And So It Goes

"There is no real ending.  It's just a place where you stop the story."

                                                                     ~ Frank Herbert

This is where I stop the story of Considering the Alternatives.  For several reasons, it seems the right time to start a completely new chapter, perhaps a sequel?  

The transition I set out to blog about so many months ago is complete.

Our move to St. George is complete.  It's not just that we have regular routines, new friends, services we trust, and know our way around the city.  It's the feeling, the declaration we make when we return from a trip that "it's good to be home."  Not St. George, but home.  

Our adjustment to retirement is complete.  Well, mine is - John continues to do business via his website.  I have new hobbies, new interests, relationships that have nothing to do with past events or career.  A new structure to my days and activities has evolved.  And a new sense of direction and commitment.

So as promised in my last posting, I have launched a new blog in which to document that commitment.  Please check out                          

                                               
                                                http://justanothercandle.blogspot.com

and if you find it interesting, I hope you will follow it and tell others to check it, too.

In Praise of Procrastination!?!

"Procrastination enables us to understand the true measure of our reluctance." 

~ David Whyte 

I have struggled with procrastination for as long as I can remember.  I've examined the issue inside out and upside down.  With little more than temporary clarity and not much change in behavior.  I'd almost surrendered to the idea that "it's in my DNA" when, I came across this quote by poet and author, David Whyte, in Consolations:The Solace, Nourishment, and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words:

                  "Procrastination when studied closely can be a beautiful thing, a parallel with patience, a companionable friend, a revealer of the true pattern, already caught within us; acknowledging for instance, as a writer, that before a book (or a poem, or a letter - or a blog?) can be written, most of the ways it cannot be written must be tried first in our minds; on the blank screen, on the empty page or staring at the bedroom ceiling at four in the morning."

Procrastination, a beautiful thing?  A companionable friend?  Not a source of angst and self-recrimination?   Even the possibility was a relief.  I decided to test his assertion by specifically examining the source(s) of my reluctance to compose this posting - (which has in fact been tried out in my mind ad nauseum for months now).  What's behind, lurking underneath, not what's wrong.  And a  bigger question - why is it such an effort to create these posts, when I easily write three to four pages in my private journal every morning?

I decided to approach my examination gently and patiently.  Just to pay attention. And possible answers emerged, slowly, unexpectedly, on a walk, while journaling, while making the bed, while reading someone else's blog, at four in the morning.  If you've ever struggled to write, you may recognize some of the litany that surfaced - maybe there's a better way to say this; maybe there's a better topic; I don't write as well as (supply anyone else's name!); this isn't clear enough, clever enough, good enough, important enough; a blog isn't private; what if I throw a party and no one comes,  etc., etc., etc.

Finally, the "AHAs".   I've been approaching blogging like a school assignment, needing to write an essay about a topic that kept changing!  Wondering if I'll get a good grade.  I do want to create a blog, but with the ease with which I journal and about a topic or theme I consider important, whether or not anyone else agrees.  

Therefore, I have decided to terminate this blog and start afresh.  With a clean slate.  With a focus on the issue that is important to me and growing more important with each passing day.  Just Another Candle will be about aging, not aging gracefully, or artfully, or with dignity or any of the other popular descriptors.  Just aging from the vantage point of one everyday, aging, curious woman.  No expert, not Jane Fonda or Andrew Weill. Observations, and questions, some insights, no advice. I'm almost ready to launch it and will post an addendum here to let you know where and when you can access it.

A final thought about procrastination - it really did provide the space and opportunity to understand the true measure of my resistance and by taking advantage of that opportunity, I could compose this post with relative ease.  I look forward to Just Another Candle.  I have lists of ideas for topics.  So I agree with Whyte, procrastination can be a revealer of the true pattern, but we have to be willing to see it, to own it and do something about it.

Now, why do I continue to procrastinate about exercise?

"Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."

"Life doesn't know what it will be until it notices what it has become."

~  Margaret J. Wheatley

Over the years, I have reread a deceptively simple book and each time I have been struck with its relevancy to my life at that point in time.  Is this what makes a book a classic?

The book,  A Simpler Way, is one of the 18 books that I store on a special shelf to remind me of the authors who have most shaped my personal perspective.  I picked it up in a bookstore in the late '90's when I was looking for a book to share with my staff at an upcoming meeting and didn't have a lot of time to prepare for.  The title, the chapter headings, the quotes, the length - only 101 pages - and especially the presence of a lot of white space and photographs promised as easy read.  Wrong!  I found myself reading and rereading paragraphs, even single lines, taken with the novelty of her ideas and the almost poetic, meditative style of her writing.

