A Performance of Ageless Aloha

A Hawaiian performance of music, dance, love, and hope

Years ago, I used to dance the hula. It can be a sacred dance, not the Hollywood stereotype, but rather a form of prayer and homage to the earth, of love put into graceful motion.

I loved it, felt honored to be among the dancers and the culture that spoke of this aloha, love, inclusiveness, respect for the power of nature and its beauty and of our mandate to take care of it.

I am an elder now, and I have stopped dancing. But maybe…

Going to a performance (Popolohenu – Songs of Resilience and Joy) (created by my former teacher, Māhealani Uchiyama, Director, Mahea Uchiyama Center for International Dance www.centerforinternationaldance.org, which was this time a celebration of African American roots and contributions in Hawaii, was like going home. I immediately felt welcomed as we entered the auditorium, seeing everyone adorned with leis and flowers in their hair, smiling warmly at all who entered.

The music began, and I was transported back. The performers, singers, and music all spoke of Hawaii’s rich history and the love that connects us all. The spirit of aloha is that…a welcoming love that reminds us of our connection to each other and our mandate to love each other, to care for each other, to appreciate each other, to include each other.

Is there violence in Hawaiian history? Yes, there was a taking over of culture, as can so often happen when something new is discovered and immediately feared because of its differences. But it survived and came back. The strength, the ties, the family, the aloha that will not be silenced are all still very much alive. This spirit of aloha is stronger than hate, more resilient than divisiveness, more powerful than the forces that move us toward fear and suspicion.

My friend and I sat transfixed as we watched and listened to the magic in front of us, mesmerized by unity and grace. Pride in history, the weaving of different cultures, and the interpretation of the beauty of life into music and graceful movement of dance touched our souls.

There was a mixture, in both the performers and audience, of everyone, all races, genders, ages, sexual preferences, cultures…a lei whose colors beside each other were more beautiful than any one color on its own. The whole became greater than the sum of its parts. It reminded us that we are more together, stronger together holding each other’s hands, dancing together to the beat of the earth, the music of life, connected as a family.

There was one group of dancers that was composed of older women. The grace in their movement and the joy that shone from their faces was a glow that could not be dimmed by the years. Beauty and grace transcend age. Stories told become richer with experience. Bodies still ache to move to the music to express their life within, the life force that remains strong, even if those bodies change. You could see the seasoned grace of who they were now and the timeless grace of the younger women that they had once been, the sacredness that was always there, that never dies, that never ages out of existence. Theirs was the season of wisdom.

The younger dancers had their own kind of beauty with deeper and more flexible movements that can take your breath away. Theirs was the season of life living, being, stretching, reaching, dancing.

The final groups of dancers were the youngest, two adolescents, achingly beautiful. This was beauty starting to blossom, sensuality beginning to bloom, life yet to live, and an innocence about it all, movement that was easy and light. Theirs was the season of hope.

They were all beautiful and all had their own gifts to offer, as each season brings its own beauty and gifts. Such is our life with each season. We can learn from them all.

Singers honored the language of the islands, the love and connection to the earth, to family, to the spirit that is Hawaii, to the spirit that is us all. Performers included a grammy award winning singer and his husband, who danced to the songs….each acknowledging their deep love for each other and for the culture, a Black jazz singer with Hawaiian connections that added another hue to the rainbow with her melodic voice, rhythm, and own personal history, a father with his two sons, singing, drumming, and playing ukelele….a family legacy remembered, honored, and carried on.

And somehow, we, the audience, were included in the feelings on that stage and were welcomed into the family.

This was a much-needed gift to receive during all the division and hatred that has been in our country recently. It was a breath of fresh air that brought tears to my eyes as I remembered that this is who and what we are. This is what we need to remember, to wake back up again. To be woke can once again be a good thing, if we remember. (I think it is time to claim back the word woke.) We need to be awake to the ties that connect us, to what bring us together in the tribe of humanity, awake to the power of love. Boundaries need to be set to protect this, yes, so that we do not lose our way again so easily. It’s not too late, if we wake up from this nightmare and trance of horror that has been currently sweeping our country and the world.

Isn’t it interesting how something can be so much more than what you expected. A performance became a reminder and a call to action, a call to awaken, a call to dance once again with each other in a dance of love rather than war.

I am so grateful.

I may even go back and take some hula classes again and join that wonderful group of loving older women who remind us of all we have been, who we are, and what we can still be. We are still alive. We still have dance within us. We still have love within us. It’s time to use that love to begin to heal.

