Just When I Think.....

"Future shock is the shattering stress and disorientation that we induce in individuals by subjecting them to too much change in too short a time. "
and
"The illiterate of the future will not be the person who cannot read. It will be the person who does not know how to learn." 
~Alvin Toffler  

Typically, I would choose only one quote to launch a post, but these are not typical times. They are, in fact, the times that Alvin Toffler, the futurist, first described in 1970 in Future Shock, a future time of unprecedented change at an unprecedented acceleration. 

I was privileged to hear Toffler speak at a convention where he described the future of change not only in the United States but globally.   What I remember most vividly is the first question that was asked in the Q and A period following his presentation, and his response.  Question:  "When will this slow down?"  Response:  A smile and then, "I'm smiling because yours is the first question I always get and my reply is the one I always give, not in your lifetime."

I went back to Toffler after reading my personal journal entries from April and May and recognizing how much had changed in the outer world reported in the news and my inner world recorded in my journals in only these past two months.  After I could see how much I felt like a ping pong ball bouncing from player to player to player to player.  After seeing how I could vacillate between the throes of frustration, outrage, and self-doubt one day and the reassurance that my coping skills were more than adequate and then back again, sometimes within one day. Yup, stress and disorientation.

So, I have chosen to reflect on what I am learning, what I may have forgotten that could be helpful, and maybe most important, on evidence that I am learning from this.

• Just when I think I've recovered a modicum sense of equilibrium, something happens to throw me back into free fall.  I come across conflicting information or distressing national news, I forget or lose or break something, I learn of a friend with a serious health challenge.  Sometimes all within one day.  Change does seem to be happening at warp speed.
• Data and information are not enough.  I own the responsibility to seek out the appropriate experts and check the veracity of the information.  (Taking the medical advice of a politician is akin to asking my auto mechanic to clean my teeth!)  
• I need occasional breaks from outside information for my mental and emotional health.  I woke up yesterday to the news and images of protests springing up across the US, to some of the violence that was occurring, to the inflammatory responses being reported from people who could and should offer otherwise.  I could feel the sorrow and outrage bubbling up, so I chose to turn off the TV and clean a closet.
• Taking care of my mental and emotional health is as important as taking care of my physical health.
• An occasional escape from the harsh realities we can now see 24/7 in technicolor is respite rather than denial, healthy respite.
• I'm recognizing sooner the things I find stressful.  Too much negative news at one time.  Generalizations, attack, hatred, denial, although understandable, don't help in the long run.  Maybe at the moment, but not in the long run. Including, and especially, my own even if silently expressed.  Sharing worries and anger, frustrations, vitriol, and fears, although helpful for awhile, indulged too long only seem to exacerbate them.
• I'm also learning to recognize the signs of disorientation soon enough to reorganize - waking in the middle of the night and being unable to return to sleep, becoming clumsy or unusually forgetful, talking faster, feeling irritable or blue for no apparent reason, leaving simple tasks unfinished.  These are my signs.
• Three things help me adjust more gracefully to the next change - staying as conscious and present to the immediate moment, paying attention to what is positive and works for me (rather than worrying about what's "right" or what others think I should do) and looking for creative solutions to the problems I can control.  I'm far from mastering any of this.  I wish I were more agile, but I guess I'm a work in progress.
• It is more helpful to me to challenge my own thinking than the thinking of everyone else.  More satisfying, more possible, and more effective.
• I am more of an introvert than I ever would have suspected.  But I also need to connect with someone every day, and seeing that person, if only on Zoom or Skype, is a pleasure.  I love my little rescue dog, Rufus.  I find myself talking to him a lot, but beyond wagging his tail and rolling over on his belly to be scratched, he can't answer me.  He can't ask the question that helps me slow down my inner dialogue or evoke some laughter when I most need it.
• There is something exhilarating about solving my own problems.  You'd think I had conquered Mt. Kilamanjaro whenever I solve a computer issue on my own.
• Nevertheless, I am still learning when to ask for help.
• To quote Sheldon Kopp, "The world is not necessarily just.  Being good often does not pay off and there is no compensation for misfortune.  You have a responsibility to do your best nonetheless."
• Either/or thinking at best limits possibilities, at worst, it's creating havoc in our public life.  I am striving to remain vigilant when I fall into that trap. 
• It helps to focus on the possibilities inherent in all this change, as much as the breakdowns and problems that present themselves.  I appreciate my home more.  I relish my time with friends.  Having learned that I can weather the depths of my grief over John's passing, I know I can weather the grief of my current disappointment and disillusion in my country.  Eventually, if not now.  I have a much neater home and I'm even learning to enjoy cooking and playing around with technology.    
• The little things.  Thank heaven for a bumper crop of roses, a stranger who offers help, a breeze when it's hot and air conditioning (!), the desert sky at dusk, a friend who calls just to check in, a good piece of chocolate or a glass of homemade lemonade, a happy memory, the quote that helps me make sense of what I'm seeing or feeling or thinking, and always, my sweet little Rufus.  The little things that are always available, just waiting to be noticed and appreciated.  The little things that I am noticing and appreciating more than ever.

