Category: anxiety

anxiety, discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Over-thinking And Missing The Point

mimijk

See High Above – Marlena Morling

You step outside

into the early morning

in autumn –

 

And at the exact same instant

a scrap of paper

floats over –

 

High in the blue

blustery library

of the air –

 

You look up

and you see it rushing

and lifting

 

even higher

into the transparent layers

of the sky –

 

And at once,

you know

it is a message –

 

A message

that there is no message.

The scrap of paper

 

is just a scrap of paper!

It is weightless

and free

 

The world is just

the world –

And you are exactly

 

who you are –

Also floating now

high inside

 

The invisible

balloon of

another moment.

What if we could just let it go?  Give ourselves the grace of not second-guessing, seeking the ever-deeper answer, reflecting on our belly buttons until we can no longer remember why we got so engrossed in the first place (hint – there’s nothing going on worthy of self scrutiny of your navel)?  What if we took the worry du moment and greeted it, acknowledged it for what it is and then remember that whether or not we hold it, its resolution will come?  How would our day unfold if we wrote our sorrows on bits of paper and cast them into the wind – for whether we clutch them with tight fist or hold them loosely or let them go – the only thing that will change is the cramp in our fingers?

I hold onto things for too, too long.  I carry them with me as if they are some unique treasure that must be coddled and cared for, when realistically they have little long term value.  The typical takeaway for me is that I shouldn’t have wasted so much emotional energy.  ‘Lesson learned for next time’, I tell myself.  And this little voice in my ear laughs and wonders who I’m kidding.  The truth is, that which should be held onto for that extra moment longer are often the things we miss as we’re moving on – a hug that transmits love, a conversation with a friend who just needs you to be one, a tumbler of Grand Marnier in front of a fire (or hot chocolate with marshmallows – and you have to get to the marshmallows at the perfect in-between-time when they’ve melted but are still formed).

Why is it that every time – every time I look up at the sky and ask “Please?” and say “Thank you” (which I do often enough in a day that I probably am developing a reputation in the neighborhood as the lady with the dogs who walks around talking to the sky), I am lighter?  And if we know that our most peaceful moments come when we let go, do we insist that each time we don’t, we’re justified for doing so?   I swear to you I have some thoughts on this – and I know you do too.  In the interest of perpetuating my adapted version of National Listening Day, I’d rather hear why you hold on so tight, when we could instead release such encumbrances?  What do you think?  Anyone feel like letting go of the string?

anxiety, discretion, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music

When There Are No Answers

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“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” — Zora Neale Hurston

It really is a little frustrating to consider how long it’s taking to get back into my groove.  I’m still crazy tired,  remain in stitches (though I’m not laughing), swollen, sore and without the energy to even consider where my get-up-and-go has relocated.  I know it hasn’t even been a week.  I’m petulant.  I don’t care.  This place I’m sitting in feels like really thick  pea soup and I don’t even like pea soup.  At about this point in my kvetching  I begin to talk to myself (needless to say the tone is harsh and very imperious – you don’t argue with a voice like that).  In effect she says, “Will you just knock it the hell off?  So what?  You’re uncomfortable?  Get in line and in the interim, puleeze shut up.”  And I do.

In the span of time that I have assumed the position of a lump, so much has been happening around me that perhaps my absence of movement is by universal design.  Someone’s heart is aching with the uncertainty that comes with self-doubt and fear of loss;  another prepares for a familial re-arrangement that will demand her energy and facility with the emotional bob-and-weave.  One friend works to rebuild her family’s factory post-Sandy, ending each day more exhausted and spent than the day before,  knowing full well that tomorrow the day begins again.  And another story is beginning as an amazing soul works to establish herself in a new position which combines her tremendous talent with her equally impressive sense of aesthetic.  I see a person I care about being forced to consider new employment for reasons which make an ethical retired HR exec break out in hives.  No one is curled up on the couch right now, covered up in the deliciously soft and worn blanket with the embroidered words “just be”.

