Category: Inner Peace (Page 6 of 20)

Gouda good enough?

07/16/2018 /

The meaning of life.   Cheese and crackers.

Which would you choose?

This is the message behind a wonderful New Yorker cartoon, where a wise looking man in a cloak with a staff comes to crossroads and sees these signposts…one pointing in one direction to the meaning of life, the other pointing to another direction to cheese and crackers.  Powerful stuff there!

On the one hand, wow, actually having a grasp on what life is all about…the purpose of everything that has brought you this far…the meaning behind the pain and joy and monotony of each day’s events…and yet, there’s that whole ‘what do I need right now’ thing.  Like maybe a little protein. Some nice artisan cheese, crackers from Trader Joes.  A little Sauvignon blanc.  Put my feet up.

Ahhhh.

How easily we could choose the cheese.

Life’s hard enough, right?  Actually understanding the meaning of life, now that could take some time. Might make our heads hurt.  Because surely it’s complicated and difficult…and we left our notes at home.

Or is it.  Is it actually so simple we would be stunned.  Unable to even take it in, believe it, process it.

What if it was just, be kind to others?

Be gentle with the earth?

Love one another?

Wait…is that easy, or hard?  Guess it depends on how you look at it.  Who you are.  And what kindness means to you.

And once we knew what the meaning of life really is, we’d have to actually follow it, right?  We couldn’t just go back to how we’ve been doing things.  Like cursing other drivers.  Or pretending we don’t see the elderly person walking painfully slow alone in a parking lot.  Or not helping someone who speaks another language figure out how to get a transit ticket.

Cause we’d know better.  And then what?

We eat cheese for a lot of reasons.  It tastes good.  It goes great with certain beverages.  It’s fun.  And it’s protein…a little shot of strength that can keep us going.  Why else would we put it in strings that can be consumed on the go?

And for full disclosure, it’s at this point I have to confess my favorite name for a band of all time is The String Cheese Incident.  You can check out their music here.  They hail from Colorado, so you know they’re good.  Best name ever.

But I digress.

Maybe the real lesson to this cartoon is that we sometimes just have to stop and laugh.  Look for humor in what is often a very unfunny world.  Try to find that bit of silliness that really I think exists in just about everything anyway. Because life itself can be exhausting sometimes. And sometimes, you just have to take a break.

Perhaps the best solution is to carry a little sustenance with us as we make the journey, so can keep moving forward toward self-actualization without having to turn back when we get too tired.  Or hungry.  Or scared.  Or bored.  So our backpack should have some protein in it.  Something delicious we enjoy.  Comfortable socks in case our feet get wet.  A whistle in case we need someone’s attention.  A compass in case we get lost.

And lots of belief in ourselves. Enough to take us all the way there.  So when we arrive, we aren’t empty.

Have the cheese.  Eat the crackers.  Add a little dessert.

Your path matters.  But don’t forget the small moments of joy along the way. They are what will get you home.

“Here is the world.  Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  Don’t be afraid.”

      Frederick  Buechner

 

 

 

 

 

 

Putting ourselves back together.

06/25/2018 /

I have this clock. It’s a great clock.  I have had it for almost 40 years.

I found it many moons ago at a flea market.  There, amidst the rows and rows of people selling everything from crocheted coasters to plants to license plates to baskets, was an older gentleman who clearly had a way with wood. He had several items he had handcrafted. I saw this clock and was immediately drawn to it.  It wasn’t particularly beautiful, it was more how simple it was.

A very large face with large numbers (having always been quite nearsighted this was an immediate plus) and on the back was  small box that was attached…almost like a kit…the literally was the “guts” of the clock.

There are four buttons on this box.  Each one can be pushed, as well as turned.  The first one lets you choose a particular chime.  The second lets you adjust the level of volume for that chime.  The third button lets you decide if you would rather only have the chime during the morning hours or the evening hours.  And the four button is the one you push to simply get the clock to start ticking.

And it only takes two batteries to run the whole thing.

