Mid-Life Opportunity and Smiling at the "Crisis" of Old Age

I have a friend who once told me "you're not going through mid-life crisis, you're going through mid-life opportunity".  I also have an uncle who once told me as a family member I was entitled to have ONE bad day a month.  That's what was allowed.  I'm so lucky to have the people in my life I have in my life.  The words, the role models, the encouragement when needed.

Yesterday was my one bad day of the month.  I dove face first, belly-flop style into a pity party, drowning myself in the feelings that come when I can't control certain things outside of me.  And by nightfall, I had cried a bucket of tears, eyes puffy and head hurting.  Then all of a sudden, like a bolt of lightening pulsing through I had an epiphany.  I have a gypsy heart.  I joke around about being a "pirate".  Wanting to always roam the seven seas.  It doesn't take much for me to begin feeling restless, feeling like there's something "out there" tugging at me, pulling at me... beckoning.  Some people label it depression.  I used to when I listened to doctors who wanted to prescribe all kinds of band-aids.  What I've learned is that when I go through those times, it's my inner voice saying, "Come on!  Let's go!!!"  It's time for me to listen to what my heart is trying to pound into my head.  Time to take footsteps towards the thing or things that fill up my soul.

All it took was that one moment of recognition to ignite a flame inside that prompted me to search out what exactly the universe had in mind for my day.  And by the time my head hit my pillow, several things had happened that made me smile and think to myself...  THAT'S the door I was supposed to knock upon!!!  And now, today, I have new opportunities waiting, new joys to discover and uncover... all because I pulled up some bootstraps and moved myself a few little steps into a new direction, through a new door.  And all of a sudden, more things in my life make sense and feel "right" and "good".

I even found myself today, thinking about mom.  Thinking about how I've gone through the aging process, dimentia and Alzheimer's with both my grandmothers.  And now my mom's brain is beginning to change in a direction none of us can control, especially her.  And all of a sudden today I find myself smiling.  Is that sick?  I am actually looking forward to the opportunities that I think are before her.  Before me.  Before all of our family.  Sure, I know the difficulties that my grandmothers' diseases brought.  But I would never trade what I gained from being present in their lives during those experiences.  They made me better.  They made me stronger.  They made me able to stand back and look at everything from a slightly different stance.  Today I look forward to who my mom becomes.  What she'll teach me.  What she'll demonstrate.  I'm looking forward to the silly things that will happen that will make us all laugh.

All it takes sometimes is to change one little word.  Last night's change?  Alternate the word "crisis" for the word "opportunity" and watch the flood gates unlock themselves and rain down blessing upon blessing.

Squelching Fire With a Li'l Hot Chocolate

At Starbucks this morning I was waiting in line when I heard the conversation start up between the Barista and a little boy who was waiting for his morning's hot chocolate.  It went something like this:

Little boy standing on tippy toes, chin resting on counter ledge, "My mom brought me in for a hot chocolate."
Barista:  "That's so nice."
Little boy:  "She brought me once because I was being good."
Barista:  "Were you being good again today?"
Little boy:  "No.  I heard fire trucks last night."
Barista:  "Oh really?  What were you thinking?"
Little boy's mom:  "We've been through two fires....  (quietly) two deaths.  He gets freaked out when he hears the sirens."
Barista:  "So your mom brought you here so you can have hot chocolate and relax, huh?"
Little boy:  "Yeah.  So she (mom) can relax, too."

I left feeling like sometimes you just get to be in the right place at the right time... hearing the right stories that speak to you.  I love what was given to me this morning.  We all go through terrible things.  Throughout our childhoods, our younger years, our older years.  Traumas.  Hardships.  Heart breaks.  It's how we choose to calm down those fires that leave ashes in us that matters.  And today I find myself smiling and thinking, maybe sometimes all it takes to put out the fires that give us nightmares is a cup of hot chocolate.

What About Bob???

I wrote this while still living in Des Moines, spending time at the art museum taking a break from preparations to move.  For some reason, I've thought about it again tonight.  Maybe because it seems that life sometimes completely catches you off guard some days and grants you inspiration and encouragement.... 

What About Bob???