My friends are caught in various stages of the years that pose the queries.  Some perhaps are closer to answers than others.  And if there is one thing that we all share it is the need to embrace the times when we just don’t know, when the answers are elusive (perhaps because we’re asking the wrong questions),  and the only option available is to keep asking.  Keep being uncomfortable.  Wonder, doubt, assert, withdraw, huddle, hide – and ask.  Now is not the time to stop asking, for closure without answers that feel good in your skin,  is no closure at all.  Learning to love the questions is a little like learning to love being out of balance.  Out of balance means that you can grab for something to keep you from falling without having to hold onto it forever.  Out of balance means that you see the world with the perception needed to focus on one thing – and perhaps seeing it with the most exquisite clarity.  Out of balance means that you are exercising the emotional muscles that have to be toned to keep you upright, albeit shakily.  Love the  questions as much as you seek the answers.  They must be posed – this is their time.

I too am asking questions all the time — from the mundane (why can’t they just find out what is taking up real estate in my jaw) to the more complicated (what is my next dance step?  what music feels right?  what am I waiting for?).  This is the time and I am not shying away from the exercise.  Yes, it makes my heart beat faster, tears fall with a little less censorship and sometimes I’m sure that I am jumping out of my skin.  And then I focus on an enormous blue jay holding a twig of crepe myrtle in its mouth, knowing with certainty he’s off to build a future.  Aren’t we all?

[youtube.com/watch?v=EcH6rHAH43w]
anxiety, discretion, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

That Space In Between

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Home from the hospital – sore, swollen, fat jaw, bruised eye.  You should see the other guy.  Seriously, he looks great because I was asleep during my limited introduction to the doctor’s graceful hands and exacting instruments.   To add insult to injury, I think I even shook his hand before the procedure began.  Of course, I befriended the nurses, anesthesiologist, anesthesiologist’s assistant, nurse’s aide, phlebotomist and the volunteer who checked me in.  My interest is genuine and it also hedges my bets.  To like me is to help me if I need it and I really try to be a likable kind of patient.  Because mostly all I seek is a smile, a little reassurance and a cup of coffee.

I woke up with my heart pounding in my ears – “You’re awake!  You’re alive”  I silently repeated my name and address,  the names of family members, all the dogs we’ve had in proper order.  Wiggled my toes, fingers, nose – all present and accounted for.  Kelly the red-haired nurse who got engaged two weeks ago and is trying to plan a Christmas wedding because she’s also two seconds pregnant, brought me some ginger ale.  Ah, the art of sucking soda through a straw with a fat jaw is a challenge.  Half of the soda stains my hospital gown, the rest manages to make it down my throat.  “Where’s your pain level Mimi?”  About six, I gesture with my fingers.  “Do you want me to give you something for the pain”  Nope – just want to go home and put my head on my pillow.  Someone give Andy permission to get me home.

The reality is that with a circle of angels and a firm belief that there is a God, I got home pretty damn quickly.  And now that I’ve got nowhere I have to be, I will settle in and calm down, spend a bit more time soothing the voices in my head that tend to repeat stressful moments over and over – and over.  The whole thing took far longer than originally planned, for they removed two nodes instead of one.  But it’s all good – between the slices sent to microbiology and the samples to pathology perhaps we’ll know exactly what these interlopers are made of and how we can kick them out of their residences. Hey, maybe there’s a poem about neoplasm in here!   I hesitate to write too much because I still have a lot of meds in my system.  True story – after one of my spinal fusions, I received a call from work with news about a fantastic year-end merit bonus I had received.  Good manners being important to me, I immediately sent off an email to the Chair and the Vice Chair thanking them profusely for such largesse.  A few days later when I was corpus mentos, I read the sent email and it looked in part  like this –  “Thank you so much – I amrealyslpeesed…”  Was I horrified?  Yup – and when I called them they each laughingly assured me they were archiving the messages as a sample of when my writing ability eluded me.  Nice guys.  But I learned the valuable lesson that it is better sometimes to defer your communications until you are able.  In fact, there should be a warning label on medication which says “don’t drive or operate heavy machinery and if you feel inclined to write something, move away from the keyboard and whatever you do, don’t hit ‘send'”.

