I feel like now is the time to transform those old, unhelpful patterns. Opportunities for growth. They are all hard. But they are a chance to do healing work that will open the doors for a better future. I’m digging in, working things through step-by-step.
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.
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.
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.
