Being Seen and Heard When Least Expected

Feeling welcomed simply for who I am

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

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

You never know where a gift will present itself

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

Finding pockets of peace

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

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

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

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

The gift can spread to all areas of your life

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

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

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

And then there are boundaries

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

Coming full circle

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

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

My wishes for you and for us all

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

Portrait of Rage

I finally found the motivation to start painting again

I haven’t felt the urge to paint for months. The political climate, the chaos, the pain of our country and of the world…it has all felt like too much trauma. I find that it can freeze and immobilize me.

And then a thought started popping up in my brain. What if I tried painting the rage that I felt? What if I let some of that out onto a canvas? I have written about it, which helps. So, why not paint it as well.

I have never painted fury before. Now I had inspiration. I have a sign that I take to protests with a photo of Lady Liberty hiding her face in shame, embarrassment, and sadness. And now I have an additional image, an image that expresses what I feel we need to tap into more. An image of Lady Liberty’s righteous wrath that expresses ENOUGH.

I am not sure how we will turn things around in our country, but turn it around we must, or at least begin. It will take some time, I believe, and I may not be around to see it finally happen, being an elder with much less time ahead of me than behind me. In the meantime, I will do my part. I cannot sit idly by and watch our country and what it really has stood for be destroyed by a tyrant and his sycophants. Cults are dangerous. Lies become the norm and chaos confuses everything. ENOUGH.

My portrait’s face emerged clearly to me as I painted what I felt inside me. I could feel the pain in her eyes, the storm inside, the sense of betrayal and determination to fight back for what she has stood for, and the strength pulled up from deep inside. Yes, we can feel sadness, but we must also tap into our fire and power, our vast power that they are attempting to quiet and discourage.

I kept painting. I saw the furrows in her brow, the fire in her eyes, and felt the burning flowing from me and through me to what was showing up in front of me.

I want to remember what Lady Liberty has stood for all of these years, what we have been proud of, what message she has tried to spread. We have been far from perfect with her message, but at least there was the intention to include, welcome, and embrace. It is, I believe, what has made our country great…to come here and become an American, with your own roots and to all work together to be better, to do better, and be one in our intention and purpose.

This is not what we are seeing now. And I am furious, as are so many of us. Rage is powerful.

For most of my life I was taught to swallow my anger, to dampen it, suppress it, push it aside.

No more.

One of the joys of aging for me has been the growth toward being who I authentically am. And right now I am authentically enraged. I am also disheartened, demoralized, sad, hurt, in shock, and infuriated. It’s time to claim this fury and use it for good, to come together to turn things around.

We had to have a revolution before, and we may have to do that again. So be it. Sometimes you have to fight for what is right. Sometimes the boundaries need to be clearly drawn and defended. Sometimes you have to get their attention with a show of strength before they can hear what you are saying. Sometimes you have to be louder, angrier, relentless.

An artist’s canvas is not only about peaceful beauty. Sometimes it is about powerful, raw beauty. It is about fighting for what is right, about ferocious love, determined kindness protected by power and strong boundaries…holding hands, marching together, making calls, donating, protesting, screaming, voting.

We are all artists… painting our lives, writing our lives, speaking our lives, singing our lives, each finding our own way to allow our voices to come out and speak the truth of who we are and who we want to be. Together we have more power than we realize, more than they want us to realize. Do not believe the lies about you. You are more powerful than you think. You are no longer a child who cannot fight. ENOUGH.

Let’s use our brushes, our pens, our voices, our microphones, our souls…and let us come together. We must fight. We must revolt. We must tap into our strength, the strength that also comes with kindness, compassion, and pure anger. Let’s create a portrait of rage that can help speak what must be expressed.

We must become what a friend of mine called my painting when she saw it…a bad ass Lady Liberty, one who has had enough.

I Don’t Need to Feel Important

But I do want to feel significant

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

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

So, what do we do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She Doth Protest

Claiming our voices

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Soul Sung Aloud

A song written for me

I recently ran across, in my evening Instagram addiction (that subject can be a whole other story), a site about a family that offers to write a song for you…perhaps as a gift or for a special occasion for someone.

What a lovely idea. There were photos of each of the four family members, with samples of their voices, so you could pick the one that resonates with you the most. Here was a photo of a musical family… a mother, father, son and daughter, with a wonderful gift to share. Their website is Walker’s Songs, if you are interested in looking them up. Their personal responses to me have been very kind and loving.

I wondered who I could buy a song for. It was, I thought, very reasonably priced for such a personal gift, especially given that they were having a special promotion!

