You're (never) too old

When I was five, I was told I was too old for two things. The first was my blankie, a small quilted square my grandmother had made me and that I held onto at night. In bed. Like a comforter. The second was sitting on my father's lap. The loss of both of those broke my heart and confused me. Three decades later I learned that taking those things away from me also broke my mother's heart, but she was doing what the experts in some parenting book told her to do. She said if she had it to do over, she would have followed her gut, not the directions. In that conversation she modeled that you are never too old and it is never too late to say you were wrong.

Now, I believe I may have shared those stories before, but this time I'm presenting them in a different light, giving my mother a break and focusing not on the earlier acts but on the regret she expressed. You're never too old to reframe or extend grace, even beyond the grave.

In the past few years several friends have made major moves across the country even as others are preparing to plant new roots thousands of miles away or just several blocks from their current suburban home. You're never too old to begin anew, to initiate a transition. Yesterday I was at a 90th birthday party. The birthday gal has had her struggles in life, but, despite not really wanting to be the center of attention, she allowed us to honor her. We're never too old to accept a gift or be thoughtful of others.

Society, or some might say propriety, dictates that people are too old for some things. Wearing miniskirts or speedos. Extreme sports or climbing a ladder. A lifetime of experience may tell us we are set in our ways, too old to change. There is some truth in not being able to teach an old dog new tricks. But, I'm equally sure that Victor Frankl's words, "when we can no longer change a situation we must change ourselves," are words I need to embrace. There are some new tricks that I'd like to employ. It won't be easy and will require courage. Probably along the way I'll face more lessons of you're (never) too old category like those mentioned above. Perhaps you've also a challenge you'd like to face. Join me. We can learn together.

Marilyn

Of course it is

You know those times when you think one more thing can't possibly go wrong and then your keys go missing? I had one of those days recently, starting off with stopping at a Dunkin Donuts at 6:30 a.m. to buy coffee for 24 people for an 8 a.m. meeting on the South Side, when the thunderstorm started. "It's pouring," I thought, and added, "Of course it is!" Five people showed up for the meeting. The day continued downhill from there.

We all have those periods in our lives when nothing seems to go right or when we are feeling down. Many of us are able to recognize the bad time for what it is and know that things will get better. For some reason, last Thursday, as I rolled my eyes and sighed at each 'of course it is' moment throughout the day, I thought about those people for whom those feelings are their norm. 

There are dear people in my life who are helped to stave off the constant "of course it is" through chemicals. While great strides have been made in understanding and treating depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and so on, I wish it were more. I wish the clouds on the horizon for so many were cumulus instead of stormy. Having to be vigilant and constant in fighting off 'of course it is' must be so much more exhausting than the energy my occasional visits into that world require. 

I guess this is part of the walk a mile in someone else's shoes philosophy. Perhaps you'll have an "of course it is" moment this week, that is, something will give you a chance to experience the world from another's view. Take advantage of it, for it's one thing that can help build bridges. 

Marilyn

Our etch-a-sketch moments

Every summer we made the 8 hour drive from Buffalo to Bobcaygeon, our 2 week vacation destination in northern Ontario. The 'we' was my parents and me in one car and Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Bob in another and all of us in a large cabin on the lake. Each night after dinner we played cards which I enjoyed, but I would eventually leave them to their 4-handed games and go outside, ending the evening sitting on the dock. As my feet dangled in the water and I watched the moon rise across the lake, my mind could wander wherever it wanted while I enjoyed the gentle sounds of the night. 