Over the years, I have loved how dependable this clock is.  I’ve enjoyed the chime, although in later years, I value my sleep  more so I haven’t elected to hear that. But it’s been so easy to keep running. When time changes, all I have to do is open the glass front..turn the hands…close the glass and push the button the back and it’s ticking again.

It’s like an old friend.  Familiar.  Dependable.  Something I can count on.

And it’s been with me through a lot of tense times.  Evenings I stared at this clock wondering why a boyfriend didn’t call.  wondering what time I would hear about a loved one’s outcome from a medical procedure.  Dreading the day ending when I didn’t want to face the next day’s events for whatever reason.  Or wanting time to stand still so a moment would last forever.

It’s moved with me at least five times, two of which have been across the county.  So recently, when I made a move that was only about 20 miles away, I of course assumed my clock would go with me and find a new home on the wall.  That changed when I opened my trunk after many trips to unload personal items and the clock fell out and hit the garage floor, its guts hanging out the back like strings of spaghetti.  Or to  be more graphic, like real guts.

Intestines.  My intestines.

It really felt like I had killed something.  I was crushed.  I vowed I’d find an old-fashioned clock repair person and get it fixed.  Weeks went by and I didn’t do it; the injured timepiece sat in a box, disemboweled and silent.  Then one day I thought okay, this is ridiculous, either take it somewhere for repair or put it completely out of its misery. Get a new clock.  Move on.

I did neither.  I sat down with it, started trying to fit the pieces back in the box, loaded the batteries back and accidentally hit one of the buttons.

And it chimed.

I started laughing.  This can’t be.  So I pushed another button.

It started ticking.

Even though some of the guts still hang from the box, the clock is working again.  Keeping perfect time.  It just was waiting for me to give it a chance.

I can’t help but think how that clock is me in many ways at different times of my life.  Maybe you can relate.  You feel like your insides have been ripped out of you.  You are wounded.  Hurt. So disappointed in someone or something that you feel like things can never be the same again.  Never work like they did before.  It’s all over.

And yet, if you’ll pick things up and rearrange them a bit, they snap back into place.  As though the universe has just been waiting for you to realize that nothing is every really broken.

True, sometimes it’s smartest to walk away from something.  Turn the page.  Trade it in.  Start fresh. Let it go.

But when that broken thing is us, maybe we just need to be reminded just how strong we are.  How our guts have gotten us this far and they are still inside us.  How our heart might be broken but it’s beating.  How our mind is so very tired but it’s still on our side.

And when it seems someone else is unraveling, we can sit with them until they can put their insides back together as well.

I’m so glad to have my clock back.  It was always there, just waiting for me.

I hope I can do the same for someone else.

“Sometimes when we think things are falling apart, they might just be falling into place.
      Anonymous

 

 

Gee, do I look that old?

06/11/2018 /

“Gee, he sure has aged.”

 “Wow, she must have had a rough life.”

 “Gosh, when did they get so old?”

 “Wow, she’s got a lot of nerve wearing that at her age.”

 “Does he think no one realizes he has no hair?”

“Why doesn’t she use sunscreen?”

 “I’ll never let myself go like that guy.”

“Rethink that outfit, you’re not a kid anymore.”

“I guess he must be a lot older than me after all.”

 

“What? You mean they are my age????”

 

“But I don’t look that old…do I?”

 “I guess I better think twice before wearing this.”

 “I feel a lot younger than that.”

 “Wonder if others are thinking that about me?”

 “Where did the years go?”

 “Who is this person in the mirror?”

It’s so easy to look at someone else and decide we are older or younger or thinner or fatter or more moisturized or more weather-beaten or whatever…and why? Does it matter?

Isn’t it supposed to be about self-love and self-care? How much more peaceful to accept ourselves and do the same for other boomers and those older…without rating ourselves on an “age scorecard”.