So before I make a WordPress fool of myself (wouldn’t be the first time, though it may be the first time it was unintended), I’m going to sign off.  Thank you for your prayers, your smiles, your sunshine, your teasing.  Thank you for your good wishes, better friendships and outstanding support.  Thank you for grinning if you find this sounds a little un-Mimi like and still read it all the way through.  And when I can lift a glass of something less benign than ginger ale, I will raise a glass to you.

 

anxiety, discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation, music

So Much Love

mimijk

My in-laws celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary yesterday.  What do you say about two people who have successfully navigated the tricky waters of marriage and have spent  far more time together in their union than as single people alone?  My mom used to say you never really understood another couple’s relationship unless you slept under their bed.  I have no intention of crawling under anybody’s bed –  least of all my in-laws.  So, I can tell you what I see.  I see two people with a profound abiding love, who memorized the steps to their dance and have never tired of the music.  I see a man who will go to the ends of the earth for the girl he fell for only yesterday, who protects her with a stoic dignity that requires no bluster or bellow.  You don’t cross Pop when it comes to his wife.  And why would you – seeing and celebrating their love teaches more than most life lessons – and without the pain it usually takes to learn something once and for all.  I’m not going to pretend to understand the chapters of their story, the private moments that define their relationship, the challenges they have faced.  I can marvel and applaud their love, their devotion and their unity.

Next Wednesday I go into the hospital so the surgeon can remove one of these little gremlins that has taken up residence in my jaw.  Though we know it’s benign, we still don’t know what they are, or frankly why the hell they’re there.  All will be well.  I know this – it’s not a Pollyanna thing.  I’m not saying that I have no anxiety – that’s just disingenuous.  But as long as we can keep this to one procedure, I’m good.   I’m good because of my small constellation of friends who have been circling me like the angels that they are.  My friends who don’t ask me to let them know what they can do, they just somehow know what to do.  My daughter-in-law who just checks in with a  concern that leaves me weepy (there’s nothing that can make me weepier than my children).  I’m good because of Andy, though sometimes his sensitivity chip is disengaged.  Because even when he misses the cue, or waits for guidance I can’t provide because I’m groping around in the dark, he really loves me very hard.  And in that way, he’s like his dad.  And in that way, I’m a very lucky woman.

In these chilling days with winds that blow in personal moments of uncertainty, we gravitate to those elements that warm us, anchor us to the ground so that we don’t fly away on the breeze.  I look at my in-laws and know that together they are in the most loving of hands.  I look at my husband and I know I am home.

[youtube.com/watch?v=c4D40r-E7yk]
anxiety, discretion, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

A Shocking Admission

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I suppose it’s time that I tell you a long-held secret about me.  It will certainly surprise you;  perhaps you will feel that I have duped you for these past seven months.  I’m truly sorry, but it was something I needed to do.  Now that I am coming forward with this admission, I can only hope you’ll understand.

I am a super hero.

If I could lower my head in shame for having withheld this from you for so long, I would – but then I couldn’t see the screen and would make too many typing errors.  By day, I am a completely unassuming woman, hardly distinguishable from any other woman of a certain age.  In this persona my height serves me well,  for often I can go practically unseen (unless of course someone trips over me).  The Sirs rest comfortably – the house is filled with that mellow glow associated with abundant calm.  I walk gently through life – thankful, secure and full of granola.

