The Importance of Connections

They can be found everywhere

It is once again the holiday season, a time when many focus on families, close friends, and loving connections.

I live alone, have no family nearby, and yet feel very connected to others. For me, I realize more these days, as an elder, that connection can be found in the most interesting and surprising places, and that there are no rules for what makes us feel connected. For me, there is no minimum time or length of contact, no frequency that is mandatory for connections to happen.

I visited the mausoleum yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, to honor the memory of my parents. It is a peaceful place and reminds us to live fully while we are here. I see new residents there each time that I visit, of all ages, all walks of life. It is sobering, humbling, and thought provoking, especially as we age.

While I was quietly sitting there, a couple passed by. This is a place where we all go for the same reason…to visit those who are no longer with us, to pay our respect, to remember. As they walked by, they looked my way to see if I would welcome contact or would rather be left alone in quietness. We made eye contact, smiled, and wished each other a happy Thanksgiving. In that moment, I could feel that we shared much more than that warm greeting. We shared a companionship in grief, an acknowledgment of our loss, a welcoming to the sacred space of remembering and shared solitude. I felt much less alone after that brief, but significant, contact.

I think that this happens all the time. We may have a quick conversation with a grocery clerk or someone at a coffee shop, and depending on the conversation, may share a depth that might be surprising. It can change the course of our day, of our mood, of our spirit.

As an elder, I now cherish and appreciate how different my sense of time is, how I am no longer rushed by work or obligations, how I can be more attentive and intentional in my connections with others. When I ask someone how are you, I wait for an answer, and will follow up on what they might say, especially if they say more than the usual “Fine”. It’s such a gift, even for a moment, to connect in that way and share in the moment that we are both occupying right then, to be able to offer someone the gift of seeing and hearing them. We never know what someone is going through and what that moment of being heard and seen might mean to them.

It’s interesting to notice what does help me feel connected. I have a friend with whom I frequently have interesting phone conversations with. We talk about ideas, about changes in the world, about his work. This friend and I used to work together with a team that would take clients on a 13-week process to help them learn more about their patterns in life and how things from the past might be holding them back. So we can relate to that and connect it to the work that he does today as a consultant to business teams, trying to help them work better together.

I appreciate these conversations and my friendship with him. And yet, I noticed the other day, that I felt something missing after we hung up. I thought that was odd, but then I realized that he did not ask me how I was, and then wait to hear my response. I had, before this conversation, always asked him how he was as soon as he would call. But this time, I didn’t. I was quiet and waited to hear what he might want to talk about, or if there was something that he wanted to talk about since he had called. It was a fun talk, but I didn’t feel particularly close or feel that he had any sense of things going on inside of me.

That’s ok. I think that different people can give us different levels of depth and connection and that we can appreciate them for who they are. I also think that it’s important to notice if we are feeling any need or lack in that area so we can then figure out how best to get that need met.

Before that, though, I think that there may be something else that we may be missing… a connection to ourselves. How often do we stop and ask ourselves how we are doing, what is going on, what might we need right then. And if we are not aware of what is going on inside of us, if we don’t have the patience to ask and listen to our own depths, fears, anxieties and pain, how can we hear others? If our own internal waters are troubled and churning and we haven’t taken the time to acknowledge this in ourselves and take care of ourselves, then how can we offer others a quiet place of comfort and peace in which to share themselves. If we have not explored and heard the depths of our own pain, how can we sit with others as they talk about theirs.

I think that this lack of connection to ourselves is a pattern in our society these days. We have much to distract us, much to fill the quiet spaces, spaces where we might better be able to hear our inner spirit if we allow the quietness to speak to us.

Do we teach our children this? Do we teach them how to get to know themselves, their feelings, their internal states. How often are they taught facts and rules and shoulds, but not how to go inside and explore their own depths.

Elders have much to share. Yet they can often be surprised when asked how they are and then have someone stop and deeply listen. It can be hard to hear some of the issues and feelings that aging can bring. Yet there is richness there to explore, gifts to find, and connections to be made, connections that can help seniors feel less isolated for a bit.