In today's world it is so easy to snap a picture of a moment, be it beautiful or ironic or important or tragic or silly. I heard that studies are showing that we are not enjoying or actually being in-the-moment because we are too busy recording it. I'm probably a less-than-average photo scrapbooker, I think mostly because I don't post anything other than these musings on social media. Last weekend a friend and I spent a long time by the baby snowy owls at Lincoln Park Zoo and, I'll admit, I wanted to make sure that I had a couple of pictures which I've shown a few people. Mostly we just stood and marveled. We talked to others who happened to stop by the rather out of the way spot, but they all took a picture and moved on. They can say they saw the owlets. We can say we watched them.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm all in favor of photographs. My walls are covered with them, some more than a hundred years old and others are ones I took that I had printed on canvas. While a photo captures a moment, it's the feeling, the place, the people I was with that I talk about when visitors ask about any of my pictures. I can still conjure up in my mind the moonlight on the water from all those decades ago, but it's the peaceful feeling that makes me smile. I can shake my head, and like the etch a sketch, shift the picture but remember the feeling. If you are like me, there are many photos on your phone that you could (and perhaps should) delete to make room for your next adventure. Take a few moments this week to revisit your photo gallery and the moments recorded there. See what you need and want to keep and make sure they are safely stored and then etch a sketch away all the others.

Marilyn

The phantoms of 3am

What is it about that certain time of darkness when the mind awakes and will not shut down? You look at the clock and sigh. You've enough experience to know that you are at a very fragile crossroads. Either the brain loop obsession that has just started about the thing you didn't do, should do or should be will shut down. Or it won't. If you are lucky, as you roll over, you find that internal switch and drift off. But, if you are like many, you have entered the zone where you feel most alone, inadequate and afraid and you lie there focused on one particular aspect of yourself, someone close to you or how the world is spinning out of control. Trying to find rest once those demons have arrived is impossible.

You probably guessed that I had one of these phantom visitors the other night. I did what I've done in the past. Found pen and paper and wrote down an important thing that had fallen through the cracks the day before. Ten minutes later I was up and added another note and then listened to the clock chime the quarter hour seven times. 

Now, often the next morning I've been unable to read my in-the-dark writing or the light of day put a different perspective on what was recorded. If it was a task, I usually found a way to handle it. If it was a phrase that I had thought masterful for some future musing, it's about fifty-fifty if my 3am self was truly wise. This time, the forgotten task was important enough to shoot off an early Saturday email to a colleague. A quick response told me it had been cared for.  

So, here are my lifelong learnings about the phantoms of 3am. What seems important usually isn't. There is the possibility that someone else already took care of what I forgot. What is happening is common so I am not alone. Up and down the block, people like me plus parents and caretakers are also awake. Breathing is important and trying to fight the phantoms doesn't work. I can trust myself to know if additional sleep or even rest is a probability and it's okay to put on the lights at 3am. That's it. Nothing profound or perhaps even helpful, except the next time this happens to you, maybe you won't feel so alone.

Marilyn

The blink of an eye

Funny the things you remember. Our driver's ed instructor had a favorite phrase. He continually said, "Size up the situation!" which, at 16 years old, we students could not fully appreciate. We kept track one day, and he said it 27 times in the 56 minute class. The other thing he said that has stuck with me, was that when we sneeze, our eyes are closed for 7 seconds.

Today I have a much better appreciation for how both short and long 7 seconds actually is. It's each one of the scores of times I've swerved to avoid hitting a dog or cat or squirrel or ball followed by child running into the street. It's the times I've held a hand as someone died. It's the sperm fertilizing the egg and the final push as a baby makes it all the way through the birth canal into the world. It's the click on the remote to change channels or on the trigger sending the bullet through flesh and bone. It is the heartbeat when you can't take back something that just came out of your mouth, the lightening when it hits the tree and the initial step off home plate towards first base after bat meets ball. It's the raising of a hand to salute the flag, the time it takes to rise or kneel in prayer. 

Now, I have not googled that fact from 50 years ago. Probably because I want it to be true since I've believed it all these years. Also, probably because the actual number doesn't matter. What matters is the appreciation that it is true that important things happen in the blink of an eye. They can be life changing, thrilling or dangerous and demand our attention. May your eyes be open today to those 7 seconds. 

Aa-aa--choo. What did I miss?

Marilyn