I woke up not feeling my best the other day. I am retired, so I have the luxury of not having to follow any routine or call off from a job, and I am very grateful for that. I realize that not everyone has this option, but I wonder if we can find different ways to give ourselves permission to stop, breathe, and simply be.
Often it takes not feeling well to give ourselves this kind of time and gift. We need that. But I think that there are other times when our soul and spirit may feel unwell or like we need a break from everything, where we can take stock of how we are feeling, how life is going, what we might need at that moment.
I gave myself permission that morning to stop. I had some coffee, felt like I needed to rest more, and took myself back to bed. I grabbed a book, snuggled under the covers, and let myself read, snooze, read, snooze, and repeat as needed.
When I had enough of that, I got up and had some nourishing food, moved slowly around the house, and felt the wonder of stopping time for a bit, stopping the schedule, stopping the list, stopping everything… and just living. What a concept, to take breaks and simply have time to check in with our souls and ask how we are.
Thoughts intrude, of course. Judgments rush in. Messages and name-calling come uninvited…stop being lazy, you need to get things done, at least do one thing on your list, stop being so indulgent. I resisted. What, I wonder, was so scary about doing nothing? What was so awful about that? Would my world really fall apart if I checked out for a day? I didn’t answer the phone, didn’t work on emails, didn’t do, do, do.
Apparently, I survived this frightening experience. Indeed, it was such a marvelous gift. How much of a wonder it is to really take time for oneself, to stop, breathe, allow each moment to unfold, ask myself what would I like to experience next. Do I want to walk in the woods? No, I decided, it was a day that I needed to stay home, rest, take care of myself and allow healing to occur.
How little, I think, do we really check in that deeply and consistently with ourselves. How little we dare to actually give ourselves the gift of an entire day. How little we give ourselves the gift of allowing the experience of nothingness. What might we find there? What might we be afraid of? What might we be surprised by? How can we meet ourselves and confront what we might run into?
I found that I had been tired, not felt well for a bit, but had kept pushing through, and had needed to rest and nap more than I realized. At the end of that day, I felt rested in a way that I had not allowed myself to experience for a long time. Things didn’t fall apart, nor did I. Rather, I came together with the parts of me that needed my attention, that needed to be pampered, heard, attended to, taken care of. I needed to be my own parent that said it’s ok to stop everything today just because.
What a treat. The next day I felt ready to get started again, to get back on schedule.
There is a calmness that comes with knowing that you can be intentionally alone and with your own company …that you can care for and about yourself, that you can stop and be with yourself and face what is inside you that you don’t have to run from everything, that you can stop and take stock of where you are, where your life is, how you feel.
There is a peace in knowing that you are enough. I am not saying that we don’t need each other and our families, chosen or otherwise, but to know that we can be completely alone with ourselves and say I am here for you. Rest, I will take care of you. It will be ok. You are ok, and you deserve to stop. You are enough just as you are.
It has taken me a lifetime to learn this, finally, and has been one of the gifts of aging for me. Maybe I can pass along this gift to others…to remind us that we can stop and breathe. Stop and rest. Stop and check in on ourselves. Stop, breathe, and be.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 wherethe 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I'm Not Dead Yet! 