Pick any landscape

Once in a while I read a poem that sinks into my soul. One that I hold onto tenderly. There is so much to love in these words from poet Maya Stein. Not forcing ourselves to find beauty in ordinary landscapes, not looking at the world through some imaginary set of rose-colored glasses. No, this poem feels like permission to get close. To see and feel the roughness of life. If you can bear the stillness of not looking away . . . there is the chance for softness, breath, openness.

Thank you to Jan Falls and Heart Poems for introducing me to this poem. It changed my life.

what to love when you’re running out of things to love by Maya Stein

Pick any landscape—a kitchen counter, a waiting room, that part of your body
you shield from photographs—and narrow the distance between you. At first,
the stains will monopolize your eye. Each blight and crack and overgrowth,
a seismic disruption. If you can bear the stillness of not looking away, if you
step even closer, the contours will begin to lose their meaning. The noise
of an old story will fade. New shapes will emerge, like petals after a hard rain.
I’m not saying you will desire, suddenly, the pits and pores of the world,
or that your hands passing over every rough surface will feel fresh tenderness.
But you’ll notice your breathing has softened, your heart a door you can open
past the jambs. How there’s room for what you see, and everything you can’t.

The Joys of Elderhood

I am knee-deep in transformative work, primarily related to the intersection of ageism and ableism. And I have a new physical therapist who is helping me to address chronic pain with paradigm-shifting work called postural restoration. If this sounds like upheaval, that’s because it is. It’s hard work, and I am immensely hopeful.

Everywhere I turn, there is something new to learn and I LOVE it.

Just finished reading this really cool interview, This is 70: Chris J. Rice Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire. Sharing an excerpt here:

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?
It’s surprising how philosophical I have become in the last twenty years. Instead of thinking less, I think more, read more, write more. In a wider ranging and experimental way. I have not become more conservative as marketers and political pollsters would have us believe about seniors. No. In my particular old age, I have become more liberal, and equalitarian, broader minded, untraditional. Radical. At last, fully free to be the child I once was in the backseat of the car staring out the window trying to imagine the lives of all the people we passed.

What Makes Sense

My friend Kate has this theory that when a person, place, thing or idea comes her way at least 3 times it’s a sign that she should take notice, pay attention, and act. I love this about her—the way she is in tune and open to the kind offerings of the universe, without becoming a slave to every single idea and whim.

I don’t know if these 3 things are the same, but they feel related, and as though there is some message I am meant to attend to.

1. Comparison. This world can be a pretty harsh place, and finding where I belong is sometimes a struggle. Maybe it’s that way for us all? I often find that I know what’s best for myself, but there is that voice in my head listing all of the ways I am wrong. I doubt I’ll ever be one of those people who just does not care what others think (and I’m not really sure going all the way to that end of the spectrum is the best option either). But I’d like to feel comfortable (less defensive and fragile) when I am out-of-step with the rest of the marching band.

I loved this essay by Samantha Irby, My Taste is Basic. So What? And I’ve taken her advice. Whenever someone questions me about my choices (what I wear, what I eat, how I spend my money, what kinds of pictures I make), I’ve taken to saying, “I like it that way!” Problem solved or at least problem softened.

The wonder of egg shells

2. Poetry. I’ve tried to write a few poems, and I still feel called to try again and again. But mostly I love to read poetry. My friend, Jan Falls, featured a beautiful poem today on her blog, Heart Poems, What Makes Sense by Carrie Newcomer, and these lines settled into my soul.

To the last red radish and first blueberry.
I lift up my face to the summer sky
The sound of larks
And the feel of dirt
To all that keeps making sense
In senseless times.

To the last red radish and first blueberry

In the forest, twisted vines

3. Creativity. I’m participating in a coaching group, Aging with Vitality and Body Liberation, and the leader, Debra Benefield, asked us to list our top 5 core values. Truthfully, I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by core values, but I quickly wrote down these 5.

Creativity
Connection
Communication
Learning/adaptation
Exploration/adventure and awe

I’m sure there are more I might add but these are what I came up with instinctively.

And then there were these beautiful thoughts from David DuChemin, in his post, Creativity: The Missing Ingredient.

Creativity isn't one thing, it's not one characteristic of the human soul or mind, but many traits found in aggregate. Among other things, it is a combination of curiosity, resilience, and courage - all of which, it seems to me, are responses to an obstacle, a constraint. Curiosity is a response to a lack of knowledge, resilience is a response to failure, and courage to fear. Without those counterparts they have no reason to exist.

Family Matters

The 90 rolls of film I mailed away to be scanned arrived yesterday. Many thanks to Chris at Photo 60 for his fine work scanning the negatives. Since it’s too hot and muggy to play outside, I spent the day sorting the pictures. They were all taken somewhere between 1998 and 2003 as near as I can figure. I took them with a Kodak Advantix film camera. At the time, I knew absolutely nothing about photography and the photos were all taken with the camera set to Auto, flash firing as needed.

As I reviewed the images on the bright monitor of my desktop computer, several things became clear. First of all, I took a lot of pictures, at almost every family event, and almost all of them included people. Every birthday party, vacation, holiday, cookout, and bike ride. I also shot roll after roll of film of my family just doing ordinary things in our daily routine. Very few of them were good by any standard of photography, and yet there were many I truly loved. I was shocked by how willingly I experimented and humbled by how often I failed miserably. There were exposure issues, focus problems, and thoughtless compositions. I certainly didn’t scan the frame and think carefully about design elements. Here’s what I know I did: point-and-shoot. And you know what? The results are heartwarming and fun and I cherish these pictures—maybe even more than those I take so carefully these days. I was a better photographer than I gave myself credit for.

Now I am wondering if there is a way to bring together the carefree photography I practiced in those days with the skills I have now as a more experienced photographer. What I see here is the young woman I once was, the one not nearly so concerned with things being a certain way. We all make mistakes as we learn and I have compassion for myself. I’m doing the best I can. Striving for excellence, not perfection.