Sometimes I really do forget my age, because inside, I don’t feel a whole lot different than I did 25 years ago. At least it feels that way most days, except when I’ve walked up the stairs 13 times in an hour. Then I confess I can feel every year in my knees. (Actress Betty White, 96, said the secret to her longevity was “a bad memory and a house with stairs.”)

But in my mind, I still look at the world as something to be explored and life as something to be cherished. There are new places to go, new food to eat and new friends to make. So really I think my age is a consideration only when it can get me some cool discounts or spare me from re-experiencing a few of the best- forgotten follies of youth.

IMG_0611 - Version 3It’s when I look at another person in my age range and start comparing myself that trouble can begin.

Of course, advertising doesn’t help. There are few wonderful seniors in television commercials and print advertisements who look like real people and wear their wrinkles proudly. Of course, it’s usually a commercial for a prescription drug, adult diapers, or laxative.

Excuse me, but could we please see a few more people over 50 buying cars? Shopping for clothes? Dining out or cooking a meal? Surfing, hang gliding, exercising, or sailing?

But we all know television isn’t real, right? (It isn’t.) If we feel good enough to try something, then we should go for it, as long as no one’s going to get hurt.

So what if you walk into a yoga class and you think you’re oldest one?

True, you will be invisible to some of the youngsters. But there’s likely at least one thinking, “How cool is this…I want to be like him/her and still be taking care of myself when I’m that age.” And let them wonder what “that age” is.

Or if you’re headed to your 50th high school reunion, just remember:  when you were in high school, you probably thought everyone else was cooler than you.  You quickly learned that was ridiculous, that everyone felt insecure.  That’s probably still true.  At least now, we know it just doesn’t matter what’s on the outside.

So go for it. Learn it. Ride it. Read it. Live it. Don’t worry about your reflection in the mirror.

Chances are, you’ve never looked better.

ROCK that wrinkle!!

 

“The mind is everything.  What you think, you become.”

               Buddha

 

 

 

Keeping your cool.

05/31/2018 /

First, it’s hot.  Just plain hot. Too hot. 

I know it depends on where you live, but chances are, you’re already sweating more than you’d like by now.  And it’s only the first few days of June.  Egads.

Second, it’s harder for us over 50 when it gets this hot.  We tend not to realize we are thirsty as soon as those who are younger, so we have to keep a water bottle with us and drink from it all day long.  Really.  Sip it every few minutes and you might keep from getting dehydrated or at least a blinding headache.  The heat also just makes you feel weak and listless.  You run out of gas halfway through a task (and this is when you are inside, usually in air conditioning).

Listen to your body.  Rest.  Get cool.  Wait until dusk to cut the grass or clean out the trunk of your car.  it’s just not worth it.

But even more than the seasonal heat, everything seems hotter right now.  The air is filled with hateful tweets.  Angry vices take over the news.  Irritating political commercials make outlandish claims and force us to listen to people we would never give the time of day to if we sat next to them at the office.  It all makes you want to find a shady place by a mountain stream and put your bare feet in the water, close your eyes and just feel that gift of peace.

You can’t make people stop spreading their heated words.  But you can turn down their volume.  Or better yet, hit the mute button.

Turn the channel.

Don’t read the angry Facebook post.

Delete the email with the doctored photos.

Walk away from the person who wants to tell you the racist joke, since it seems to all be “okay” these days to mimic very, very very behavior set by those in power.

Turn away.  

Instead, breathe some cool air.  Have some iced green tea.  Listen to your favorite sonata.  Sit with a grandchild in the grass and string together some clover.  Buy a popsicle and sit on your front porch and enjoy it.  Watch the lightning bugs at night.

Take back your summer.  Take it where you want it to go.

Let them rave.  You’ve heard it all before.  Hot air doesn’t last long.  Heated words blow back on those who choose to spread hateful messages.  You know better.

Put down the phone.  You won’t miss anything important.  And you might create some wonderful open moments for other things to happen.

You carry your treasure within.  Let yourself enjoy it.

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.”

      Ralph Waldo Emerson

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