I picked it up again this morning, looking for something inspirational to read this coming week when we will be in California, hoping to help a dear friend, reeling from the unexpected death of her partner, her love, her life's companion.  And this line, "Life doesn't know what it will be until it notices what it has become," was all it took for me to make my choice.

This line was all it took to finally sit down and create this post, the first in almost six months.  I didn't set out six months ago to take a hiatus from writing.  I had, in fact, several ideas for the upcoming weeks.  Then, as that other quote goes, life happened while I was busy making other plans.  The desert heat descended upon us.  I developed a vexing condition in my eyes that lingered well into autumn.  A trip didn't turn out as I had planned - etc., etc.  Events that I wasn't in the mood to write about, reluctant to complain or simply not ready or willing to air publicly.  In short, life happened.  And in the process, it has taken on a shape and texture I didn't notice until quite recently.

I haven't moved.  I haven't lost those 10 pounds.  I have the same car and enjoy the same music and TV shows and eat at the same restaurants.  But - for the first time in many, many years, I am not writing elaborate goals for the coming year.  I have committed to three projects that I want to pursue, rather than goals I think I should pursue.  I'm choosing not to finish a book I'm not enjoying even if everyone else did, have opted out of activities I wasn't enjoying, saying no with less deliberation.  I'm watching The Wizard of Oz or An American in Paris or The Princess Bride for the 20th time - guilt-free.  I'm learning about football rather than just tolerating it,  even finding the computer an interesting resource rather than just a 

necessary nuisance. I'm sketching every day, my journals evolving into art journals, filled with doodles and drawing and fancy lettering, and I actually believe I'm creative.  I'm finally, finally, learning to take each day as it comes, with all its challenges and all its gifts.

I suspect I am evolving my own definition of aging artfully, an intention I declared here months ago.  I look forward to noticing more, to sharing more, to inviting you to share with me.

When in Doubt...

" The wisdom of the wise, and the experience of ages may be preserved by quotation."

~Isaac D'Israeli

I recently received a couple e-mail invitations to participate in a chain of one's favorite inspirational quote.  I haven't yet responded - not because I don't have one, but rather because I have so many that I am having difficulty choosing only one.

I started using quotations to inspire journal writing years ago, have favorite books of collections of quotes and a notebook of inspirational quotes from  books I've read.  For years, I've turned to a quote when I feel unmotivated to write or feel stalled or find myself chewing on an issue or concern.  A good quote always gets me going again.  

So one?  The most inspirational?  These are some of my current favorites...

• "Things do not change; we change."     ~Henry David Thoreau
• "The old woman I shall become will be quite different from the woman I am now.  Another I is beginning."   ~ George Sand
• "Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they're supposed to help you discover who you are."    ~ Bernice Johnson Reagon
• "Living is a constant process of deciding what we are going to do."      ~Jose Ortega y Gasser
• "No day is so bad it can't be fixed with a nap."       ~Carrie Snow
• "Life only demands from the strength you possess.  Only one feat is possible - not to have run away."            ~Dag Hammarskjold
• "We have enough people who tell it like it is - now we could use a few who tell it like it can be."             ~ Robert Orben
• "Whether you think you can or you can't, you're right."        ~Henry Ford

and...."Be kind - everyone is fighting a hard battle."

In Search of Inspiration

“Unfortunately, we don't have all that many good examples to follow. The people that our cultures label as "successful" are the ones who have become wealthy or famous or celebrities, but the truly successful people--those who have become happy and who are living happy, loving, giving lives--aren't often featured in our newspapers or newscasts. We see the politicians and the criminals and the athletes and the entertainment "stars," but we don't see the people who can truly inspire us to be happy by being just who we are.” 
― Tom Walsh

The author of this quote, Tom Walsh, business columnist for the Detroit Free Press, could be describing our current culture, at least as I see it.  And coming across his quote to a degree reassuring. I'm not just an old-fashioned prude, or out of touch - not with it.  I was beginning to wonder if I were sounding like my mother in her final years, something I vowed I would never do. But I have felt this way for some time now.

It's not that there are no wonderful, courageous dedicated folks out there.  It's that we, as a culture, don't seem to value them very much, if our media is an indication of what we hold to be important and cherished.. We are inundated with stories of the rich and famous (or infamous); we are asked to vote on who is to blame for the latest assault; our respect is demanded by people who do not appear to respect others; we are "entertained" by people who dress and behave as though they don't respect themselves.  It's enough to make a grown woman cry. Or become cynical and even, occasionally, afraid.