Well, I can at least take some comfort in knowing I can't be called illiterate!

Thank Goodness for the Little Things

"In grief, the little things are the big things."

~Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D

Grief One Day at a Time

I have been expressing my thankfulness for little things in gratitude journals for over 40 years.  This practice has been a support through divorce, illness, and times of conflict and stress, but never as much as these past months since John's death.  So, upon coming across this quote recently, I decided to revisit the gratitude journal I've just completed to see what little things buoyed me up this past summer.  Could it be that noticing and appreciating these things contributed to the summer being easier than I had dreaded?  

• a bumper crop of roses - John would have been so pleased
• a hummingbird hovering within inches of my face
• chilled red grapes
• a decent night's sleep
• and an afternoon nap on the patio chaise
• figuring out how to program the TV on my own
• frozen yogurt on a hot day
• a good book - great writing, thought-provoking, elegant - the perfect book for the moment
• an unexpected call from an old friend
• and an invitation for lunch from a new one
• two dozen, yes two, yellow tulips (my favorite flower) from a friend, "just because"
• the desert sky at dusk
• a slice of cheesecake that I treated myself to
• chicken noodle soup when I'm under the weather
• how much better everything sounds with my new hearing aids
• finding an old love letter
• a sudden, unexpected happy memory
• a card, a joke, a silly gift -  moments that evoked giggles, even outright belly laughs
• a customer service agent who actually provides good service
• helpful strangers who reach objects on top shelves without my asking (I'm only 4'11 and need all the help I can get)
• anyone who asks how I'm doing and is willing to hear the truth
• friends who have walked this path before me and can reassure me that what I'm experiencing is normal
• a stranger telling me how much she or he enjoyed John and misses him
• old musicals - especially anything with Gene Kelly
• and gripping British mysteries
• a good news story that sets the tone for a positive day
• stumbling on an inspirational quote
• finding something I've misplaced 
• and always, always, my sweet Rufus, my little companion, who greets me with pirouettes and soft growls, tailing wagging, a guarantee I never walk into an empty house

Reflecting a bit on this list, I can see that this simple practice of recording 3-5 little things I'm grateful for every night is, indeed, one of the little things that is helping me endure this grief.  Without this as an established practice, I suspect I could find it almost impossible to notice the little things. For this enduring practice of finding gratitude for the little things, I am most grateful.

Standing in a Hammock

"So, how was Houston? What did you learn?"  "How is John?" "How are you holding up?"

Today, three weeks since our trip to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, I would answer these questions somewhat differently than when we first returned, having the advantage of hindsight.  First, Houston was in better shape as a city than we had anticipated, remaining water viewed more from the air than in the area of the Center.  The Center itself as busy, as challenging to navigate as ever.  The sight of so many folks in distress as difficult to handle. 

But for us, the fact that they could not get a sufficient bone marrow sample added stress and uncertainty as we had traveled there specifically to check the progress of John's disease.  What we did learn was that currently there were no clinical trials available to pursue.  And that we would have to wait another week for whatever further information could be retrieved from the sample.  The best advice we received was to resume monthly chemotherapy treatments.