And then I had a thought, a thought that I immediately pushed away, I could ask for a song for myself.

What? Do I dare?

And then I thought…Well, no one needs to know.

Yet here I am writing about it! I wanted to write about it because it touched me that much, because it moved me to tears, and because I thought that this message was important to share.

They ask questions in the application to get a feel for the person that they are going to write a song for. I was open with my answers, as I tend to be these days when I feel that it seems safe enough to do so. I took a leap of faith in this site and pushed ahead.

It took me two days to get the courage to listen to my song once I received it (which was very quick, I might add.) All the insecurities about daring to give myself this arose to tell me that this had been a bad thing to do. How dare I? Who did I think that I was? And who would ever hear my song? And on and on and on the voices inside my head continued. They can be a busy and relentless bunch up there.

I listened to my song, and I cried. The mother, Diane, the one whose voice had resonated with me the most for this request, sang my song. The music was beautiful, and the words felt like it was my soul being put to music. She had woven, with grace and sensitivity, what I had shared about myself, put it to music, and heard me in a way that is rare and precious. She got the essence of who I am. The things that I had shared in the application gave her what was needed to put all that into a song of my life. Her voice made it come to life and made my spirit sing along. She titled my song “Coming Home to Me”. This was perfect.

As an elder now, this experience touched me more than I can adequately describe. To have given this gift to myself was something that I did not realize the importance of until I received it, heard it, felt it.

I will send it to my private fiduciary to include with my final arrangements. I want to have my song and story with me on my final journey.

I haven’t had a lover write a song for me, but now I have had a song written for me with what I wanted included in that song. I, who know best what those lyrics should include and what the tone, subject, and feel should be.

I think that we all need to give special gifts to ourselves, whether it be a song, a painting, or whatever moves you. We can give ourselves the message that we deserve this, that our story is worthy of being told and sung, that we have music within us to share, that we each are a song with gifts. We can not only find our voice, but have it reflected to us, with love.

Hear and claim your voice, paint your spirit, have someone reflect your story back to you. Dare to let yourself be seen and heard. Dare to honor the sacred being that you are. Give voice to your life, hear the music of your soul, and celebrate the song that is you.

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.

The Need for Touch

A human need, no matter what our age

At the age of 72, ( I keep talking and writing about that number to help it sink in), I realize more than ever how important touch can be.

I live alone and am grateful for all that this brings. But I do find that I miss human touch. I don’t mean sexual, necessarily, although if that were to present itself in a way that felt safe and ok, I would be open to it (even though that may shock younger readers to know this. We are old, not dead!).

What I really miss is the gentle touch, a hand on my shoulder, a soft physical acknowledgment of our togetherness in this moment. The sensuality of feeling something alive and soft touching you, human or otherwise, is such a gift.

I love to touch. I will put a hand on someone’s shoulder when saying goodbye, give hugs often when they are welcomed, touch someone’s hand if they start talking about things that are vulnerable or painful, to let them know in a more visceral way that I am there and hearing them.

I have lived with cats for many years of my life. I have loved their purring and snuggling up against me. Sleeping with a furry buddy at night is a pleasure that is beyond description, to reach out and feel that presence beside me, hear a purr in response to my touch, or a nuzzle in the morning. This is such a wonderful way to start and end a day.

I have known the pleasure of human physical touch, both in romantic relationships and friendships, and am grateful.

But these days, unless I intentionally create opportunities for touch, it is not so frequent. I miss it.

I am a woman of solitude and enjoy a significant amount of alone time. It is where I renew myself, where I replenish myself after I have ‘peopled” too much. So, it’s not a lot of contact that I crave, but it is a meaningful, present-filled contact that I miss, a way of being together that words alone cannot fill.

In my career as a social worker, and especially in my last position in a nursing facility, there were times that words were no longer available for some of the patients. So, I touched gently, where I could and when it felt like it would be welcomed or accepted. I like to think that my touch reached people in a place where my words could not.

I stop and lean against the redwood trees when I go for walks in the park. I feel both of our roots in the ground as we inhabit this space and moment together. The feelings that flood through me can bring me to tears and I’m grateful to let them flow.

I have, since I retired, enjoyed doing more of the things that I love. Writing is one of my passions, as are painting and reading. But these are all solitary activities. I also volunteered at the local zoo, as part of the behavior observation team, with elephants. I felt such a deep connection with these majestic creatures, but again, for the zoo’s very appropriate safety reasons, I wasn’t able to touch them much.

So, I need to be more intentional these days on getting the touch that I crave.

Today I reached out to another possible volunteer option, at a local wildlife rescue place, where some of the positions seem to allow handling or helping with animals in the hospital. I hope to be able to do that. I think that the healing will go both ways.