Fortunately, there are wonderful, courageous and dedicated folks out there. Occasionally, they even show up on TV, usually on Sunday morning, or after a catastrophe or disaster.  Everyday folks who rise to the occasion or who are dealing with personal challenges with grace and dignity.  Like the survivors of the Boston Marathon bombing.  Like the individuals and communities that band together to help a family in need or to clean up neighborhoods.  And the occasional celebrity who makes a genuine and dedicated commitment to a cause - I immediately think of Gary Sinise and his support of the Wounded Warrior Project.  

We all can use good examples.. Not just children.  We need them at all stages of our lives. Not to emulate but to inspire.  To inspire us to live "happy, loving, giving lives."  Not  perfect heroes or heroines or  larger than life figures.  But people we can identify with.  People who present possibilities within our reach if only we will reach a little higher. People who strive for something other than money or image, who care about others, who treat others with respect. The neighbor who watches our home when we are on vacation or the stranger who stops to help with a flat tire.  Perhaps someone ahead of us in the stream of life.  Or someone behind us from whom we can learn or just enjoy being with.

I used to ask workshop participants and coaching clients to select five individuals, living or dead, real or imaginary,  who would serve as a board of directors for their lives.   They would find the task challenging, if not impossible.  Today I would ask a different question, one that I am asking myself.  Who inspires you from the people you know and engage with?  With great relief and satisfaction, I can answer that question - easily.  My list includes a friend who can defuse any potential upset with humor and finesse.  Another who is facing a terminal illness with awesome dignity.  My sister who has the clearest and most responsible boundaries I have ever experienced.  My brother who has an insatiable thirst for learning, not mere knowledge, but genuine learning.  My husband who really does forgive and forget....and more.

But I have to admit, I also find Dame Judi Dench inspiring!

Who inspires you?

  

  

I

Letting Go

"All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on."

                                                                                             ~ Havelock Ellis

I've been on a letting go binge since Christmas, fueled by two things; the first, a remark from an old friend, who looking through our guest bathroom drawers for something she needed, said with a touch of awe, "Wow, you are really organized!"  The second - my internal reply, "But we still have too much stuff, it's just well-organized stuff."

So, when I sat down to write goals for this year, I decided that it's time to complete the project I started 13 years, yes, 13, ago when I was diagnosed with cancer.  At that time, I had a concern, among several concerns, that were I not to pull through, what would John be left to deal with.  Whenever my energy levels permitted, I began to toss, to donate, to organize.  It proved to be a worthy project, not just for the results, but for the sense of achievement and control it provided at a time when I felt so out of control.

But once in remission, I slacked off.  Oh, faced with a move, I stepped in the ring for another round, emerging much better organized, but still too much stuff.  Now, just better-organized, labeled stuff.  In two homes, no less.

So, it wasn't surprising that when we decided to move into one home in St. George (within 27 days), we had boxes and crates and furniture in the garage, on the patio, and in the courtyard.  Not surprising that it has taken us almost three years to toss, and consign, and sell, and donate.  

Along the way, I have continued to reorganize and rethink our use of space, our need for stuff, how I want to spend my time - not cleaning, not packing and unpacking, not searching for something I know I have somewhere in a nicely labeled container.  This time around, I intend to simplify and focus on order and easy retrieval.  To end the year knowing that all we have is what we really NEED and USE.  That we know what we have, where it is, and how to easily retrieve it.

Therefore, I've been on a letting go binge since Christmas.  This bout, however, I've taken some time to reflect on what I've learned along the way.  To address why I've resisted this final purge.  To fess up to what this stuff means to me, about me.  (That's the next posting!)  To enroll, not badger, John for his help.

I'm still driven by my concern for leaving John with organized chaos, (and yes, I recognize I could be the one left behind), but more than this, I do not want whatever time we have left together to be spent on stuff!

In Memorium

"Memory is the thing you forget with." 

~ Alexander Chase    

Spend some time with any senior citizen and inevitably a comment (or dissertation) is made regarding memory.  Or more accurately, memory loss.  I hear myself saying, often out loud, "now, why did I come in this room?"....or "where did I put....my keys, a book, my purse, that letter," etc., etc.   

Spend time with a group of senior citizens and a deeper conversation occurs.  "Are you experiencing the same challenges?" "Do you worry that this may signify something worse?"  "I hate this!"  Nervous laughter, reassurances usually follow.  

I remember having a brain scan a couple years ago and reading the report..."a normal, aging brain."  I didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.  I did some research, however, just to be reassured that I was indeed normal.  So, for the most part, I don't worry that my lapses in memory mean anything more catastrophic.