I watched as one by one people glanced, then walked past.
That in it self drew me in.
White walls, lights glowing yellowish, but clear, canvas hung, apparently “just a white” painting was on the wall.  Same as the walls.  White.  White on white.  With only a hint of shadow in places that made you realize a picture was hung.
Most saw boring.
Or nothing at all.
Maybe carrying an air of “that’s dumb”, and a desire to walk away to find something more dynamic and colorful.
I remembered the old joke, showing someone a blank piece of paper and asking, “What’s this?”  Them saying, “I don’t know.  An empty piece of paper?”  “NO!!!  It’s a cow in a snowstorm!!!!”
I remember this joke from my childhood and I'm thinking it’s still kind of funny.  And who is to say it isn’t real?  Isn't true?
That is what I first saw on the wall.
A cow in a snowstorm.
White on white on white on white.
But since everyone else was moving away from, moving past, moving farther, ignoring…  I was drawn in.  Curious.
Got closer.
Then saw.
Hundreds of intentional brush strokes.  Movement.  Lots of movement in the stillness.  Intentional design and flow.  A mastery of subtleties.  Tricking the untrained eye or the eyes of someone not willing or able to come closer, dig deeper, discover and uncover.  Changes so soft and so naturally embedded, one would never notice from a further distance.  They couldn't unless they stepped away from what was comfortable.    Move into it.  Directly inside the painting.  Almost literally.  Nose up against canvas.  Little hints of disguised color…  but not the artists color.  The observers.  Color collected from the play of light on form.  The reflection of rays off of structure.  A powerfully beautiful dance completely missed by most.  Unseen by all the others who went before me.
Genius.
I’ve studied the artist before.  But I didn’t really understand.  I criticized his work.  Thought anybody, any age or training could throw white paint on a board and call it art.  Interesting how a lifetime of experiences brought me to a new place.  A place where my eyes are more opened, but more importantly, my heart seems to be able to recognize and embrace it.
Next to his painting was mentioned that he “didn’t want anything in the paintings that didn’t need to be there.”  He focused on essentials:  the medium used, (choosing all white), the support (canvas, gesso, all the elements needed to complete the work) and the way the work is (actually) attached to the wall.  He believed it was never a question of what to paint, but rather how to paint it.  By choosing what elements to completely leave behind, leave out, Ryman somehow captured something that spoke of mysticism to me today.  Something so simplistic yet so complicated I found an almost religious experience inside his work.  Something that took me beyond normal conceptualizing, random thoughts and interpretations and into something grander.  All it took was for me to shift my stance.  Change my point of viewing.  Look beyond and through what others thought they saw, what at first, I thought I saw.
Totally inspired…..

Perfection Takes Practice, Practice, Practice

“I can’t force you to practice.” 

That memory hit me like a board in the face today.  My mom introduced me to her piano.  Gave me a few of my first lessons.  But like with most parent/child relationships, it was like pulling teeth for her to get me to listen to her advice, and I imagine it was just as difficult for her to listen to me.  In the end, I relied largely on teaching myself and eventually learned some of the basics from a local piano teacher for about six months. 

Mom would tell me I wouldn’t learn, wouldn’t get better at the art unless I worked at it.  Practice.  Practice.  Practice.  Looking back, I realize now that sometimes sheer belligerence held me back from excelling during times my stubborn streak took hold.  I’ve also understood, though, that some of us are simply born needing music, having to sing, play, explore and learn from sounds upon sounds upon sounds.  And bonding time with my mother’s Gulbransen showed me that practice isn’t tedious or harsh, it’s freeing and hugely powerful.

Why was I reminded of “practice makes perfect”?  Today a friend commented on a thread I posted yesterday on Facebook which said something to the effect that life this week has been reminding me that it works itself out if you have patience.   He stated that he wasn’t there yet, implying that I was.  Instantly, upon reading his words, I recognized that life keeps giving us opportunities to practice… to rehearse.  And one of the things it allows is the space to develop the art of choosing how we feel in the present moment, in the here and now.

The morning was filled with little girls (my nieces) running late for a soccer game and their parents prodding them along.  iPads were keeping them from staying focused on the job at hand, so they were promptly removed and immediately anger and sadness and frustration set in.  You could feel it coming from them, almost thick enough to cut with a knife.  I suddenly, on the drive to the park, felt so grateful for what they are showing me, what they are teaching me.  They sometimes seem caught in their own emotions.  Sad begins with one little rock thrown in and it ripples outward, growing in dimension and size until I’m sure from their perspectives it seems as though life is horrible and they will never know joy again.  I had one of those “eureka” moments.  If we can harness staying with ourselves, within ourselves, each moment while it happens, we can also consciously pick how we want to feel, how we want to spend our time and energy, our only TRUE commodities. 

Do I want to waste even one precious moment dwelling on something invisible?  Something I can’t reach back and grab onto, no matter how hard I try sometimes?  Or do I want to keep my eyes and heart open and sit in the park and notice the beautiful colors of fall trees?  Notice the laughter around me, the love exchanged by human kind?  The beauty that surrounds me on every side?

Practice.  Life is one event after another, affording us practice to get things "right".  I cry.  I get sad.  I get angry.  I get disappointed and hurt.  But I hopefully am learning that I can guide my own energy.  I can shift it and shape it until maybe someday, one day, it will flow freely and won’t be so difficult….  Like playing the piano.

Thank you, mom.

Big Girl Lost, Little Girl Found

Hush, Mama, it breaks my heart to hear

That this is hard for you.

Your tears,

Tumble from your eyes

When you describe

How it feels….

Brain turning to mush….

Hush.

I can’t bear the thought

Of your thoughts being lost

The cost…

Is too great.

You’ve been GREAT.

How do I find the way

To carry this

Or let it go?

I let my tears fall, too,

I guess.

Joined with yours

Until they dry up finally

And turn into laughter.

Giggles and wiggles

Like little children…

Running

From everything

Anything.

Bursting at the seams

Neither of us screams,

Yet it’s there.

The shrillness of the invisible sound

Of not knowing how to be…

With this.

Quiet, Mom. Let’s look away

Or stay

Within ourselves looking out

Confused

At what it’s all about.

Not able to be

Free

Of the fear

Underneath dread

Inside your head.

And you tell me

Just let it be

What it is.

Cry.

Laugh.

Fear.

Until there isn’t any more.

What are we here for?

Shhhh… Mother.

Dry your eyes and I’ll dry mine.

You and I

Thanking Life for one more day.

One more smile.

One more tear.