There can be animal connections. Although they may not speak with us in our language, they speak the language of empathy, sensing how we feel, coming close to us in times of pain or need, offering comfort and love, and simply being with us.

There can be connections that don’t have to be in person. I am often touched by the comments and feedback that I get from others about something of mine that they read. They sometimes write that they feel heard and seen, that they feel a bit less alone, that there is some relief in knowing that others feel some of what they might be feeling. I feel the same when I read articles that resonate with me, and I try to let the writers know that I am grateful.

Aging can bring the gift of realizing that each moment is precious, that this moment can be more precious than years past or those to come, if we are paying attention. It’s time to realize that the time to be present is now, while we are still here, and that we can give this gift to each other, to share the path for a while along the way, to connect, to reach out and touch each other’s souls, and to realize that we are not alone.

There is Healing Yet to be Done

It’s time to heal those old wounds at a deeper level

I have been having memories and feelings from my past and from my entire life come up more as I continue my path of aging. I finally stopped and began to listen, rather than judging myself for ruminating and dwelling too much on things gone by.

Maybe, I thought, there are good reasons that all this seems to be coming up so intensely right now.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the self-judgments about not wasting time worrying about things long gone, about needing to let go, about moving on, about not obsessing. Judgments and negative critical inner voices abound. They always have lived in my head.

So, maybe it’s time to get curious with them, to ask them to talk with me.

I have had losses lately, as we all do. They come more frequently as we age. I wrote about one major loss for me lately, the loss of my elephant friend.

I wanted to explore within myself and go a little deeper with the pure pain of this loss, the loss that seemed to hit in a different way and depth than human loss. What was this, I wondered.

I came to realize, as I lay awake at 3am one morning, that this was a relationship where I felt totally accepted without judgment, seen without comment, observed and felt without advice, and included in breathing together at that moment in time.

I do not go into the past to assign blame, but rather gather up my younger self and hold her, embrace her, understand her, and love her. As an adult, and now especially as an elder, I think it’s time to give her what she has needed from me all along, to finally let her know that I am here, that I hear her, that I acknowledge the pain and hurt that she felt, that I feel her aloneness and can now step in to fill some of that empty space inside of her that has been with her for so long.

The empty space is one that I learned to look outside of myself to try and fill, which never worked. That emptiness cannot be filled from outside or from others, but must be filled from within, from self and from whatever that spiritual connection is for each of us, both inside ourselves and with the Universe. For me, it can be filled with things like connection with the trees in the forest that can bring me to tears, or the connection with animals that makes my heart smile and their tails wag or their internal motors purr.

Some of my background

I was an only child of immigrant parents who were trying their best to do what they could to give me a better life than they had. And they did. But they had their own deep wounds, and those are passed on through the generations as each layer tries to heal a bit more.

I came from the time when children were to be molded, to be seen and not heard, to be told who they were and what they were supposed to do. And as a girl, I was taught to look to a man for definition of self, to look forward to embracing motherhood and all the roles.

Except that this didn’t fit for me. And that was not ok in my family. My mother never forgave me for abandoning her to go away to college. The truth is that I felt like I was suffocating at home and fought tooth and nail to get out of the house, and ended up, in my sophomore year at college, having to support myself. And I did. I knew that my very life, my core, was at stake. I had to save myself.

I learned to look for other relationships to try and get love. I looked for a career where I could earn my right to exist on this planet. I tried to be what I thought was a good person. I tried to fit in. But I didn’t.

I had no children. I am ok with this decision. I doubted my ability to parent and thought that I would once again become part of the enmeshment with my family of origin and then forever lose my separate identity.

I chose partners who were sometimes familiar with the pattern of not really hearing or listening to me. It was what I was used to, what I was trying to heal, trying to get things from someone who might not have been able to give that to me. This was in no way their fault. These were just choices made from our mutual wounds that are often destined to fail.

The pain is still there and asking for my attention

And now I lay in bed sometimes and feel that little girl within me. At this age, I can feel embarrassed about this, but it’s real, and she is there, asking to be heard, seen, protected, and held.