What is more intriguing to me these days is why I remember what I do remember and what triggers the memories.  Just two days ago, while watching Turner Classic Movie's day of musicals (Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly classics), there was a memorium for industry personalities that passed away this year.  You know, the kind of tribute done yearly at the Oscars.  Well, that one I've come to expect.  This one came as a surprise.  The list itself was also a surprise - Esther Williams, Dennis Farina, Jean Stapleton, Eileen Brennan, Michael Ansara, Karen Black, Eleanor Parker, Tom Clancy, Roger Ebert, Steve Forrest, Jack Klugman,  Peter O'Toole - at least 20 names I recognized and another dozen faces I have come to know over the years in various character roles.  The number stunned me.

And with it, a flood of memories - the TV series, the iconic roles (Edith Bunker, Hot Lips Hoolihan, Lawrence of Arabia, Cochise), the people I saw the movies or series with (some no longer a part of my life), the music, and the young woman, even the little girl I was when I first encountered them.  

In the couple days that have followed, I have seen this clip again.  Now, expecting it, some of the surprise, the sadness, and the nostalgia has passed.  And what has surfaced next is the awareness that many of these names no longer mean much to people even a few years younger than I - or other fans of TCM,.  Joan Fontaine, Audrey Totter, John Kerr, Dale Robertson.  Oh yes, I know that every generation has to face this phenomenon, but it is still a bit disconcerting whenever it happens.  Yes, it certainly has struck me before - who were the Beatles? What was polio? Did you really walk to school in the snow?  You didn't have.....!!!!??

So what makes this experience more poignant?  The sheer number of personalities?  The realization that many of these names may mean little or nothing to many Americans?  Or the recognition that they do mean a lot to me and that is another reminder of the passage of time, of my aging? Of my own mortality?

Maybe I'll skip the memorium segment of the Oscars this year.

  

In Praise of Good Guys

My brother-in-law died yesterday.  Because we have lived a continent apart, we were in each other's company for perhaps only 3 weeks out of the 30 years I have known him.  But my sense of loss this morning is great.

You see, Gary was one of the good guys, a genuine nice guy. He had a gentle Jimmy Stewart disposition. Worked hard all his life.  Took pleasure in simple things.  Always played the hand he was dealt with grace and equanimity.

He adored his wife of 43 years, his children and grandchildren. It was this love that fueled his arduous fight with lung cancer this past year, enduring months of treatment with his usual upbeat, glass half-full optimism.  Never complained.  

He was loyal and honest, a steadfast man, accepting of everybody, tolerant of foibles that would have irritated a saint.  Even when he didn't like someone, he expressed his opinions without rancor or disdain, simply as his opinion. Never nasty, never demeaning.

This world could use more good guys.  I will miss this very decent man.

Heeding My Own Advice

My mother called it "contemplating one's navel" - and she had little patience for it - thinking too much, especially about things that can't be controlled or changed.  Needless to say, she didn't keep a journal, couldn't understand why anyone would go to a therapist.

She would use that phrase whenever she thought I was worrying about something or spending an inordinate amount of time and effort to dissect a situation or struggling to make sense out of nonsense.  I would bristle and defend myself.  I used to wonder how she knew that I was, in fact, overthinking, musing, worrying, deep within a maze of my own construction, bumping up against imaginary walls.

I've come to realize that it must be pretty obvious to anyone who is around me for any length of time.  I withdraw, disengage - journal much more than usual, make and remake list upon list, draw mindmaps - and double back again.  Get caught up in circular conversations in my head.  Just like a lab rat in a maze.  Not something I'm particularly proud of.

The good news, I manage to get through a maze much faster these days.  Only a month this go round.

The bad news, the sad news, it took Hurricane Sandy to snap me out of it.  Seeing the devastation, entire neighborhoods destroyed, children lost, lives disrupted perhaps forever. The water, the mud, the fires. Anguish, grief, unbelievable loss.  Every day another wrenching story. A sobering reminder to get a grip! Quick! "There but for the grace....."

Outwardly, nothing much has changed here in St. George.  Yes, it's cooler.  But my vote still won't count.  I know I will worry whenever John so much as coughs.  I can't seem to lose these ten pounds.  TV continues to annoy me.  Strangers will persist in calling me dear and honey. And whenever I enter a room and can't remember why, I still won't like it.

But internally, the walls of this maze have collapsed. The moment even a brick appears, I remind myself of the advice I so easily give someone else - to consider the alternative.  Now, I'm not so naive as to expect I'll never construct another maze and wander around a bit, but  I may just have a couple posters made - CONSIDER THE ALTERNATIVE - so that it doesn't take another disaster to snap me out of it!