I would have said on the morning we left Houston that nothing much had changed as a result of the trip.  And then, in the airport, waiting for our departure, I heard John tell a friendly stranger that he has an incurable cancer and is not sure he will survive another year.  Something I had never heard him acknowledge before, even at times seemed unable to acknowledge.  It broke my heart - and it was such a relief.

For, it has been very challenging for me to hold the reality of this prognosis without impacting his optimism, his conviction that he could endure this long enough for a cure to be found.  That, at least there might be a clinical trial that would provide a better treatment plan.  After all, he beat cancer before. That optimism, however, has been an obstacle to getting our "ducks in a row" should he or before he loses this battle.

Oddly enough, admitting this is a possibility, even a probability has decreased our stress and anxiety.  Rather than be depressed, it has brought us both a sense of calm relief and purpose.  And subsequently, we have adjusted our expectations and aligned behind a commitment we can manage.  We are focusing on three months at a time and a laundry list of to do's that keeps us grounded, energized and in tandem.  

So, how am I doing?  I told someone recently that I'm learning to ride the waves.  "No," she said, "you're learning to stand in a hammock."

And John, well, he recently reminded me that doctors could be wrong.

One Part Reflection, One Part Rant, One Part Resolution

I cannot recall a time when I was unaware of the power of words.  Living with my mother and brother in her parents' home, with a young uncle, an aunt and an aunt by marriage, at the end of World War II, offered a primer in the use of language to convey hurt, worry, anger, resentment and fear.  A primer in the use of language to cajole, ingratiate, belittle, manipulate, and, conversely and thankfully, occasionally to soothe, comfort, console, and reassure.  Unfortunately, too much of the former, too little of the latter.  

Every male of fighting age in our extended family was enlisted and many engaged in combat duty.  Most of the families in Milwaukee's blue collar neighborhoods, probably throughout the country, were in the same boat, coping with the same stress levels, with the same insufficient training and experience to deal with it.

So I learned quickly to pay attention to tone of voice, to sense when emotions were high and arguments were likely to escalate.  I came to recognize the words and phrases that could trigger a volley of insults and accusations, name-calling and laying blame..you never, you always, you need to, why can't you...etc., etc.  I waited for apologies that never came.   I remember the clenching of my jaw, the twisting in my stomach, the tears I struggled to hide. I remember wondering how someone could be so sure of what someone else really meant. But most of all, I remember the bewilderment I felt when people whom I believed loved each other and needed each other's protection could be so deliberately hurtful.   I remember feeling very unsafe.

Those years were the impetus for my lifelong interest in communication - what constitutes effective communication?  What forces impede communication?  What limits our ability to discuss differences?  How much responsibility do I own for how you hear me?  How much responsibility do you own for how I hear you? Each answer leading to more questions.

I now look back on those early years with some understanding and compassion.  People were so fearful, so unprepared.  We lived in isolated neighborhoods, with limited information trickling in via newspapers, news reels, the radio.  We didn't know what we didn't know.  Our perceptions were shaped by rigid cultural norms, strong religious influences and carefully crafted political propaganda.  Our behaviors by history and habit.  Yet, somehow we managed, eventually, to move forward, certainly with some scars, but together.

These past months, however, I find myself grinding my teeth at night, frequently feeling my stomach in knots, fighting back tears of frustration, cursing at the TV, shaking my head in disbelief at what I see and hear in the news, in threads of conversations and shares on Facebook.  Language to convey hurt, worry, outrage, resentment and fear.  Language to cajole, ingratiate, humiliate, threaten, belittle, manipulate.  Language designed to distort, distract, deny.   Perceptions shaped by rigid cultural norms, strong religious influences and carefully crafted political propaganda.  Our behaviors defended by history and habit.  Emotion and belief superseding thinking and reason.  Negotiation and compromise becoming dirty words. And the result - more divisiveness, a rise in bullying and hate crimes, cynicism and distrust.  Lying called fake news.  Threats called bluffing.  All exacerbated by our sheer numbers, the speed with which information - true, false or mixed - can be spread to a population too often unable or unwilling to sort it out.  