As the sun begins its descent in the western sky, my synapses begin to fire with a fervency that is hard to control and my breathing accelerates.  I feel my heart pumping with the  intensity that Olive Oyl used to have when she would see Popeye (yes, I’m dating myself – but work with me).  My thoughts begin to race as if they were competing in a track and field event.  Yes, it is time.  As the moon rises, I become

 I use the nighttime to obsess and worry issues and potential issues to death.  If there are no problems to be slain with my powerful concern, I will create some.  After all, I consider it my duty to keep my little circle of friends and family safe from disconcerting  ‘what ifs’ and ‘could bes’.  I leap from one outcome to the next, determining options and exit strategies, potential routes to happiness and/or obstacles to success.  Have a terrible boss?  I’ll worry that one for you.  Are you feeling flu-ish?  Don’t fret – I’ll jump to pneumonia and back with the expectation that by the time I return you will be feeling much better.  Kids plucking your very last nerve?  Fear not, I can go from worst case diagnoses to kids just being irritating,  before you can say “Mimi, put the DSM-IV down”.  As you can imagine, these midnight meanderings are exhausting.  I am probably the only person who is happy that Daylight Savings Time is over, because the sun rises earlier – shortening my super hero work schedule.   Now you know why I post so early in the morning – it’s my way of capping off another fretful night of slaying imaginary scenarios and plotting the capture of one too many unpleasant outcomes.

As the sun comes up I return to my leggings and sweatshirt, take the Sirs out to commiserate with a tree or two and look up at the sky.  And I become the person you have come to know.  The person who literally thanks God everyday for the gift of the morning.  The person who can’t yet meditate but can take up a small, easy space in this world and delight in doing so.  The one who believes that miracles happen all the time if you keep your eyes open, so why the heck am I worrying anyway?  At the end of the day, we are all contradictions in terms – super hero and every-man/woman;  Broadway star and bathroom lounge lizard; successful professional and frightened sham;  Big Kahuna and one who wipes out before even reaching the wave.

“To be alive, to be able to see, to walk, to have houses, music, paintings – it’s all a miracle.  I have adopted the technique of living life from miracle to miracle.” — Arthur Rubenstein

 

anxiety, discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Coming Home

mimijk

We pulled into the driveway last night, and I exhaled.  Home.  We could hear the Sirs barking – they knew we were here.  Everything was just as we had left it on Wednesday, nothing had changed.  That craving for the familiar finally satisfied.  My anchor, my protection, my comfort.  Home.  I need to be here right now.

I submit that in the medical lexicon, there is no more magnificent adjective than ‘benign’.  The pathologist called me while we were in Hilton Head and said “benign”.  I remember saying “Thank God and thank you so, so much for calling me.”  She liked my hair – I gave her the name of the woman who turns my gray hair into some credible fictional derivative.  I love horses – she told me about an organization where I can volunteer by helping children with disabilities experience the confidence-boosting experience of riding.  Then she added that word I abhor – “but”.   “But, I have never seen anything like this before…sending the sample to a colleague at Georgetown…probably should be removed.”  Do I tell her that I feel a third little coffee klatch of ‘rogue’ cells getting together for a little chat?  Does it matter?  “Benign”, I tell myself and take long deep breaths.  I really should learn how to meditate.  Andy tried to teach me once, suggesting I select a word that I could repeat in my head to help eliminate extraneous thoughts from interrupting my concentration.  I came up with ‘Pepsi Cola’ because I liked the rhythm of the two words together and started to laugh so hard that I ended up rolling on the bed, clutching my stomach and snorting.  Pepsi Cola – really?

At the end of the day, all will be well – I know this – I have no doubts.  It is just that time between now and getting-to-fine that makes me want to cocoon, and feel the safety of my familiar.  Knowing how perfect the coffee will be each morning, which way to turn the kitchen faucet so it doesn’t drip, sharing my kitchen chair with Teddy and rubbing Archie’s tummy with my foot.  Sunday crossword puzzles and fuzzy socks.  Football.  A storm coming in (actually a storm coming in wherever you may live on the East Coast of the U.S.) and power outages expected.  I am ever hopeful that our lights will stay on this time, even though our history this year suggests otherwise.

