this), have stopped exercising, and can’t seem to find my spirit to participate in my own life. I love to write, to paint, yet both are slowed down. I have been isolating more. And I cry… a lot. It feels deeper than depression. There is anticipatory grief as I witness and feel the decline of my body. I don’t have any motivation or energy. Add to this the horrifying state of our country and the world where we are witnessing the daily attacks on our democracy, if we even have one left at this point. How did this happen, and so quickly? Daily trauma has become the new normal.

This is where I can get into a negative spiral down into the dark places of my soul.

I begin to wonder what I have contributed to this world, what have I done? What good have I done? Who really cares?

I can’t talk to many people about this. They don’t know how to simply listen, often feeling compelled to give me advice. I already know what would help, I just can’t seem to do it.

I wanted to enjoy retirement as I began that journey 5 years ago. Then came the pandemic, and then several major losses in a row. And now, this political environment that is also sickening. I have lost much already in my life, which is part of aging, but I never thought that I would lose the country that I loved and fought so hard to remain in, the ideals that we stood for, the freedom that I felt, that I never felt as a child but finally did as an adult, my beloved country where you could say what you believe, believe what you want, and be who you want. Of course, we had a lot of work to do toward living these values, as we were far from perfect in all of this, but we were trying. Not anymore. We have been taken over by a group of fascists with their narcissistic puppet-king. And it feels devastating to me, as I know it does to many of us.

Every day there are more threats to freedom and liberty. I can feel Lady Liberty’s pain within my soul. Her pain is my pain, our pain.

Is this what makes us ready to go, finally? Do we get tired of the fight? Do we tire of setting the boundaries until our bodies finally set the eternal one that cannot be crossed.

When I do allow myself to simply sit and feel, the tears always come. The pain feels intolerable.

And yet, I am still here, still on this sacred earth, still feeling, still loving, still crying, still alive.

I will go for a walk in the redwoods again soon. I will talk with and touch the trees, listen to what they may have to say to me, feel what wisdom they can share. I will feel a part of the earth again, while I am still walking on it.

I will keep writing, start painting again, hopefully. I will let the tears flow before I try to stuff my feelings down. I will listen to the owls at night.

I will take one breath at a time, get back up and start trying to live my life again, intentionally. I will continue to protest, contribute, speak the truth, be kind, be present, join hands with those of my tribe, live as fully as I can and use my voice. I am still here, and still alive. Let me be part of it while I can.

I will make my arrangements for death, then walk away and keep living.

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.

I Don’t Need to Feel Important

But I do want to feel significant

We can spend our lives searching..for purpose, for meaning, for love, for answers to our questions. Society gives us ideas about what is important, what we should strive for, how to make a difference and fulfill our potential.

But we can get lost in the search for that elusive purpose. It fades, we fade, everything fades.

So, what do we do?

I realize that rather than being important, I would cherish being significant, even for a few moments, in the lives that I may have touched. I mean significant in that I was seen, saw them, and that we connected, significant in terms of moving into others’ hearts with perhaps an act of kindness, a word that they may have needed to hear, a touch that says more than words can convey, a steady reliable presence, a memory that brings a smile when they think of me.

To be a smile, to have been noticed and part of someone’s life…that is significant. To have been in someone’s heart, even for a moment, that is significant.

And, as I continue to age, I have come to realize that I need to be significant to myself. What do I want to do with this brief time that I may have left? What matters?

I want to still contribute, to volunteer where I feel called. I want to reach out to others with kindness so that they can breathe more easily for a moment in time, to touch their soul and have them know that they are safe with me, to share what lessons that I have learned with those that may be interested in what I have to share. I want to let them know that they are not alone.

I want to feel and live in my own soul and know that I matter, that I am still here, still alive, still able to breathe, to feel, cry, laugh, and love, perhaps in different forms than when I was younger, but to love, nonetheless. I want to finally validate my own personal history, what I have been through and to appreciate that I made it to here and now. I want to hold my heart and soul with tenderness and love, to be present for myself, as I try to be for others, to be the love that I have been searching for all along, and to find, with poignant bittersweetness, that the missing piece that I have long been searching for has always been inside me.

I will write, because that is where my voice feels most comfortable expressing itself. I will paint, because that is where my Self with no words comes out. I will cry, because this earth and all its creatures, trees, pain, joy, birth, and death, are wondrous, awe inspiring, and worthy of sacred tears.