We are human and much of what we need does not really change over the years. With aging and wisdom comes the realization that we must acknowledge those needs, feel them, and then provide the self-love and care to get what we need.

It’s a gift to be human, to crave touch, to connect, to embrace all that being human involves. Let’s give that to each other and to ourselves while we still can.

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.

We Are Still Here

Letting who we are be heard and seen, while there is still time.

These are troubling times on this earth. I have had difficulty writing for a while, or painting, or doing much of anything except trying to exist from one day to the next. The country that I grew up in is in deep danger. The world is changing. The earth is hurting. I hurt.

I don’t understand how all of this happened. We lost our way somehow, and I fear it will take a long time to find our way back, if we can. I don’t know if I will live to see that, now that I am in the land of the elders.

I have felt lost, defeated, and powerless. And that is what works, I know, to keep my voice silent and my spirit dampened. So, let me begin to at least create space again for my voice with these written words. Let me begin to use this voice to speak to aging and what we are told about that. Let me begin to use this voice to resist those that would create chaos to take over our country and all that it has stood for.

I am not dead yet, I can say to the ever-present reality of mortality, one of the gifts (bittersweet) of aging. I still have time left to be alive and to cherish each moment. None of us know how much time that we are graced to have, but as we grow older, we know that the time allotted grows short. And we are still here.

Our country is not dead yet, not taken over completely yet. We still have parts of our democracy here that can reawaken and remember who they have been and what they stand for. There are many of us who are dismayed at what is happening. We have been shocked into being frozen, but we are thawing out from the fire within, this fire that is such a part of being an American.

There are protests, petitions, voices once again rebelling against tyranny and dictatorship. Voices that begin to loudly state NO. Enough. This is not who we are. This is not what we have fought for all these years as our guiding intention and purpose. We are better than this and we can do better.

No, we have not done things perfectly, by any means. Did our government need some restructuring and cleaning up? Most definitely. Did it need to be destroyed. Most definitely not.

We have stood for human rights, imperfectly, which is why we need to keep records of our history alive and present. That way we can learn from the past and not repeat it.

We have been a beacon of hope for so many, and have been a source of light and hope, not one of danger. We have been a source of welcome and refuge, not a country where its citizens now need to worry about finding safe spaces. We have been proud of our free speech, where now we are being censored and punished for daring to disagree or criticize those in power, although it seems that the standard does not apply to them. They name-call, criticize, and belittle others frequently, as well as blame everyone else for anything that goes wrong, to distract from being seen for what they in fact are doing, destroying, trying to take over and claim.

This is how power gets taken away from us…by overwhelming us, by creating cults, by distracting us with never ending assaults to our democracy and its structures, by yelling so loudly at us that we cannot hear our own voices.

Our voices are still here. We still have power, or they would not need to move as quickly or as loudly as they are doing in order to try and overtake us. We are still here.

I can say that I am still here as an elder, too, to the voices in my head, as well as those in society who would discount me as no longer being relevant or serving any purpose. I will take up the space that is mine and I will use my voice and speak my heart. I will not go quietly or disappear in order to make someone more comfortable. I will help remind others that they will be here, in the land of elderhood, much sooner than they think, and that there are things to learn and to value from me and from their own path to aging. I can say to them You do not need to be afraid of me. I can help and offer some wisdom, comfort, and guidance, if you wish. Have I done things perfectly? Far from it. Do I still have things to offer? Absolutely.

I can also say I am still here as a woman, that I am equal and have the same rights as men, and am more than my ability to have babies. I love and honor mothers, and I also know that women are more than that. We are human beings that can not only mother, but can teach the world about how to care, how to love, how to work together, how to cherish each other, how to protect the next generation and those yet to come, how to mother the earth and all of her creatures. And we are more than capable of making decisions about our own bodies. Period.

I can say I am still here as an American. I am the American who loves the inscription on the Statue of Liberty and all that she stands for, the American who tries to be compassionate while being fair, and tries to navigate the world with light, versus darkness and threats. I am the American who loves her neighbors and realizes the importance of connection, allies, kindness, and trust, the American who wants to believe that this is who we still are and that this is what we can get back to and keep improving and working on. I won’t give up on this vision and this hope. We fought too long and too hard to get here.

Let us not die before our time. Let us live and use our voices, our hearts, and our strength. Together we are strong. Together we can do this. All races, genders, creeds, ethnicities, ages, beliefs…we are all human and we can come together to be more powerful than any hatred or conflict.

We must, while there is still time.

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.