When I walked the Sirs early this morning, the silence was too loud not to notice.  A few crickets insisted on continuing their conversation; other than that –  not even a whisper on the wind.  A leaf fell on the asphalt.  I heard everything acutely, having so few sounds to identify.  An hour and a half later and the wind is beginning to wake, each bend of the trees an acknowledgement perhaps of what is about to come.  ‘Get ready’, the air muses,  ‘for change is always on the wing’.  And despite the uncertainty, I challenge the breeze – for it is benign.

anxiety, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Getting To Enough

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Thank you Molly Mahar – whoever and wherever you are.   This resonates with me.  Especially the mistakes part.  I have made and continue to make a lot of mistakes.  Even if I were less self-deprecating, I wouldn’t register on the perfection scale,  and that’s a-ok with me.  Of course there are things I’d like to do better, and I’ll keep trying – but perfection?  No thanks.  Not only is it illusory, it’s a state of hubris which in and of itself is imperfect and insufferable, so there you go.  I choose to break the cycle before it starts.

What I can stop doing is obsessing about all the things that I don’t get right.  The conversations that miss a beat, the nuance I fail to notice.  Not checking in with my friends and family enough (whether or not they check in with me with the same frequency), taking tomorrow as a given when I should consider it a gift.  Over-thinking.  Oh that’s a big one.  I looked at the quarter moon this morning and thought it looked like the perfect tip of a french manicure (which by the way, isn’t really French at all..).  And then I considered this an insult to the moon.  All of the magnificent analogies about ‘la luna’ and I end up with a french manicure?  How ridiculous.  But I digress (something else I do way too often – please tell me that is part of my charm)…Holding on to something way past its expiration date.   Adding so many ‘shoulds’ to the ingredients of my daily stew that I end up stewing so long that the meat of the day is too tough and chewy to be delicious.  I could go on, believe me  – and this would end up being a tome.  Boring and self-focused, and a tome.

I’m working on the adventurous part.  Lately I have pulled back and in, needing the security of my home and the time to delight in little events in the day that often go unnoticed in the quest for intrepid activity.  There was some Hatfield & McCoy turf war in the trees yesterday afternoon (well at least that’s what I think was happening).  Scores of wrens were chirping at each other, flying back and forth frantically between two trees, circling with the derision that only one wren can have for another.  Despite the absence of wind, the trees were shaking with vigor generated by this family feud.  One woodpecker was apparently trying to broker a deal – giving up eventually because his shrieks did nothing to appease anyone.  An adventure?  Perhaps not, but in my head the story unfolded as one.

And yes, earlier this week a stranger in the Starbucks line started to talk to me and I responded with “You can see me?!” (Long story, but a few of us in the blogosphere agreed to do this – and I was the only one who did – do I know how to have an adventure or what?).  The person replied, “Of course..” and kept talking.  So much for seeking adventure.  I guess adventure comes to she who just keeps her eyes open throughout the day.

So I’m thinking that it’s time to arrive at the place where I accept myself as being enough.  Doesn’t mean I’m not going to continue to try to be a better person, wife, mom, sister, friend – but perhaps with a little less self-flagellation in the process.  I’ll remember that the gorgeousness of humanity is in the sparkle of the soul.  And of one thing I am certain – we all look great in sparkles.

 

 

anxiety, discretion, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Whichever Way You Go

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“I can’t say I was ever lost, but I was bewildered once for three days” –Daniel Boone

Another reason for me to feel sizeable respect for dear Daniel – only three days of bewilderment?  No wonder he became a tv star and iconic figure – the guy knew where he was going.  I imagine him looking for animal scat, tasting berries and understanding the topology of the land so well that he never needed to ask for directions. I’m bewildered most of the time – and that’s with a GPS system.

I’m not even sure I know how I ended up here.  Recognizing that I have been with myself  throughout the last fifty-eight years (with some minimal exemptions through infancy and a few times in college), it seems somewhat disingenuous to beg disbelief, yet…how many of us can say that our lives are playing out exactly according to plan?  This isn’t a bad thing – it’s a respectful nod to the reality that for all of our planning, devising, fantasizing, considered thinking – life is going to happen and unfold in ways unforeseen, ways both magical and horrible.  And for all the control that we wish to assert over our lives, we also have to let go and let it happen.  Because it’s going to with or without permission.

