Shawshank Wisdom

It can all start to feel like death by a thousand paper cuts.

Aging.

It happens to the best of us.

With every new trip around the sun, passing day, and next breath, we’re older than the ones before. The process does seem to accelerate though. Injuries that used to heal quickly now take longer to mend. Joints that didn’t hurt yesterday make themselves known today. Checking things out to see what this or that might mean, or not mean, becomes a more common occurrence. One can tire of having to think about, tend to, and tolerate a body that isn’t what it was not so long ago. At least this one does.

However.

Given that getting older is here to stay, there’s a choice to be made about what to do with what we’ve got.

Open our arms wide in acceptance, or shrug our shoulders in resignation.

One is active. The other passive.

To accept is to welcome, receive, and participate in. To resign is to give in, quit, and withdraw from.

Acceptance is about taking life on. Resignation is about letting it go.

Or in the words of Andy Dufresne, “get busy living or get busy dying”.

The Pushback

Well, just when you think you have it all figured out, you find out that you don’t.

If you read my last piece, Here’s My Card, you’ll know that I created a new business card. Not so much as a way to market myself, but to introduce myself. The me, myself, and I that is now 70 years old.

In that blog I make no bones about the fact that I’m not a fan of the camera. It’s the rare photo of myself that I like, which means that every time another photo op comes along, I’m already tense and pretty sure it’ll quickly become another deleted photo. Which it often does. It’s a vicious cycle that’s been hard to break.

In real life, not in front of the camera, I actually think I’m pretty cute. Beautiful, even. I walk through life, into a room, or up onto a stage with confidence. Confidence in who I am, what I bring, and, how I look. But bring in a camera, and all bets are off. It’s like, “Wait, that’s not how I look.”

The blog was waiting for subscribers to my newsletter when they woke up this morning. My eldest daughter texted me about what I had written. She wanted to push back against what she had read. Her text brought me to tears as she talked about how she sees me. In her eyes, I’m beautiful. Always have been, always will be. Even when my hair was permed. (That might be taking it a little too far. If I was meant to have curly hair I would have been born with it.)

After our text exchange, she followed up with a Marco Polo. I learned three things from her beautiful, honest, and insightful message:

Even though she no longer lives in my home, she’s still paying attention.

We are always modeling what it looks like to the generation behind us. More than anything I want them to see what it looks like to age with grace. To embrace the changing face in the mirror with love and respect, wrinkles and all. To fiercely tend to the needs of a body not meant to live forever. To laugh at ourselves because it’s good medicine for whatever ails us at any age. To look through the camera and connect to the people on the other side of the photo.

It’s time to make friends with the camera, because every photo captures an irreplaceable moment in a never-to-be-repeated life.

How we talk about ourself matters.

Our thoughts create our words. Our words create our stories. When we tell our stories, others are listening. What is the story I want others to hear? If, as I profess to believe, that we are all created in the image of God, then every single one of us is beautiful in our own unique way. And that includes me.

It’s time to talk to and about myself as one who reflects the beauty of the One who made her.

Deeply rooted stories require uprooting.

My daughter reminded me that my dad feared old age. He fought it. He denied it. He made some of us a little miserable in our efforts to love and support him well as his time on the planet grew shorter. I wonder if my apple doesn’t fall too far from his tree. There isn’t a ready answer to that question. Maybe yes, maybe no, probably a little bit of both. Regardless, there’s still plenty of time to do something about it.

It’s time to dig in, dig out, and cultivate a better story. A more accurate story. A story that I want my children to be able to tell their children about who I was, how I lived, and, how I left.

Like I said, just when you think you have it all figured out, you don’t. Which is why we need people in our lives who love us enough to push back.

Over Winter?

We are so over winter. At least that’s what I am hearing from almost everyone I know, and plenty of people I don’t. People are tired of the cold, the gray, the wet, and in my little neck of the woods, the snow that just keeps coming.

But what if winter isn’t done with us yet?

It’s been a long winter.

What, I wonder, is preparing to grow?

What, I wonder, needs a little more time in order to be ready to flourish?

What, I wonder, will show itself, if we are willing to wait but a little longer?