And just like in this performance, maybe we elders can lead the way, begin the dance, remind us all of who we are deep within. We can be a beacon of light to lead the young, to teach, to console, to inspire, to remain steadfast, to keep fighting, to keep dancing, to keep living and keep loving…to be the best of who we can be. Perhaps Aloha can be our battle cry, our call to action. Being elders, we may not see the result, but we can lead the way toward it. It can be our final gift, the gift of ferocious love, the gift of the power of Aloha.

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.

Tending to My Broken Beautiful Heart

An elder heart and its many cracks

My heart is aching these days, for many reasons.

I think that as an elder, there are more cracks and broken places in my heart than there are untouched places. That’s a gift. It means that I have been putting this heart to good use, been loving with it, been risking getting it broken, been getting it broken, been open to the pain around me and in the world, been healing it to start all over again.

Except these days, my heart is asking me to try and be a bit more discerning about the breaks. One too many might cause it to explode, it tells me. And maybe that’s ok, too, if it is exploding for loving in the right way at the right time.

Different kinds of love experienced by this heart of mine

I love the earth and its trees. I cannot gaze into the eyes of an animal for very long without both smiling and shedding a tear. I relate and connect in a way where words do not get in the way.

I love the children at the zoo where I volunteer and their sweet innocence and awe.

I love my friends who reach out to me and aren’t afraid to see the broken places in me. In fact, they touch me from their own broken places, and we are both healed for a moment.

I love the random connection with a stranger as we exchange hello’s and know that we are really exchanging love, simply because.

And oh, the romantic loves that I have had. I cherish each of them. They helped me become who I am today. Like the Japanese vision of a broken pot with its cracks being repaired by being filled in with gold and becoming even more beautiful, so it is with broken hearts. I have a lot of cracks these days. So, I must be filled with that wondrous gold shining through indeed.

Online romance, or scam…?

And here I am (trigger alert for elders’ vulnerability to the seduction of romance), feeling broken hearted and sad, yet also grateful. I have had contact with a man online, I hardly ever respond to these online requests, but something about this one felt different.

He had responded to my posts and read some of my writing online. His words were the kind that touch my heart, about my openness and vulnerability in my writing, about feeling the ache beneath some of the words, about seeing and hearing me. I felt moved. This is exactly the kind of approach that can get to me, can draw me in, can make my heart beat a bit faster.

I responded, thanking him for his lovely feedback. We wrote back and forth. He asked questions, as did I. I wondered where this was going and knew that I needed to be careful about online situations with someone who I never met, especially someone from another country. And then I found out he was so much younger than I. I am embarrassed to even admit this here, but he is 34 years younger than I am. I felt like the typical older woman who is in danger of being scammed and used. Shame and embarrassment began to come up inside me.

I must be honest that, even though I had not been looking for romance this way, my heart began to open to some of his words, which felt like poetry to me. I realized how much I sometimes miss this romance, how much those wants and desires can still live inside me, how I have set them aside for a while now.

I could hear the romantic direction that he began to go in his writing. And it was in a way that was seductive for me, not with crassness or physical innuendos, but with tenderness and wishes for closeness and connection, with reflecting back what he heard and felt in my writing, with sharing some of his own pain and history and vulnerability.

I knew that I had to address this, to let him know that I questioned if he was real, and that even if by chance he was, there was no way that this would go further with this huge age gap, that it could not happen. I wrote more saying that if this was a scam, then not going further was taking good care of myself. And if it wasn’t a scam, then I still had to take care of myself in something that could not work, would not work.

His response was lovely. He wrote that he understood, told me that he was real, realized that he might have moved too quickly, but felt drawn to me and what I wrote and who I seemed to be. And he went on to say that he would still be there if I wanted to reconnect, waiting patiently, and that he would always be grateful for what we had shared, even if for a brief moment in time.

Is it a scam? It might very well be, but I don’t know for sure. It certainly awakened parts of me that caught me off guard.

The surprising gifts

What I know is that this experience has been a gift, because it opened a place inside me that has been shut down for a long time. It awakened my heart to what it can still long for. It made me feel the ache inside my chest, the tears buried deep inside me, the ache in my throat, the longing for tender kisses and words that help me feel seen, heard, and cherished. There is a gift that comes with the pain of not having what I crave, yet knowing that I am still alive enough to crave it, the gift of having found all of that still inside me. How wondrous and bittersweet that is.