This is a hard pill to swallow for those I know who are pretty controlling.  And yet, it can also be freeing.   I choose to believe that the fates have been inordinately kind, giving me moment after moment to savor, chance after chance to try again, years of frenetic activity and days of magnificent solitude.  My losses have been deep and define my emotional shoreline, offering protection against day-to-day irritants that no longer cause further erosion.  Love is represented in the highest elevations and they continue to rise.  Laughter, like wildflowers gone amok, proliferate the land I walk.  And all that is unknown is the forest I hesitate to enter, at times choked by fear and other times brazen with curiosity.   But given my poor sense of direction I’m probably not all that intrepid – I only go as far as the light allows,  for I have to be able to see my way out of the density of trees.  This I think is the caution that comes with learning a few lessons along the way.

And so it is this morning, with the Sirs asleep (one in my lap, the other on my foot), hot coffee in hand and the most comfortable silence imaginable, I can tell you that I have no clue where this road leads.  What I know with certainty is that I’m walking on some spectacular ground, surrounded by the whispers of my friends and family on the wind.  I’m planting as much of my best as I can, for I do believe that you get out of this journey what you put in.   And with that knowledge wherever I end up, that’s where I’ll be.  Ooh la la..

anxiety, humor, life lessons

An Ode To Entomology

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If my thinking is incorrect I offer an apology

I am told the study of bugs is known as entomology

So if that’s true I’m wondering where all those experts are

For the marmorated stink bug has returned from fields afar

 

They’re clinging to the screened porch and the doors that lead outside

The windows are no safer, for into their seams they hide

They’re propagating with ferocity, their will to live intense

The bugzooka has been broken with its suction rife with dents

I’m thoroughly disgusted, by their armor and their shell

By their asserted squatters’ rights which are making my life hell

Please  understand it’s viral, like an insect form of MRSA

These bugs are killing my morale instead of vice versa

anxiety, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness, motivation

Make It Better

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I hesitated posting this because I know of no one who hasn’t read this before.  And yet it’s so perfectly accurate, that to ignore the message is to deny the peculiar juxtapositions in our lives today.  It is no less astonishing when one pauses to consider that we have constructed this catch-22.

Perhaps we would be well-served to step away from our lives every once in a while and define our perception of success.  Certainly for me, my kids have always been at the top of the list.  There have also been times when my well-being was at the very bottom, while I rode the wave of wanting more – more money, more responsibility, more stuff, more of everything that would furnish my life with the accoutrements of success.  I have never surfed in my life, but I was really quite good at riding that wave to the shore, and going out again.  I’ll take it further – I almost drowned once (my uncle fished me out of the ocean) and quickly developed a healthy love of the ocean – from its shallows.  Yet, any phobic reservations were ignored as I pursued the next big wave.

No one tells you that the ride is hardly exhilarating when you flop onto the sand,  remembering little of the thrill, your board damaged from the multiple rides.  No one suggests to you that you need far better balance to love the waves.  No one reminds you that a happy life begins with your approach – not to things – but to everyone else (including your own sweet self).  Take a few seconds and give it a thought or two.  When was the last time you made eye contact with a stranger and said “Good morning”?  Did you get outside on one of these magical,  clear, gorgeous days and notice that the air is gently circling your skin with a really loving touch?  Instead of a break from sitting in your desk chair, when was the last time you took a break just to get to know the person who sits in the office down the hall?  The cashier at the supermarket?  How often did you dance this week?  And if you found the time (and we all have the time) to do any of these, did you integrate that moment into your daily post mortem?

See?   Even the occasional monkey takes a minute to think about this sort of stuff.