What's a person to do?  Well, this is what this person is doing, for what it's worth.  Because I have no idea if we, as a country, will weather this toxicity, but I suspect I won't unless I -

• limit my time on Facebook and with the news,
• confine my energy and attention to a few FB sites I trust, preferably those with moderators who help to insure a modicum of civility,
• subscribe to Snopes daily debrief to help sort the wheat from the chaff,
• insert a question or comment where I think it might make a difference, but only where it might,
• call and write my Congressmen to voice my opinions and concerns,
• monitor my own language, particularly when I'm angry or afraid,
• make sure I find a way to laugh in the morning and record gratitudes before I go to bed,
• spend some enjoyable time with John and connect with a friend every day,
• learn more about how to discuss issues more effectively across the chasms of religious and political differences, and
• populate my world with others who want to help bridge these chasms rather than widen them.

For, what else is a person to do? 

Thank You, I Needed That

"Perseverance is failing 19 times and succeeding the 20th."

~ Julie Andrews

This past weekend, I watched the Masters Golf Tournament with John.  I'm not a golfer, not even a sports enthusiast, but I enjoy watching golf.  And I think John enjoys having me watch with him.  That's a good thing, because as our world becomes smaller and smaller, and we are with each other almost 24/7, finding things we enjoy together has become more imperative.  

I'm enjoying learning more about golf, about the nuances of the sport, its rich history and protocols, the various tournaments and courses, and above all, the golfers.  Perhaps, its the legacy of growing up with Arnie and Jack, their ups and downs, their families, their charities, watching them age along with us. Perhaps its the relative absence of scandal and notoriety in the sport.  (I did say relative absence.)  And the presence of families, in some cases generations of families.  This sport speaks to my values as well as my history.

I now root for a couple youngsters - Ricky Fowler and Jason Day - and am particularly fond of the Spanish veteran, Sergio Garcia, who has had the reputation of being the best golfer who has never won a major PGA tournament.  So Sunday found me cheering for him, hoping against hope that he would finally win his first major, and not just any tournament, but the revered Masters, the tournament that has plagued him for the 19, yes, 19 years, in which he has competed.  "I hope he wins.  Please let him win.  Come on Sergio.  You can do it, Sergio."

And he did.  He played his way into the lead, was overtaken, fought back to a tie, and finally won by two strokes in the playoff.  And the crowd roared - Sergio, Sergio, Sergio. 

In the days since his victory, I've considered why I like him, I'd even say that I admire him. Why did I become so invested in his win?  Why did I take such pleasure in his joy and celebration?  (And I did. You would have thought I knew him personally, that he was my kid brother or nephew.)

The obvious answer is that I often cheer for the underdog, but in this case it is more than that, much more.  I admire his perseverance, his tenacity.  Nineteen years and he plays with the same competitive passion as he did the first year I watched him.  I respect the respect he shows for his mentors.  Proteges often forget those who taught, and supported, and encouraged.  He never does.  I applaud his loyalty - his coach is his father, always has been.  Even when Sergio grew discouraged and almost quit the sport, he never abandoned his dad, just worked harder.  And what he apparently worked on was his mental game.  That may be what I admire the most.  That he looked inward, and grew not just as a golfer, but a man.  Perseverance, respect, loyalty, hard work, personal responsibility. 

In this day when the news is filled with dysfunction and greed, venom and vitriol, murder and mayhem, it was such a joy to watch someone achieve his dream because he is talented and diligent. To hear him graciously, sincerely acknowledge his family and mentors.  To see his joy and gratitude.  To see the respect shown between the players and the crowds.  To listen to thoughtful, nuanced commentary.  To celebrate.  To be reminded that this is still possible.

A Work in Progress

"Routine, which I used to scorn as next door to incarceration, holds new appeal for me."
~ Carolyn G. Heilbrun
The Last Gift of Time

First, before I go any further, a few words as to my short hiatus from posting.  Given John's illness, I want to reassure anyone following the blog for some time now, we are fine.  Just have been busy fending off the imps of technology.  First, the printer, then the computer, and even my Kindle acted up.  But, and I say this with some pride, I handled it all and did so with patience, a modicum of grace, and success. (And yes, with the help of some patient, competent technicians.)  Not bad for someone who not long ago was afraid that I would break the computer if I hit the wrong key.