I still desire, whether that is acknowledged by others. I need to acknowledge that within and about myself. Can I get scammed? Definitely. That is why I need to own that loneliness within so that I am aware of it, am aware of not being pulled into something that may be the final straw for my tender heart. I am vulnerable to the right words, the tender acknowledgments, to feeling seen and heard. I need to remember this about myself, own it and protect that vulnerability in me from any who might abuse and hurt me.

The final message is for my own heart

And so, I say to my heart, I hear you. I will take care of you. I am so proud of you and your ability to still love so passionately, to still crave, to still desire, to still feel the longing. How wondrous and amazing you are.

I am here. I see you and all your vulnerability. I will do my very best to take good care of you. If and when we explode, it will be a glorious explosion, drenched in tears… tears of joy, tears of love that cannot be contained, whether seen by anyone else or not. And most of all, I will do my best to give you that love that you crave. I see you, hear you, feel you, and cherish you. I am here, whether someone else ever will be or not. I am here.

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 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.

Random Gifts

You never know when something magical will appear

In these challenging times in our country and in the world, I find that I treasure unexpected moments of grace and joy.

I realize that I need to slow down to be present for these moments and to appreciate them. I need to stop focusing on all the chaos and pay attention to the beauty all around.

I’ve had a few of these special moments recently that I am grateful for.

I’ve had moments of walking in the redwoods and having a butterfly stay close to me on the path for a while, or having a raven follow along with me for a few moments, flying to another branch close to me as I go along. I speak to it and like to think that it hears and responds to me.

I have birdbaths in the back yard and can look up in a random moment to catch one (or sometimes three or four at once!) taking a bath. Have you ever stopped and really watched a bird take a bath? It is its own type of ballet, quite intricate and lovely (and thorough!).

I volunteer at the zoo, and those moments watching and connecting with animals are amazing. I have spent time in front of an elephant, both of us standing still and aware of each other. There are no words for that sacred connection.

I have stood in front of a California condor, both of us looking at each other. Words are not needed. I am humbled by the majesty that I get to observe. When he spreads his wings, I am in awe of the splendor.

I watch children mesmerized by the bears, sitting in front of the glass part of the pool at the bear exhibit, staring at the bears right in front of them, with the bears sometimes staring right back. This is such a sweet and sacred moment of pure connection to be lucky enough to witness.

I feel blessed to be able to write and have others respond to what I write. Each response is such a delight and a connection that can surprise me at times with its depth. Recently, I had a fellow volunteer at the zoo come up to me and ask if I was the woman in the photo that he showed me on his phone, asked me if I was “that blogger” and went on to tell me that his wife loves my writing! OMG! Could he possibly mean me? Yes, that was my photo. This happened on my birthday, and was the best gift I could have received! To be seen, heard, recognized was such a delight, and which I think can be one of the greatest gifts that we can give each other. He even wanted to take a selfie with me! What??!! This was such a delightful moment and one that kept me smiling for the rest of the day.

I have yet another zoo experience to share. The other day a little boy came up to me with a sticker with a picture of a mountain lion on it. I wasn’t sure what he wanted. The docents (which I am not) have animal cards that they give to the children. I don’t carry the cards, being one of the animal behavior observation team, so I wondered if he wanted a card. I asked him, but he just held out the sticker. He didn’t say anything, so I wondered if he was non-verbal. I then asked if the sticker was for me, pointing to myself. He nodded! And I was so happy to get that gift, and thanked him so much, holding my hands crossed at my heart and smiling. I looked up and caught his mother’s eye as we both smiled at each other. What a lovely random gift. With no idea as to what triggered that connection for him, I was so touched and honored by his gift. I will treasure that sticker.

I was at another protest the other day, glad to be among all the people there. A young woman in front of me turned around, talking about how great this was to do this together, to see each other. I responded yes that it helped us feel less alone. We made eye contact, felt the connection and resonance… all with someone whose name I did not know, but whose heart I met in that moment.

Sometimes when walking along, there may be a random stranger and we make eye contact. Mostly it’s brief, and we look away. But there are those times that the look lasts for a bit, and we smile, acknowledging that we see each other and are saying hello without words. Those moments can change the course of what might have been a difficult day up to that point.