A Great Question

I've been journaling a lot lately, more than usual actually, not that you'd know it by my blogging; but those pages, in my virtual journal, are not intended for public purview.  (In fact, I need to put it in my will that they're to be burned!)

I've had the long hot, unstructured days of the Utah summer and the impetus of some introspective reading to ponder a few provocative questions - questions that require significant reflection and potentially painful honesty.  Questions whose answers can be contradictory on any given day, and freqently muddled.  Occasionally, however, if I persist, press through the muck and the mire, I am rewarded with an "AHA!"  So, I keep journaling.

A particularly provocative question, by the author, Patti Digh, has been at the center of my ruminations. "What is the magic yardstick against which you measure your life?"  I've devoted more than a few pages to this question, partly because the standard of measurement, now that I've retired, is still morphing. And perhaps, because I really never took time to consider as broad a question until these past few months.  Too busy, too caught up in daily demands to think this philosophically?!?

I've dissected the success (or failure) of an event or a project; lost sleep considering the quality of a relationship; analyzed ad nauseum why I may feel the way I do at any given moment or think the way I do about a given issue, or person, or myself, but never this particular question.

It's a question I wish someone had asked me at other crossroads in my life.  I might have gotten over my divorce sooner.  Not been so hurt or angry when I didn't measure up to someone else's yardstick.  Not tried so hard to measure up.  I would have questioned not only whose yardstick, but why it sometimes felt as though the yardstick was longer for me than others around me.  I might have taken more satisfaction in my accomplishments.

As the saying goes, however, that's water over the dam.  One of the greatest opportunities of any transition is the chance to take the time to recalibrate the yardstick.  Perhaps to redefine the standard of measurement!  To answer this question, and others of a similar depth, consciously, clearly and confidently.  I'm taking the time and making progress.



"Hope Springs"

I hadn't thought about her for years, but since seeing "Hope Springs" recently, she's in the forefront of my memories.  Her name was Jane. I say was because, although I lost track of her,I know she's deceased.  If there is a heaven, she surely has made it.

Jane was 30 years my senior. Soft-spoken,serene, raised a Quaker, she moved through the world with a quiet charm and grace. She gave meaning to a word we didn't use to describe people in the 70's - she was grounded.

I wasn't grounded. One year after a painful and contentious divorce, I vacillated between anger and anxiety. Jane welcomed me, not with pity, but with compassion and an appreciation for skills and expertise I felt had abandoned me.  As we worked together to produce a critical thinking course for a pre-adolescent religion class, she became my anchor, a touchstone for calm and reason. I so admired and respected her. And I envied her - with a capital E.

Jane was married to a well-respected and well-love physician who obviously respected and loved Jane. Greeted her with open affection. Had a pet term of endearment. Touched her frequently. Listened attentively. Everything I had wanted in a husband, and didn't have.

One afternoon, sharing a glass of wine with them in their beautiful and comforting home, I confessed my envy.  There was a quick glance between them, a smile, a nod.  "Oh, honey, it hasn't always been this good."  They then proceeded to give me a quick synopsis of the rocky road they had traveled to get to the state of wedded bliss I was privileged to observe.

A tumultuous road. Nearly divorcing three times until their grown children, weary of the perpetual angst, called for a family intervention - another term uncommon in the 70's!
Their message, their demand - figure out what it takes to be happy together or divorce and get on with life.

With the help of a good therapist, (I now picture Steve Carrell), Jane and Doc came to realize that they carried so much baggage because they had never learned to fight well. Oh, they "discussed" things, increasingly argued, but their arguments were never resolved to  their mutual satisfaction. Usually, it seemed, to Doc's satisfaction. So, after almost 40 years of marriage, raising 4 children together, steeped in Quaker tradition, Doc and Jane learned to fight to a mutually safisfying conclusion.

By their accounts, they learned the hard way - by finishing the old arguments.  Jane, with a twinkle in her eye, illustrated by pointing out the pock marked fireplace, bearing the battle scars of a complete set of dishes destroyed in a fit of frustration and with a dose of satisfaction. Left unrepaired to remind them of their commitment to be happy together. Whatever it took.  Recalling that scene I still smill. I still sit in awe of that level of commitment.

Commitment is what I think "Hope Springs" is about. Not the humor conveyed in the publicity trailers. Although there are comedic moments, this is most definitely not a comedy.
Not even the sexual frustratrations of a long and increasingly unfulfilling marriage. Although the sexual difficulties are the emphasis of the movie, and heads up, there are a couple scenes that could be uncomfortable.  At the heart of this drama is a couple who, like Doc and Jane make a commitment to finally learn how to be happy together. Whatever it takes.