I have been isolated quite a bit since retiring and have been curious about that. Now I see that it has taken that long for that child part of me to trust and to come back out from deep inside me to tell me her story, my story.

My story is one of feeling alone, not heard, not seen, not accepted. And the painful part is that I learned to continue those judgments toward myself, to see myself as not good enough, as wrong and defective somehow, as needing to justify my existence, and as needing to try and shape, bend, and twist myself to try and meet other’s expectations, causing me to abandon myself.

Enough. I would say to that inner little girl still so very much inside of me…I am here, and I will hear you and listen. We can be alone and quiet for as long as you need. I will keep you safe. If I make a mistake, I will catch it as soon as I can. I see and remember and feel your pain and deep loneliness. You have been lonely for me. I am here, finally.

I can’t change the past, but I can learn from it. I can now learn how to give myself what I need. And this can help me be better able to be with others. As I feel nourished, I can give more authentically.

Becoming my own grandmother

I think that maybe I need to be the grandmother to myself, the elder, the one with wisdom of an even older generation, without the mother-daughter dynamics getting in the way. The elder wise crone can perhaps give more of what the child within needed then and what I need now…an elder, a wise woman, a soft place to be comforted and loved without anything getting in the way of that pure love.

I can now love myself into safety and wholeness, finally, heal the layers of grief, and begin to take care of all the unfinished business. There is healing yet to be done, while there is still time.

Peeling Back the Layers

Coming home to my core and authentic self.

Ah, the gifts of aging. They may not always be welcomed, but this one is.
I can feel myself shedding the layers of a false self that I learned to add on, hiding behind, to try and be loved and accepted.

Did it work? How could it? If there was love, it was misguided and deceived by the layers that I had learned to wear to feel safer in the world. I didn’t let others see the real me, so how could I trust any love coming my way?

These were all the layers that I learned and figured out that I needed, growing up feeling like I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, everything enough, just plain not enough.

So, pretend and put on masks it was. I found myself trying to become those masks, then wondering why things never really worked out.

The cost of pretending

Masks aren’t real. I don’t hate the masks, as they helped me, in my best attempt at the time, figure out how to survive. Survive I did, but at the cost of being separated so far from myself that I forgot who I was.

Except, thank God, that I didn’t really forget. It just took years and finally, for me, retiring, getting older and joining the land of elderhood, to wake up to the truth, to my truth.

Time grows shorter as I continue aging. What good does it do me to pretend and twist and turn myself into a pretzel to please others, or to at least try and avoid more conflict and negative judgment. That is a no-win proposition. I lose either way. I lose if my masks work (where does the real me go?) or if they don’t work and I still don’t know or trust my authentic self.

Going deep within, during a time of solitude

I retired at the beginning of the pandemic, 2020. No longer was there such a reason to run or hide as much. There was no reason for the masks when I lived alone and didn’t see anyone much anymore, given how we were all isolated at that time. In a strange way, that time became a gift (although I would never wish a pandemic to be the way to get that). But it was what happened, and it started a major shift in me.

Looking back, I see that it was a cataclysmic shift, an earthquake from the cracks deep inside me from all the years of pressure of trying to contain it all. I could no longer do that. I had enough. My soul screamed, and I listened.

I embraced solitude and slowly dug my way down inside as I began peeling back the false nice layers.

Listening to the desires within

I wrote. I painted. I increased my volunteer hours at the zoo to be around the animals who are some of my best teachers in authenticity. I was quiet, watched them, and listened to their language. I began inviting my own inner voice to speak, letting it know that I was finally ready to learn how to listen.

It takes time to learn to trust yourself. I am still learning, but I am learning. I am learning to say no, or to at least give myself time to think about things before I answer. It’s ok to take some time to sit quietly to see what my core may say. I have said yes too much in my life, to many demands and requests, at the cost of my integrity and at the cost of putting everyone else first and not pleasing myself.

I’m also giving myself permission to change my mind as I learn this new way of being. If I say yes to something too quickly and come to feel that something is not right, I can change my mind.