I will live, until the last moment, because life and time are precious. I will keep using my voice to fight for what is right, keep loving amidst the hatred and division currently being sown in our land and in the world, keep setting boundaries to my love to protect and safeguard it and yet spread it where it is needed, especially to those who realize the sacredness of it and who will cherish it.

Finally, I am learning to cherish my own love, life, and self. I am learning that I deserve to be significant…to myself.

She Doth Protest

Claiming our voices

I participated in another protest recently on No Kings Day. I joined a group of friends over in the next city to be together with them.

It was interesting to notice, with a bit of surprise, that there was such an element of joy in our togetherness, in our feeling the same about what we were protesting, in our showing up and being connected. We were, and are, protesting something very significant and important, and in my opinion, dangerous. And here we were, with all kinds of signs, some of them quite creative and direct, I might add.

We chanted, we waved at cars passing by as they honked their horns in support, we marched down to the center of town, we listened to speakers and sang along with them, and we were united. Smiling at each other, taking photos of our signs, talking about what we needed to keep doing to change things, we knew that we must be visible and use our voices, our votes, our togetherness and the power of our numbers.

I am humbled by all who came together. I felt, for the first time in a while, a glimmer of hope. There are many of us. We are not happy with what is going on and we are not quiet about it.

We were such an inclusive group. There were immigrants, younger and older folks, gay, black, Latino, white, women, men, and children learning what democracy is about and actions that are needed. We were all together for one reason.

My background is one where my voice was quieted and discouraged. Children were to be seen and heard. As a daughter of immigrants, I felt pressure to succeed and do extra well in order to please my parents and represent them well. As a female, I was also taught that my voice was less significant, less powerful, that my role was to be a caregiver, to please, to be gentle, kind, and always giving, to not get angry, to not get loud, to not call attention to myself.

Enough. Age has given me gifts. One of those gifts has been finding my voice. I am so grateful that it never left me and was only patiently waiting to be acknowledged and to be expressed.

My role, even in my career as a social worker, was to be the caretaker. I took this role in relationships as well, quieting my own voice, even without being asked. It didn’t help the relationships at all because I wasn’t showing up. You can’t have a successful relationship if only one person shows up or uses their voice.

These days I am embracing the words enough and no. I am enjoying the feel and protection of boundaries. Boundaries that I set…Imagine that!

I embrace finally claiming not having to please anyone, not having to worry about others’ opinions. I have finally claimed my freedom of speech. How ironic that as I have grown into this, my country is being threatened with having this precious freedom taken away.

I must admit that for a while I have been in shock from all that is going on in our country and have reverted back to feeling helpless and powerless. Those childhood lessons die hard.

But, enough. No more. I will not give up what I have worked so hard for, and I will fight to have my country keep the freedom that it has fought so hard for. Is this county perfect? Far from it. Is there room for improvement? A lot. Does it need to be destroyed completely, given up to those few that want all the power and money and make empty promises to their followers, to whom they have lied to all along? No. No. No.

Enough. How wonderful to be part of a group that protests. And there were so many groups across the whole country. I will be an active member of this group. I will not give in to fear and I will not go back to being quietly submissive.

Since that protest, there have been more distractions to take away that feeling of joy and hope. More chaos occurs every day. It is part of the strategy, I believe, to keep us off balance and distracted. We must stay centered and focused. We must remember the great number of us that showed up that day to express our rage, to hold hands, to help remind each other of who we have been, who we are, and who, I hope, can get back to.

I am now an older woman, and I have had enough. I will continue, as long as I can, to hold hands with my fellow Americans, and I use that term very inclusively, to fight for what this country has always stood for and can stand for again, can fight for again, can get back again.

The Passion of Age

Sexuality, rage, aliveness…. all still so much a part of me

Photo by Nicolas Nieves-Quiroz on Unsplash

I am now in the land of elderhood. I didn’t know what it would be like. It’s different than I imagined.

I didn’t know that I would keep all the younger versions of me still inside, still feeling, still reacting, still loving, still alive.

I am the child filled with wonder and awe. I can stare up at the crowns of redwoods forever, gaze into the eyes of an animal and see their soul, watch a sunset and feel the sacredness of that moment.

I remember the delights of youth, the excitement, the playfulness, and the passion.

Ah, passion.