Now, for the Heilbrun quote.  I've been reading The Last Gift of Time for a few days now - one of my new habits, reading inspirational material as part of my morning routine.  Among the many sentences that caught my attention for its clarity and significance, this one captured an awareness I have had for some time now, but could not express with such eloquence or brevity.  

Like Heilbrun, I have a long history of resisting routine, seeing it as impeding my sense of freedom.  Lacking creativity and spontaneity, "next door to incarceration."  A psychologist might suggest this was a normal reaction to being raised by strict disciplinarians and taught by even stricter Catholic nuns.  I told myself that I needed more choice. I loved the individualized teaching methods of the 70's and 80's, no fixed curriculum for me.  And when I led my own training courses, I took pains to be sure no one course ever looked like another.  I could redecorate every month and have had to work, really work, at not starting yet another project, pursuing another hobby.

Upon retiring, however, habits and routines  took on a new meaning. The most obvious reason I began to concentrate on developing habits was to compensate for my " normal aging brain," as my doctor labeled it.  You know - where did I put my keys? What's her name, what's that word?  Why did I come into this room?  Surprisingly, it didn't take very long, well longer than 21 days, to recognize that habits and routines could actually increase my sense of freedom rather than confine it.  Freedom from worry and anxiety, freedom from stress, freedom to put my attention on something other than retrieval.  

So, I started with the obvious, the same place for my keys and sunglasses.  Grouping items by function and always, always returning them to their home.  Making lists and checking them twice.  Keeping one master calendar.  Developing schedules to address my needs rather than someone else's.  The behaviors organized, disciplined folks develop at a much younger age.

Last fall, when John was diagnosed and our lives took on chemo treatments, doctors' visits, medications, a state of hyper vigilance, these habits sustained me even as new habits and routines were demanded.  Sterilizing surfaces and materials often, communicating with friends and family more consistently, checking for potential obstacles, asking for help, etc., John's physical health and my mental health depend on them. They keep us grounded and provide a sense of stability and normalcy when any day can present a new and unexpected challenge.  They keep me tethered to today rather than floating away in sea of future uncertainty.  A computer glitch is just that, a glitch, not the cause of a meltdown.

Have I become a creature of habit?  Hardly.  Not after decades of denial and outright resistance.  But I can see the fruits of my labor.  I can feel the shift in my thinking.  Do I wish I had learned this sooner, well, maybe.  For now, let's just say I'm a work in progress.

Caring for the Caregiver

"Secure your own face mask first before helping others."~ Airline Safety Instructions

Another week of daily lessons.  This week, John's second chemo series, was more challenging than the week of his first series.  He has developed plantar's fasciitis, so experienced unexpected foot pain.  He's had a few bouts of nausea and also required two transfusions, his first since leaving Houston.  Last Friday evening, we faced our first fever, mild, yet a concern.  Fortunately, we had a doctor's appointment earlier that day when we reviewed the warning signs (a fever of only 100.4) and had an emergency number for assistance, which we ultimately consulted.A more challenging week for both of us, during which I had plenty of opportunity to observe my caregiving m.o.  I research first, get all the information I can, evaluate my options, go into action and then deal with the emotional and physical fallout later.  Pretty effective in the moment, but not so hot in the long run.  Adequate for our time in Houston eleven years ago with professional assistance nearby 24/7.   But, I clearly recognize, calling for some serious tweaking for this challenge.Ultimately, I believe the caregiver has to take responsibility for caring for herself or himself.  That can mean, among other things, setting responsible boundaries, managing  stress levels, learning to ask for help, or in my case taking better care of my own health.  So, for the first time in a long time, I'm exercising regularly - light weights, and exercises to improve my balance to start with.  I'm drinking more water than ever before and limiting sugar and salt.  This may not seem like a lot to a true health aficionado, but it's a start.  And for those of you who know me well, who know how much I can live in my head, for me this is a lot!  Next step, Tai Chi!It's not that I believe I have to do it all. I know I am one blessed caregiver.  I have a breadth and depth of support that continues to touch me every day with an outpouring of care and compassion.  From e-mails and telephone calls, cards and photos, unexpected gifts and offers of service, I am reminded how important and valuable a network of support is, especially in times of crisis. These wonderful people have buoyed me up emotionally and physically. Have let both of us know we are not alone. I am not reluctant to ask them for help. But they cannot be with us every moment of every day. They cannot make the decisions I need to make to take better care of myself so that I can take better care of John.  They cannot change my behavior.