Whatever it is, I’ll bet it’s worth the wait.

The Spin

Is there anyone who isn’t ready to be on the other side of the pandemic?

I didn’t think so.

It feels like enough already. Except it isn’t. And probably won’t be for longer than we would hope. Which doesn’t mean that there isn’t reason to be hopeful. There is. But only if we stay the course.

And.

Staying the course is hard.

Let’s not make it any harder than it already is.

Maybe it’s all in the way we choose to spin it.

Rather than see it as always having to be careful, let’s see it as always being full of care for one another.

Rather than see it as having the discipline to always do it right, let’s see it as having the dedication to always do the right thing.

Rather than see it as never being able to gather with our loved ones, let’s focus on doing what it takes so that we can.

Rather than see it as all too hard, let’s see it as the hard work that will get us all through.

Rather than see it as a divisive political issue, let’s see it as a way of uniting us as people.

The quickest way to the other side is to stay the course. Let’s not make that any harder than it already is.

Maybe it’s all in the way we choose to spin it.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Like A Hawk

In front of our home there is an expanse of open field that stretches out toward the mountain. Trees are scattered around the perimeter, and on any given day It is likely that you will find one of the many hawks that call our little valley home perched on the top of one of those trees. From that vantage point they are able to scan the entire field for possible prey. These sharp eyed birds don’t spend all of their time on a tree top, nor do they endlessly fly about in search of their next meal. They seem to know that in order to survive, it is necessary to get a good look at the bigger picture before heading out to do what hawks do.

When it comes to us humans, we could take a lesson from these birds of prey. It is easy to get so caught up in our daily rounds that we forget to take time to pull back and get the big picture view. We simply go and do. Go and do. And, go and do some more.

Any free space on our calendars gets filled by the next request, because rather than pause and head to a nearby treetop, we swoop in on the date and time, and if it’s open, we let the next commitment snatch it up. Simply doing something because we can isn’t necessarily a reason to do it.

If we want to spend our days and expend our energy on who and what we value, we have to learn to pull back and get a hawk’s-eye view of the field that is our life.

Photo by Harrison Haines from Pexels

Feedback Anyone?

How often do you wake up in the morning and hope someone asks Do you mind if I give you some feedback? For most of us, those words rarely lead us to think that someone has something awesome to share with us. We generally prepare ourselves to hear something that shines a light on our shortcomings, failures, or mis-steps, and the truth is, sometimes, ok, many times, it does highlight something that we didn’t see ourselves, but wish we had.

This morning, after reading my latest blog post (Sunday School) which talked about the biblical story of creation and what it might tell us about ourselves, my husband Tom asked if he could share his perspective with me.

Umm. Sure.

“If someone didn’t know your theology, they might think that you believe that the world was literally created in six days. They might not understand that you were saying that the story is meant to point us to a much deeper truth.” My first response was that he hadn’t read it carefully enough, and then I remembered who it was that was offering me the gift of his feedback. As a scientist and a writer himself, he is a careful reader, and, he is also one of my most trusted voices. When he speaks, I (generally) try and listen, so took a deep breath and asked him to tell me more.

In my mind I had specifically written that piece to point to a deeper truth, not as theological commentary on anyone’s understanding of a powerful story of creation. I wrote it to encourage each of us to take seriously the unique errand upon we have been sent. To remind us that when we do the work we are called to do, and share the gifts that are ours to share, we can look upon all that we have done, and see that it is good. Just as the Creator does in the story. That was my point. Tom’s point was that readers might get wrapped up in a theological debate and miss the point altogether. It would have only taken a little more effort on my part to provide some context for my readers. To set the table a bit better before inviting them to partake of the offering.

It’s never fun to feel like we’ve missed the mark, and yet missing it is the only way we can improve our marksmanship. Whether as a writer, speaker, teacher, or coach, the only way I can get better is through honest feedback from trusted sources. The same holds true for all of us. In order to become more of who we are meant to be, to live into our fullness, and yes, to reflect the image of the creative power behind everything, we need to hear from others what they see in us that we cannot see in ourselves. Feedback is always a gift, not because it is always accurate or right or deserved, but because it provides a perspective other than our own, and helps us better understand how we are showing up in the world.