A friend from many years ago recently sent me a beautiful journal that she saw and said made her think of me. How lovely to receive this journal from her, and how lovely that something that she saw brought me to mind. It tells me that I still exist at times within her, as she does within me. I love to call her a sweet nickname that we used to call her in college, as a way to bring a smile and to say I remember her and that I still love her.

My ex-husband and I have lovely email contact on our birthdays and anniversaries. This has been such a healing treasure for me. The love that was there, although different in form, survived, even if it was dormant for many years. I am so grateful that we are in contact again, and that we hold each other in our hearts.

As I continue to age, it becomes so important to know that I continue to be in others’ hearts, that I am remembered, that I am seen and heard, that there is still love. And that I can also remember to feel that within and for myself, to acknowledge all that I have gone through, and that I am still here, still sensitive to it all, still alive.

My young neighbor, a sweet young woman, helps to raise Guide Dogs for the Blind. One of them that she had for a while, a beautiful black lab named Whistler, connected in a special way with me. (I think we may have known each other in a past life!) When he visits, he comes up to me with such excitement and love. It makes my day. My neighbor says that he looks out the window when he sees me get home and watches me until I walk through the front door, and that he often will look out the window toward my house to see if I am there.

The other day, this same neighbor came over and brought me a beautiful lilac sprig from her garden. The scent was amazing. What is even more amazing is that I lost almost all my sense of smell years ago after some sinus surgery and it only comes back very randomly and infrequently, mostly for vanilla. But, that day, I could smell that glorious lilac and it brought me to tears. You really appreciate something once you have lost it and get to have it again, even for a moment. I have the memory of that scent still, even as I write this.

Life is not easy, and these times are certainly not easy. I am often filled with anxiety, sadness, frustration, anger, and fear about what will happen. And yet, amid all this, I get these wonderful moments and gifts. These gifts from nature, from the Universe, from God, all remind me to slow down, breathe, and feel the miracles that are still here, still around me. And that helps me come back into my body, helps fortify me for the battles, and helps calm me and remind me to savor each random gift and moment of this one precious life.

Finding Balance

From hikes in the redwoods to protests in the city

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Owning the Time Left

I find myself thinking it’s too late for many things, but is it?

As a member of the elder tribe, I find that I can easily slip into a sense of things being over, of it being too late for anything major, of even wondering what purpose I may serve or is this the do the best you can until you die time.

To give a bit of background, I came from a family where my parents began talking about being too old for many things while they were still in their 40’s. So, yes, this was not a great message to start with.

Our society doesn’t help that message either. We glorify youth, the future, making plans, working toward goals, and all that the earlier parts of our lives can offer, if we have the opportunities and means. These are all wonderful parts of life, but is that all that there is?

It seems that, once we reach a certain age, it is easier to believe in and wear the cloak of invisibility that is thrust upon us, to believe that we are on the sidelines, now that we have supposedly ended the productive, useful, vibrant part of our lives. We are portrayed as cute, infirm, nonsexual, forgetful, doddering, to be smiled at with an attitude that implies that we are somehow less than.

This is interesting, given that we have already lived full lives, and now suddenly we are to get off the carousel, sit on the sidelines, and smile lovingly from a distance and from the land of observer versus participant. Why?

And even more distressing to me, what I discover these days is the internal judge and commander within me who buys into this attitude and reminds me of it constantly. Sit home, don’t do that, don’t try that, you can’t do that, your time has passed and you lost the chance, you are too old, this is beyond you….you get the gist. You can probably add your own versions of these messages.

I am not discounting the changes that come with aging. Changes in my body, in my flexibility, in my strength, in my memory, sharpness of mind, or speed of thought… I see and feel them all. And I must adjust to these changes as needed.

Are these reasons to stop living as fully as I might?

One thing that I think that I need to do is to look within and see if my negative internal messages might be justifications, excuses so that I don’t have to face my fears of failing, looking foolish, or being judged and laughed at. I talk about not caring nearly as much about what others think anymore, and to an extent, this is true and one of the gifts of aging. But, if I look more deeply within and watch my own actions, I have to wonder if there is still part of me that bends to the ever present internal judge, the rules (both internal and external) , the admonitions, the commandments for how to be old.

I think that these days I feel this even more sharply, given the catastrophic changes that are happening in our country and in the world. I can easily feel that sense of defeat, hopelessness, powerlessness, with not enough time or energy within me left to fight. With enough messages and actions thrown at us every day, we can become disoriented, lose focus, feel as if we are powerless and that there is nothing left to do. And if we are older, we can feel that way even more intensely with thoughts that we may not even live long enough to see things turn around.