So, I enjoyed "Hope Springs".  I'm pretty sure not everyone would.  It has, in fact, received mixed reviews. I doubt it will earn the amazing Meryl another Oscar nomination. But it is a courageous film, calling for vulnerability on the part of the cast and the audience.  It is a mature film.  Certainly thought provoking. Asking not what it takes just to stay married, but the level of commitment to be happily married.

And who knew that Tommie Lee Jones could be a romantic hero?  Hope springs!



How Quickly We Forget

A sign of the times? With the exception of a few guest appearances on TV by some Olympic gold medalists, the games are "last week's news." All the hoopla, the real and fabricated rivalries, the daily medal count, the endless commentary, the dissection of each performance, the statistics, the broken records - over. The pomp and circumstance, like the flame, extinguished.

I do love the Olympics, especially the summer Olympics, but not for any of the above. Rather, it's the human element that grabs and holds my interest. The individual stories of dedication, discipline, and drive. Dreams realized and dreams crushed. Arrogance and humility side by side. The commitment of not just the athletes, but their families, and coaches, and communities. The incredible sacrifice for the sheer possibility of - in most cases - simply participating.

So, the two moments from these games that I place in my album of Olympic memories have nothing to do with gold medals or broken records. Not even anything to do with US athletes, but rather with two individuals whose names I can't recall, and in the case of one of them, the country she represented.

The first, the young South African runner, competing in a semi-final heat, finishing last, but finishing - on prosthetic blades he's worn since losing both legs as a child. Cheered on by the crowd and embraced by the winner, it didn't matter that he finished last. He finished. And realized his dream of competing against able-bodied runners in the Olympics and making it to the semi-finals. No medal, no beating his chest, no self-congratulatory boasts. Just humble acknowledgment, satisfaction, and appreciation.

The second image - one I caught accidentally. A young female runner, the first woman representative of her Arabic nation. No skin tight leotard for her. Again, finishing last, but finishing. Her own record, though. The first woman - from an Arabic nation!

I've thought about these two young people often this past week. About their courage, persistence and tenacity in the face of overwhelming obstacles, obstacles most Americans can't imagine. Driven, not by gold medals or breaking records, or potential endorsements, but by some inner desire to do their personal best. And in doing so, accomplishing what so many would consider impossible.

I'm chagrined by my ruminations over how to spend my summer. So thank you, wherever you are, for your inspiration.  For reminding me, once again, that what I complain about or fret over is often merely inconvenient or uncomfortable!



Delayed Reaction

July in St. George - the dog days of summer. Daily temperatures between 100-115, driving the snowbirds north and full time residents in search of cooler climates for vacations. Putting many community activities on hiatus for July and August - activities that occupied much of my time these past months.

This abrupt cessation in activity, a regular occurrence every summer in St. George, is new to us, and I have found it disconcerting to say the least. With our house in order, and major projects complete, I felt adrift.  Initially reacted with uncharacteristic angst and anxiety.  I slept poorly, watched a lot of mindless TV, got lost in computer games. Finally, bored and frustrated with myself, I turned inward and dove into my personal journal, writing page after page of "what is going on here?" Surfacing every day just a little clearer, a little more focused.

My conclusion, duh!!!  In retrospect, so obvious. If I were observing someone else, I could have called it in a heartbeat. Having no children, no longer a career, no all-consuming projects (like moving in), no special avocation, and suddenly very little external structure, I'm finally facing retirement straight on. This transition is far from complete.

So, now I'm deep into the my journal considering questions like:

• What, if any, issues have I been avoiding related to retirement?
• How much freedom is too much freedom?
• How many choices are effective? Should I be deciding or continue exploring?
• When is enough, enough?
• Of the several activities I pursued last fall, which do I want to continue and why?
• I most enjoyed my drawing class and suspect drawing could become a true avocation, not just a hobby...so what's holding me back?
• What if I carve out a studio niche? 
• How about returning to college rather than take community courses?
• How can I contribute more to this community that I have grown to love?
• How will I use this gift of unstructured time to create more structure for myself - driven more internally than externally?

Next summer, the only challenge I'd like to consider is how to deal with the heat!!

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Questions, I've Got Miles and Miles of Questions!

A few years ago, I read The Answer to How Is Yes, by Peter Block, in which he posed that we are asking ourselves and our organizations the wrong questions, and thus arriving at inadequate, frequently poor answers/solutions.  He postulated six more potent questions, the last of which I found to be the most provocative.