I think there is a better way.  And it’s not particularly difficult, just a little more embracing of that which is around us.  Smile – fake it til you make it.  Donate five minutes of your day to grace – the silent thank you, the conversation with a stranger who is really not a stranger, because you see him/her all the time.  Laugh hard – make your tummy sore.  Remember to say ‘I love you” – and look that person in the eye when you say it.   Don’t wrap yourself so tight that you can’t move outside your head.  There’s more out there than your thoughts, your list of have to’s, your aggravations.  Find something you have never noticed before and marvel at how little we see when our eyes are wide open.  Learn that this day is yours to turn into something for which you can feel awesome.  And then do it.  Happy Thursday everyone…

anxiety, discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

How To Hold On And Still Let Go

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There’s a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver that I’d like to share with you – it’s title is “In Blackwater Woods”

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

 

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

 

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

 

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

 

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have learned

 

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

 

is salvation

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

 

You must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal,

to hold it

 

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it,

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

Fall is breathing its freshness into the air.  A time of transition – and I’ve never been good with transition.  Once I get to the other side of it, I’m fine – but the subtle and not-so-subtle angina of knowing things must change makes me jumpy.  And yet, fall is when kids go back to school, when the forgiving schedules of summer become more intractable, when we shift our sensibilities to what is yet to be.  I celebrate as my best childhood friend seeks to find her new rhythm now that her daughter has started a new career in a city far from home.  My friend D cries in her daughter’s room after she leaves for her freshman year of college (I totally get this – I slept in my son’s room for two weeks).   I sometimes still wonder where my place is in my own little family – as the boys have established their own married lives and I had to give them the room and space to go about their adult lives – and on a daily basis, their schedules and plans have nothing to do with me.

And all these children/adults are doing exactly what we have wished, dreamed and prayed for – they have become caring, responsible, decent people who are loving and loved.  People who are delighting in the lives they are making for themselves.  These are the times when I remember clearly the words of the rabbi at our wedding, reminding us that we are not lucky, we are blessed.  I think about that a lot.

I think about how I’ve yet to let go of my parents though they are no longer here.  In my heart, my friend Alex never hurt with such relentless despair that she would have to leave this life.  I hold on.

I hold on to being in my junior seniorhood and inwardly jump up and down when my trainer tells me that I can still rock ‘cute’.  Of course I’m paying him, I know that – but there are few adjectives for retired cheerleaders that aren’t totally nauseating (and I only did that for one semester in college).  I listen to a friend as she struggles through a huge life change and wrestles with the idea of letting go of that which is already gone.  And look forward to a wedding this coming weekend when two young people let go of their old lives to begin one together.

Perhaps the salvation is not in the letting go, perhaps it is in holding on loosely.  Not necessarily with the intent to try and reel the past back in, but to able to regard it as a touchstone from which to move forward.  To know that as life proceeds without our permission, that which we love with all our being still remain in some way ever-present.  Perhaps that is how we can move forward and embrace the transitions that leave us breathless.

 

anxiety, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Hedging My Bets

mimijk

“Superstition is foolish, childish, primitive and irrational – but how much does it cost you to knock on wood?”  — Judith Viorst

You know by now that I believe that our outlook on life is largely dependent upon what we choose to see.  If we are suspicious by nature, we will find much to be wary about;  if driven by the need to find fault – there’s more than enough out there to satisfy the need; the shallow heart will find no grace, etc.  The converse is also true – if you find this world an intriguing place to be, I promise you moments upon moments of wonder.  And, if you have a tendency to stare life in the face with a smile – there is much to find that will amuse and delight.  Yes, yes I know – once again I am being simplistic, for I am not writing about the horrors that cannot be avoided, the wars that continue without surcease (or even purpose at times), the frightening twists of fate that defy explanation.  So bear with me here, and let’s go back to the original premise, ok?

I spent yesterday afternoon in a hospital waiting room – Andy had to have his knee scoped and a ligament tear repaired.  First and foremost, he’s fine.  He was in the operating room for under thirty minutes, recovery for an hour or so and when I saw him in recovery, he was sucking down Diet Pepsi like it was nectar and tearing open saltines and graham crackers as if they were haute cuisine.  His eyes were bright, his thoughts a little muddled and his awareness of the crumbs falling down onto his blankets as he inhaled whatever the nurses gave him, definitely compromised.  In other words – my boy was back.  And I whispered “thank you”.