No one told me that the passion would still be with me, that in some ways it seems to grow in depth and richness. No one told me that my body can still shiver from the whisper of a breeze, the nuzzle of a furry friend, the gentle touch of a friend on my shoulder, and the gaze of someone who I feel attracted to. What? Is that still there? Really?

Indeed it is there…ripe, succulent, delicious to feel inside. I feel the color of it, the heat of it, the vibration and trembling of it. No one else may see it, but that doesn’t have to mean that I don’t see it, feel it, appreciate it. If I happen to find someone to share this with, as we both acknowledge this, that’s great. If I don’t, that’s ok. It’s still there to be experienced, felt, and cherished.

I hear the whispering of the wind through the trees, as I feel my own skin reacting and shivering in response.

I delight in the connection of eye contact with another being, often 4-legged these days, as we see each other in ways that are beyond words. I smile as they delight in a belly rub or ear scratch, delight in their response to my touch, their licks on my face. their tail wagging in excitement.

I enjoy the warm embrace of another human as we drop our masks in that moment and allow touch to cross boundaries, feeling the physical presence of each other.

I honor the sensuality within me. I enjoy long showers where I treat my skin and body with care and love, soft pillows and sheets that I can nestle into at the end of a day (or whenever needed), standing with my back to the fireplace getting “toasty buns” and how delicious that warmth can feel in the chill of a morning or evening. I smile at a cup of hot chocolate (with marshmallows sometimes) and the sensual comfort that this can bring. I honor the feel of a tree, its branches and leaves as I place my hands on it. I feel the sun on my face, the wind blowing through my hair.

I notice the trembling I feel inside at the kind touch of a stranger on my shoulder when they relate to something that I may have shared, the warmth I feel when reading someone’s response to my writing and their vulnerable sharing of what it touched in them.

When I volunteer at the zoo, I marvel at the touch of a child coming up to me and feeling comfortable as if they know me, leaning into me as we both watch the animals.

I also feel the aliveness of the pain of loss that goes directly to my heart, feeling the essence of who I may have lost, the feel of their spirit still within me, the ache in my heart where they will now permanently live.

I feel the loss of friends and loved ones that comes ever more frequently on this aging path, as well as the pain of trying to contain the sense of my own mortality and expiration date. This makes me honor the preciousness of each moment so much more and want to taste it fully, drink it in, feel it in all its forms.

I watch and hear injustice and cruelty that I see around us at times, especially lately in our political environment, the selfishness and complete lack of empathy and compassion, the pain of human inflicted suffering, the cruelty of war and sending our young to fight the battles of the old safe politicians. I feel the fire of the rage and pain within me.

I recently was delighted at hearing a stranger’s comment passing by as I walked in my favorite redwood park. The younger woman of the two felt compelled to say that she had a feeling when I walked by her that God had told her to let me know that He’s got you. I don’t identify as particularly religious, but I heard the feeling and intention beneath what she said and took comfort in that. Then the older woman talked about having left broken eggshells at one of her favorite trees to symbolize her broken parts. She said that she was giving it to the Universe to heal, letting go, allowing herself to be more than those broken pieces. How eloquent and beautiful her ritual sounded. All this was shared with two women I had never met, a deep connection in a random moment. I felt the Universe/God speaking to me, letting me feel heard, seen, and loved. Later, I could feel the depth of my tears and where they came from, taste their saltiness, allow the release from deep within.

Recently I inhaled the scent of a lilac. This was a special gift for me, after having lost almost all of my sense of smell due to some sinus surgery decades ago. There was joy in that moment of being able to inhale that heavenly scent, the flower gifted to me from my sweet young neighbor…just because.

I hear the music of birds and its melody touches me, helps me to stop and listen. What else can I hear in that moment? I am reminded to slow down, pay attention, listen with all of you, all of your passion.

We heal mentally, spiritually, and physically with our sensuality and all of our senses. We become one with whatever we are experiencing. We become lovers to the tree, the flower, the earth itself. We are entwined and soak each other in, connect and are together, separate yet one.

May we feel this all. Becoming an elder can bring a new depth to our passion, if we tune in, and a new awareness of how precious each breath, each sense, each moment is. Do we lose this as we age? I think it’s rather the opposite. We feel it more, we contain years of it and how it changes forms and textures, and we can soak ourselves in this.

May we feel spent at the end, having lived fully, passionately, vibrantly, messily, joyfully, embracing each moment with every fiber of our being.