I write from my heart and soul and from a place where ideas seem to channel through me. I have cleared away enough of the debris to finally have space for these truths to flow through me. I’m learning to trust what may come up, and to trust that it comes from a self-loving place, a place of who I was meant to be, and I’m learning to trust the process.

I now trust that my words have value. I have things to say. And the responses that I get from those who are touched by my writing feel more real, because what they see and read on the pages is the real me, not someone that I formed to try and please others.

I paint and am learning to simply let myself play with that. I’m working on quieting the inner judgments, whether I have “real” talent or not. I enjoy it. Some folks seem to like it, and that is a gift. I finally let the little girl who always loved to draw come out and play again.

I’m learning to trust my intuition. When I get messages from deep inside that warn me about someone, I’m learning to listen. I don’t have to wish them harm or think badly of them. I must know and trust that for whatever reason, we are not a good mix and I can let them go. I can teach that small child still within me that I will protect her from harm in ways that I have not before. I will keep her safe. I will have boundaries and enforce them fiercely.

With those boundaries, when I do allow and choose love, it will be clearer and purer, as I know that I can say no to what does not work for me so that I can better know what does work for me. My yes will be purer.

The rewards of letting go

Peeling back the layers can be painful, but it is a pain that heals. Those layers may have felt like protection, but they ended up being permeable to dangerous things and people. Layers are created out of fear. Boundaries are created out of strength.

Not everyone has to like me. That’s ok. And I don’t have to like everyone. There are those who are in my tribe or herd, and those that belong to another tribe. We can be civil, we can respect our difference, but we do not have to be close. And that’s ok.

What a blessed gift and relief, to discover that the hero (or heroine) that I have been looking for, the one to help save me, has been inside of me all along. I was taught, out of other’s wounds, to not see my own strength, power, compassion, love, and fierce wildness.

I see it now. It is a strength that brings me to tears with things that I see around me. Things in the world that are painful and destructive and things in the world that have such beauty can become an ache inside me….an ache of gratitude, wonder, and awe. These tears come from the strength of allowing my vulnerability to it all, to the joy, pain, and exquisite bittersweetness of this journey of life.

I can even allow myself to see the wonder and awe inside me, as I can see it in others around me. How precious we are, we human beings. We can be capable of great things, both greatly wonderful and greatly horrible. Our choices, our actions, our beliefs, our having worked through enough of our own issues from our past, these things can determine wonder or horror.

I stand before you with so many less layers (and continuing to work on reducing them), yet I feel strong in my vulnerability. I am strong enough to see and hold your vulnerability when you may need it. If I can see and hold and accept my own fragile places within, then I can offer you the same acceptance.

How bittersweet to arrive at this at such a later point in life. And yet, that makes it all the sweeter, I think. I feel a depth of gratitude that I think only having lived this long can bring, a depth that contains a lifetime of joy, pain, sadness, love, loss, and so much more. I have felt it all, still feel it, and am here to embrace it all. It is life, and I am a part of it, especially as I get closer to the end of my time on this earth. How much more precious each moment becomes.

Come, join me

Here, you can take my hand, let me show you what I have learned. Let me talk with the part of you that may be behind those layers. I can hear you, because I can finally hear myself. Come, sit beside me. I have touched my core, and I can show you that it’s a safe and powerful place to be and to live from. This must be in your own time, of course, but I can at least tell you some stories that may help light up your path a bit. You have a safe place to come home to, deep within you. Welcome back, welcome home.

A Letter to Young Women

I am so very proud of you.

Photo by LinkedIn Sales Solutions on Unsplash

As an elder, with no children of my own, I am lucky enough to have wonderful young women in my life and I am in awe and proud of them all.

I have been privileged to work with young zookeepers at our local zoo, where I have volunteered with the elephants for the last 11 years.

I have watched these young people, mostly women (the wages are too low for most men to accept, sad to say, on so many counts). They are amazing. They work with a 15,000-pound creature, which is no small feat. They look tiny next to him, yet have loved him and taught him things, as he has taught them. They provide physical and emotional care. They love and they work hard, very hard.

They do what they must and do whatever it takes to provide care for these wonderful creatures. They put in extra hours as needed. They stay late. They lift, move, push, and shine.