It’s time to challenge the dictators (inside and out), to look at the messages and challenges in a different way, to remember who we have been, what our strengths are, and to once again use them to participate fully however we can in our lives.

With our country and the world, we can decide to join where we may be useful, contribute in ways that we can, encourage hope, light, and kindness as well as to protest when we see evil, discrimination, hatred and division. We can look more at where the messages are being sent from instead of pointing fingers at each other, distracted and divided. We can still be active members of this country, of the America that I still believe in, the one that I grew up in, the one that my parents fought hard to come to and came to deeply love and appreciate and taught me to do the same.

And with my journey of aging, perhaps I can realize that there is more inside me than the internalized rules and admonitions about aging. I still have the hopes and delights of the young girl, the dreams and passions of youth, the laughter and love for life. These things don’t get old, they just get pushed into being quieter. Perhaps I don’t have to be so quiet and can live out loud as an elder. Perhaps we can age proudly and loudly.

We can claim our right to still be here, to still participate fully, to enjoy life and each other, to encourage the next generations and be examples of how to keep living, keep fighting, keep hoping, keep loving and keep being present until the very end.

It’s not over yet, not by a long shot.

Writing from the Storm

Chaos all around me. I need to write again.

I can’t find my center these days. The crisis and turmoil of our country and the world stir endlessly inside me. I try and take breaks, like from the news, but it is still happening and I am still reacting, as are so many of us.

What happened? How did we get here? And how did we become so divided? When did being mean and cruel, condescending to other world leaders, contentious and provocative to our neighbors, hateful toward any who do not agree, censoring and banning words, books, and any opposition…when did these things become acceptable? When did we throw out the Constitution and rule of law. When did this country decide to move toward becoming a monarchy and no longer a democracy.

I haven’t been able to focus, to write, to paint, to do much of anything except the very basics. I feel lost and off balance. I know that I am not alone, and talking with others who are of like mind helps for a bit. But the chaos continues to come.

So, one question becomes, how do we figure out the best way to take care of ourselves?

Watching too much news is not good, I know. As someone said, it’s a fine line between keeping informed and maintaining our mental health.

I contribute to causes and fights. I will figure out where and how I can best devote time and energy.

But I must keep also fighting for the survival of myself. The self who writes, the self who paints, the self who goes for walks in the redwoods, the self who remembers to laugh and most importantly, to take deep long breaths.

I am older, and I have seen many things come and go, have survived things, have seen major shifts and changes. I know that things keep changing. But sometimes it’s hard to stay balanced when the pendulum has swung to such an extreme.

I still believe in the power of kindness and love. So, I can, as an act of rebellion (but mostly because it is who I want to be) continue to be kind wherever and whenever I can, given that I am human and not always successful. But, most of the time, I think that I am kind. And there are also times when boundaries need to be set, when anger lets us know that something is wrong and needs paying attention to.

All this stress and division can make us ill. I can feel the cortisol flowing through my body, and that’s not good. It causes inflammation. I am inflamed in many ways, I think. Can I turn that fire around and aim it where needed? Can it become a fire of truth, conviction, values, and belief in love? Can it join with others to flame the feeling of That’s enough. No more. We are better than this. We can do better. We cannot quietly accept what we see happening around us that has left so many of us lost, confused and not knowing which way to turn.

So today I am writing, and grateful. I am not going to worry about how much to edit. I just need to write and send it out, to let the voice inside me know that I still hear her and will let her out into the world, at a time when we are being threatened for speaking our truth, when institutions are being threatened when they don’t follow the new rules, when free speech itself is being strangled.

And I will pull out a canvas and start a sketch, to allow that side of me to express itself as well, no matter what may show itself on the canvas. That needs to be ok.

We must not allow our inner voices, feelings, sadness, frustration, and anger be quieted. We cannot allow the shock and confusion and utter disbelief to stop the life within us and the life between us. We are not enemies. We are humans trying to sort through this life, and we need to come together, have discussions, stop calling each other names. I can try to understand your point of view, why you have done things that you have done, and I ask the same from you. Our system was not perfect, by any means, but it was not broken to the point of having to be completely destroyed, I think.

Can we come back together? Can we salvage this. Can we stop any further damage. Can we heal. I don’t know the answers. So, for today, I will write, I will start a sketch, I will reach out to friends, and I will sit quietly in prayer to the Universe, for us all.

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.