Whether that world took 6 days to create, or 4.6 billion years.

Photo: Pixabay

The Parking Space

You know those people who always find a parking space right when and where they need it?? I know. Right?!

I’m one of them.

When we first got married I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Tom always took the first parking spot he found, even if it was in the last space in the last row in the last outskirts of the parking lot. Not that this approach is all bad. It assures us of a spot, gives us a little more exercise, and is usually closer to the exit when it’s time to leave.

However.

It didn’t occur to him that a better spot would show up, and being the easy, laidback guy that I love, he was good with that. I wasn’t. It didn’t occur to me that a better spot wouldn’t show up. Case in point. Last Saturday we had to head in to Hood River to pick up food from the caterer for an event later that day. Weekends in our bustling little tourist mecca start to heat up this time of year, and parking spaces can be hard to come by. Unless you’re me. About a half an hour before it was time to pick up the food, we were sitting in a shady spot having a little lunch and Tom mentioned that it might be virtually impossible to find a parking spot near, much less in front of Boda’s Kitchen on a busy Saturday, especially since they are located in the heart of downtown. He would drop me off and then drive around the block while I ran in to pick things up.

First of all, this would make things challenging as there were going to be multiple large trays to bring out. And second of all, after 25 years together, let’s have a little more faith here.

Heading up the hill we could see Boda’s, and the parking spaces in front were taken. He looked a tiny bit smug.

Oh ye of little faith.

Just as we drove over the cross street before Boda’s, the car smack-dab in front of the entrance pulled out, and just like that, we slid in, I retrieved our order, and in short order, we were on our way.

This kind of thing has happened more times than I can count, and I’m not quite sure what it means, except maybe the faith that we will have what we need when and where we need it.

As we pulled out of the parking space I tried not to act too smug, because we all know what cometh before a fall.

Lift Your Gaze

This morning as I was working out, a memory from years ago showed up. Not long after we were married, Tom and I took our four young daughters back east to visit his family in New Jersey. While there we also spent a couple of days in New York City, cramming in as many touristy things as we could manage, including visits to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Natural History Museum, pizza in Little Italy, the Hard Rock Cafe, Phantom of the Opera, Tavern on the Green, and a trip to the Empire State Building. It was this last experience that popped into my head this morning.

We were on the outdoor observation deck on the 86th floor, and one of my daughters was standing next to me, intently peering through a coin operated telescope out across the urban landscape. “Is that it?” she wondered aloud. “That’s all? That’s Central Park?” Following her gaze, I saw she was focused on a small square of green space, probably a small city park or school playground.

I urged her to lift her gaze just a skosh, and when she did, that magnificent 843 acre park came rushing into view. It was an amazing moment to watch her young face turn from disappointment to wonder, and I’m grateful to have been there to witness it. It would have been so easy to miss.

That moment was then, and is now, a reminder to lift our gaze. To let go of our fixation on the small view, making room for wonder and space for possibility.

Image: german.fansshare.com

The Viewing Platform

Whenever we walk our local wildlife refuge, a mandatory stop along the way is the viewing platform. Located at about the halfway point of a three-mile loop, from that vantage point we might catch a glimpse of one of the local elk herds, pairs of Sandhill Cranes, flocks of waterfowl, and on a clear day, a straight shot at Mt. Adams, known to Native Americans as Pahto.

The viewing platform is a spot to pause and take in a larger view than what is visible along the forest trail, and while we don’t always hit the wildlife spotting jackpot, the view is always worth the trip.

Time on that simple structure is a chance to gain perspective, and see one’s life as a small part in the bigger scheme of things. It is an opportunity to catch sight of something that takes our breath away and inspires us to imagine new possibilities. Or, on a foggy day, only hints at what might lay just beyond our sight. A few moments on the platform provide a brief respite to gather our strength, and it is a place to leave behind the old in order to make room for something new.

We all need a viewing platform from which to consider our small part in the bigger scheme of things. And from that place, we can remember where we’ve been, and set our sights on the trail ahead.

Conboy Wildlife Refuge, Thanksgiving morning, 2018