But this is about the micro-society known as ‘the waiting room’.  Fascinating place.  Just to caveat this – this is the waiting room for same-day surgeries – everyone gets to go home at the end of the day.  In the back of the room, there was a family of eight – they brought enough food with them to feed a third world country and the smells were overwhelming.  An abundance of mayonnaise, ham and cheese and popcorn really smells. First they thanked God for their food, then conversation began to flow which resembled a meeting of people with ADD or no real interest in engaging each other in conversation..

“When is Buddy gonna stop visiting with her?  I want to go back before they take her”

“Did you hear about Renee’s son?  I don’t want to say anything but he is t-r-o-u-b-l-e.  What?  Oh, believe me I can tell – even before they’re walkin’ I can tell.”

“Sugar, hit me with some of that Pepsi will you?”

“I heard that John was seen messin’ with that girl who just started workin’ at his job.  No, I didn’t see them, but I’ve heard.”

“Anyone seen Buddy?”

You get the picture.  When Buddy came back, he advised that their loved one had gone to the operating room, which did prompt ten seconds of silence (thank you Buddy).  Disjointed talking resumed.  As soon as the doctor came to tell them that all had gone well, there was a chorus of perfectly timed “Thank You Jesus, Mary and Joseph” and a short prayer recited by all giving thanks for everything going well.  Honestly, I was surprised they could say anything in unison – let alone the same thing in unison.

The woman sitting next to me was waiting for her husband to have knee replacement surgery.  She told me all about her own knee injury from years ago, her daughter and son-in-law, (they separated for awhile but now they’re back together, “knock on wood”) and what a crotchety patient her spouse was going to be (“I can say that now that I know he’s going to be just fine,” she said).  The gentleman to my right was on the phone talking about some horrid surgery he had had on his shoulder, with details so graphic I had to get up and get some water.  And I couldn’t help but overhear, “Don’t say that man, no jinxes, ok?”

Miscellaneous information – the volunteers who keep families apprised of patients’ statuses are women over the age of ninety-five.  Very sweet, all three wearing wigs that in one way or another need some adjustment (I swear, one woman had lost her forehead under that hair), all six freckled hands ended each conversation with a pat on the back, the shoulder, etc.  Well, all conversations when they weren’t talking amongst themselves about going to see The King And I at WolfTrap this Friday, their seats, favorite songs, what to wear.  But how can you begrudge anyone that senior who is volunteering their time, when it’s the one item in their pantry in the most limited supply?

I could go on – the waiting room was full.  I learned about procedures, siblings, a teenager who broke his wrist during pre-season football practice (his mom insisting it was because he wasn’t wearing his St. Christopher medal, his dad disagreeing and blaming it on his son being out with his friends the night before practice – we are always looking for explanations aren’t we – even when it’s an accident).  Adult identical twin sisters wearing the exact same outfits – ‘for luck’.

By the time I saw Andy, I was more than ready to leave this hive with its cacophony of buzzes.  But I’m no different – just quieter.  I whispered my prayer to the morning sky, making sure I could spot a star before any words came from my lips.  Last week, when another member of our family was in the hospital, I paced and negotiated and kept looking for signs to assure me all was well.  My friend Suz says that when she sees a dragonfly, she thinks it’s a sign from her dad.  Suz, I’ve seen an abundance of dragonflies lately.  One even stopped and hovered in front of me for a few seconds.  I did say “Hi Sam” – even though he and I never met.  The other morning, with no wind tickling the trees and the sun not yet awake, one tree began to sway with determination –  demanding that I notice.  One of my angels?  A message from the universe that it knew I was there?  I prefer those notions over any explicable scientific phenomena.  Why there are more butterflies hanging around than usual or why the twin fawns rest in our backyard with no intention of fleeing even when they hear the Sirs and I on the deck.

Superstitions?  My mother saying “tu tu tu” (or something pretty close to that) every time someone would say anything that needed to be protected from a negative result,  wishing someone well and hearing them say “from your mouth to God’s ear”…There’s a negative connotation to superstition; a more understandable and accepted perspective when one attributes such actions to faith or tradition.  At the end of the day, we’re hedging our bets when faced with a situation that could end either way.  We’re putting our money on faith and hope.  And we’re betting it all.