What I want to say to them all.

What I want them to know (and do say to them) is…

I love your strength, your passion, your partnerships with each other, your power, your fearlessness.

You are so powerful, compassionate, and you give me hope for the future. You treat elephants with kindness, and you also treat me with kindness. I am not invisible to you, at least in many important ways.

You face such deep losses with courage and openness. We stand, hold each other and cry together as we prepare to lose the last of our herd at the zoo, who will soon be moved to a beautiful elephant sanctuary. There are no words necessary, just being together and understanding the pain of loss, the pain of love, the pain of letting go, and for you all this happening at such a young age.

You inspire me. You fill me with pride for women everywhere.

Role models everywhere.

I watch the young women newscasters on TV and am in awe of their courage, poise, ability to handle tough situations, and stand in their own power in what was such a male dominated field when I was growing up. I delight in thinking about all the young girls who get to see and hear these powerful role models.

I feel such respect as I go to our local coffeeshop and talk with the young family who owns this. The woman proudly displays photos of her service in the navy. Her pride in having this history is evident. And her children know how important that piece of her history is for her. This is who their mother has been and is.

I have many women doctors at this point. I am saddened by the pressure that they also feel to rush patients through (I belong to an HMO) and then end up not having enough time to bring their superpower, as women, to our time together. One superpower of many women is that of being able to be with me, hear me, listen to me, or sit with me in any pain that I might be in. I pray that things can change so that these young people (young men and women) can bring all of themselves into this important profession that deals with people at their most vulnerable.

And now, a woman running for president.

And I am lucky enough to be alive at a time when there is a woman running for president again. And the race is a close one.

I love watching young girls see her as a candidate and as being a strong woman. They get to watch both her husband, and her male vice-presidential candidate, support her. The role models that I didn’t get to see enough of are now available. I am grateful.

I worry about freedoms that generations before you fought hard to attain, seeing that these freedoms are now threatened.

I worry about the still apparent societal pressure and expectations of how you should look, what size you should be, how you should manage to do it all. It makes me sad that you sometimes don’t see how beautiful you are, each in your own unique way.

I see the battles still ahead. Among these are the battles to be heard and respected, not interrupted, and to be able to express your voice and have it be heard and seen as the important contribution that it is.

It all brings me to tears. I, as a daughter of immigrants, had a smaller space that I thought I could occupy in this world. There seemed to be fewer choices in line of work, and in life in general. And with parents coming from another country with different family ideals and values and expectations of women, I tried my best to figure out how to survive and not squash my voice completely. I realized over time that I had forgotten my own voice, being so busy trying to fit into what was mandated, expected, or allowed.

I don’t want any of that for you.

My hope and wish for you.

I want you to know your own spirit, your own passions, your own strength, your own voice. I want you to follow that and have the freedom to do that. I want you to have domain over your own bodies. I want you to stand together and not be divided and conquered. I want you to have yourself at the top of the list as to whom you should please.

I want you to be able to claim your strength, to be able to better discern who and what you may need in a relationship, to mother yourselves and each other. I want you to run free, wear what you want, dress as you please, and know that you are more than enough. You are valuable and wonderful and have every right to claim your space on this earth, in your world, and in the Universe. I want your biology to help raise you up, not to define you by things that you can or cannot do.

I want you to dance your own dance and to be able to dance even if you don’t have a partner. If you find a partner, I want you to be happy, loved, respected, nourished and cherished, as I would hope that you can do for each other.

And if you are not partnered, I want you to know that you are perfectly ok as you are, by yourself. You can build a community around you, have family and loving friends, and you are no less because you are single. It’s ok. You are ok. You are more than ok. Of course, I wish you love and a partner of quality, but more than that I want you to know that your primary partner is yourself. You are at the top of the list of whom you need to pay attention to and take care of and love.

You don’t have to twist yourself into shapes and sizes and values that do not fit you. You can be all that you were born to be. You can be your magnificent self. I may not be able to see where you end up and all that you will do, but I am cheering you on every step of the way. You inspire me. And if I can stand with you from beyond, know that I will be there right beside you, with love.