"What is the question whose answer would set you free?"  Even though I couldn't come up with a good example of such a question at the time, I filed it away, satisfied that I would recognize one when I heard or saw it - or better yet, posed one myself.

Well, I've stumbled upon a great example, for me at this point in my life.  For others who are in the midst of a transition, I suspect.  Wish I'd come across it at other turning points in my life!  The question? 

"What is it too soon for, too late for, just the right time for? ~ Dawna Markova 

Haven't got an easy answer, but that's one of my criteria for a good question.  No quick or glib or superficial response will do.  The question persists, niggling at the corners of my mind, burbling in the background like our water fountain, surfacing when I least expect it.  Demanding an answer. Even as I engage with it in my daily journal, as I have on several occasions, I end up with cursory or partial answers, and yet more questions.  Why do I think it's too late?  Who says so? Why am I hesitating? What if.....?

 And then, another question from the archives - What would you attempt if you knew you would not fail? ~ Robert Schuller

So, for the time being, just hanging out in the ambiguity, trusting that within this, no, these questions, is the kernel of something interesting and exciting for the future. 



Still Meaningful after All These Years

This year marks the tenth anniversary of my battle, no, war, with cancer.  I was operated on in April, 2002 and had chemo over the following months.   Now, summer in Vegas is brutal.  Throw in the brutality of chemo - well, I fought every day just to remain remotely optimistic.
Admittedly, I read a lot of lightweight, escapist novels when I wasn't watching old musicals.
I think I saw every Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly movie ever produced and know the words to every song in "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" and "The Sound of Music". 

I also read several books on Buddhism and Taoism, and anything that promised to provide some inner peace, some sense that life would be even better when I got to the other side.  They helped. I read a lot! Therefore, when I recently created a home for the books that have mattered the most to me over the years, I was surprised to see that only one book from that period made the cut.

Most days that summer is a bittersweet memory, popping up again only when I have my bloodwork or hear of a friend or acquaintance waging the same war.  But I wondered as I put the book among its neighbors if I would find it as moving, as impactful as I did 10 years ago.  I wondered why, this book, of the many I read that summer, was so important.

So, I've started to reread I Will Not Die an Unlived Life, by Dawna Markova.  Although the title seems most appropriate for someone with a life-threatening disease and Markova was dealing with leukemia at the time, it is the larger theme of the book that should speak to more people, that speaks to me again at this time in my life - recovering passion and purpose.  I'm fascinated by the questions she asks of herself and her reader, wrestling with them in my journal.  And moved by her honesty, her compassion and her eloquence.  Beside being insightful and courageous in recounting her own journey, she is a beautiful writer. Her metaphors are magical, her stories engrossing.

It is a fine book that can remain relevant 10 years later, that can have meaning during the hard times and the good.  When I am done with it, it will be returned to that special shelf.

I Hope You Dance

I've come to believe that one of life's greatest challenges is to stay grounded in the present moment; at least, it is for me. Granted, it can be vital to deal with the past and an uncertain future can scream to be shaped and secured, yet, it is the present moment that bears the unexpected gift and opportunity. And I almost missed it last night.

It was the first auditions for So You Think You Can Dance, a show I have grown to love; but the real action starts when the top 20 young dancers have been chosen, so it was tempting to skip for now.  However, It is also one of the few shows John and I enjoy watching together; so I chose to at least give it a shot.

Now, I can become easily distracted by an incomplete chore, an upcoming event, a niggling worry, something else I'd rather be doing.  My mind wanders, I fuss and fidget. I get up during every commercial. Last night, thankfully, I stayed engaged and was rewarded by examples of grace and commitment, of kindness, dignity and sensitivity. And pure, unadulterated joy.

There were, of course, the young dancers, many delusional, I fear.  Some quite talented, and a few AWESOME - with a combination of talent, skill and passion. They are why I watch this show and am never disappointed.  Last night, however, it was a judge who captured my attention and my heart (for other afficianadoes - Nigel).  Quite unexpectedly, too, as I have an historical bias against him shaped by what I have considered to be past inappropriate behavior and comments.  Last night, he blew it all away with three exchanges.

One, with a young autistic man who has a desire to dance, but alas, neither talent nor skill.  Nigel let him down gracefully, treating him with great dignity and respect, commending the young man's courage in performing before a crowd and encouraging him to continue dancing.  It was a demonstration of kindness and consideration we could use more of. 

The second, when another young man said he was auditioning so that his mother, in the rear of the audience, afflicted with a rare eye disease that was destroying her vision, could see him perform on stage before it was too late. Nigel brought her forward, gave her his seat and held her hand. Whatever else happens in this competition for her son, they will have that moment etched in their memories. And so will John and I.

The last, the moment I most treasure. A young mother of two, also in the audience, was to perform. Nigel call the youngsters, aged 2 and 6, up front to watch their mom.  When she finished, quite successfully, she commented that her two-year old daughter also loved to dance.  Well, even if you didn't see it, you can guess what happened next.  Up on stage the toddler hopped, resplendent in her little pink tutu,  - and proceded to twirl and dip and point a tiny toe. To dance with joyous abandonment, present only to the music and some inner imperative to move. An infectious joy that touched the judges, the audience and the two of us.

I've thought of that toddler frequently today. Of her delight, her complete absorption in the moment. Of the parents who have obviously encouraged and nurtured her. Of what it might feel like to dance with such abandon, such joy, such presence.



What's a Girl to Do?

Have really been chewing on the question of when enough is enough. And wouldn't you know it, in the midst of all my considering, observing, deliberating, pondering - I came across two seemingly opposing points of view.

The first, on a tv show on the local education channel. The topic - simplification. The premise - that we have too many choices, more choice with less available time. The solution - reduce the number of choices by resisting advertising, shopping where there are fewer choices, and creating and following few and simple routines.

The second point of view, from a book titled life is a verb.  The topic - living more intentionally.  The premise - that we limit ourselves by doing and thinking the same things, playing it safe.  The solution - every day for 37 days do something that takes you out of your comfort zone. See a movie you wouldn't typically consider, listen to music you wouldn't typically choose, try a new restuarant, learn about a topic that challenges your current thinking, etc., etc.

Too many choices? Not enough? What's a girl to do!? Well, I really hate either/or. So in the spirit of both/and, my solution (at least for now) is to significantly limit the number of choices related to material "stuff"  by simplifying our environment, limiting spending, developing simpler household and personal routines...while ALSO listening to music I'd never entertain before, taking a drawing class, reading genres of writing I've avoided in the past, trying out alternative routes, even cooking occasionally!

And...so far, so good!

So Many Questions, So Little Time

        "Judge a man by his questions, not his answers."   -  Voltaire

Love this quote, and love a good question.  One that provokes deeper thinking, a challenge to static opinions, a quest for new possibilities. Especially, of myself.  Questions that further understanding and new learning.  Sometimes I go in search of them.  Other times they pop up at unexpected times and from unexpected sources.  Usually, they serve me well.

So, I find myself pondering several questions regarding this issue of considering alternatives:

• Why can/do I generate alternatives more easily in some areas of my life than in others?
• Why is the generation of alternative approaches or possibilities so satisfying in itself?
• Do I/when do I hang out in possibilities to avoid a difficult decision or to avoid having to take action?
• What criteria can I use to judge when/if I have too many alternatives to consider, or, conversely, too few?
• I dislike, even distrust, either/or thinking - is this at the heart of why our political "debate" infuriates me so much?  Why I also see the polarization as frightening, rather than merely frustrating? 
• Under why conditions am I willing to consider alternatives (whether opinions or recommendations) posed by others?  Under what conditions do I shut down or dismiss outright?  What are the implications - for me, for my relationships?

I want to hang out with these questions for awhile, just pay attention, notice, reflect.  Not settle for the obvious or easy answers.


                                                

What's Important?

This venture, considering alternatives for the future, is taking me down some interesting pathways. I am, as I initially intended, revisiting old journals to see what I may have forgotten, what original dreams I have given up on, what themes or patterns of thinking could open up new possibilities.

But I am also journaling now in some ways I haven't before, an alternative in itself.  This new "special journal", for example, simply asking myself at the end of the day, "What's the most important thing that happened today?" Heaven knows, I've filled pages on what I haven't liked about a day. But what's important? And why it's important?

Some days nothing seems to have been important. Some days, two or three things seem to be and deciding which is most important proves to be the most valuable aspect of this little exercise. Case in point...our tradition of listing, on Thanksgiving Day, what we are grateful for over the past year. Taking turns, usually while we are driving somewhere. Started on a whim. A ten year tradition now.

Reflected that night - was it important that we continued the tradition? Or that the list was so long? Or that we agreed so often? Or that he seemed to enjoy doing so - in the past, I think he just humored me. Ultimately, I decided that what is most important to me is that I have a partner who is willing to create tradition with me and still healthy enough to do so. Talk about grateful! 

Don't know yet if I'll continue this practice, or whether it will lead me in new directions, but for now it seems - well, important.