  

One Day at a Time

"It is not the strongest of the species, nor the most intelligent that survives.  It is the one that is most adaptable to change."

~ Charles Darwin

I have thought of myself as a survivor for some time now, secure in my knowledge, skills, and attitudes toward change.  I studied the work of William Bridges, an 'expert' on the topic of transition, and worked for years with organizations and individuals in the midst of change, as a corporate trainer and executive coach.  And heaven knows, I've had plenty of opportunity to practice what I preached. 

So, when some folks said, "You can handle this, you've done it before", I said thanks and set out to 'handle' it. I researched, made lists, put out the word, tossed inappropriate food, resigned from large group obligations, made more lists, cleaned and sterilized, gathered low salt and low sugar recipes - (and I don't even enjoy cooking), made yet more lists, etc., etc. The little engine that could.

This engine came to a screeching halt one morning this past week as I caught myself writing in my personal journal, overwhelmed, "I can't keep up with this pace.  I'll get sick and then what!!"   

It took that pause to recognize that I haven't done THIS before.  The last time John was ill, we lived near the hospital in Houston for 3 1/2 months. When he was in most danger, he received 24/7 care from professionals - for weeks on end.  I stayed in a hotel room not far from him where the suite was cleaned, by someone else, every day. We were never told his cancer was incurable. And we were 11 years younger.

I realized that morning that we are being called on to adapt our thinking, our attitudes, and our behavior almost daily, sometimes hourly.  Each new piece of information - from our research, from friends and family, from our health care team, and most importantly, from our bodies and behavior - can call for a new decision.  I took a deep breath and began to consider ways to be more gracefully and consciously adaptable every day.  One day at a time.

So, today, I'm still in my nightshirt.  I've found a good new mystery to read after catching up with some favorite TV shows.  John is enjoying his respite from chemo and is engrossed in a sportscast marathon.  The lists will wait until tomorrow.

First Things First...

"Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work; a future."

~ David Whyte

   Consolations

Because I hope you will follow our journey and share our thoughts with others, and because these will be strangers to us, I feel it only fitting to profile who we are and why this chronicle is important to us and, hopefully, to others.

John and I have been married for 33 years (must be comfortable because we both forgot our anniversary this year!)  We met in the summer of 1980 "in a bar in Kansas City."  Just as the song says.  I was an elementary principal at the time, he the Director of Corporate Engineering for a Fortune 500 company.  Both divorced, neither with children, neither intending to marry again.

We were married in Cleveland, Ohio, two and a half years later.  Within a year, John was transferred to Santa Barbara where I created a small boutique training/coaching firm that became my passion for the next 25 years, and he eventually created a small firm specializing in the abatement of asbestos and lead based paint.  That's the raw data.

In some respects, we are quite different.  He loves country and I like - almost anything but. He is a vegetarian, I am not.  He could watch sports all day.  Give me a good mystery.  And then there's politics.  Let's say we cancel each other's vote.  But we are partners, and the medical crises, of which we have experienced our fair share, have forged that partnership. We love each other, yes.  But as important, we like, trust and respect each other.

We have both battled cancer.  Breast cancer for me and non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma for John. The latter was put into remission with a stem cell transplant at MD Anderson 11 years ago. The same MD Anderson we will be visiting next week for further testing, prognosis, and treatment recommendations for the rare blood cancer with which John was diagnosed this week.

We are dedicated to facing this head on as we have faced every other challenge together. With the prayers and assistance of an incredible network of support.  With dignity and a healthy dose of realistic optimism. Learning whatever we can to make the most responsible decisions we can. And with a desire to contribute to each other and to others who are or may be facing a similar challenge.  It is our hope that by writing about our journey as we embark upon it, we can add insight and assistance to others now and in the future.  

It Is What It Is!

"A crisis is a terrible thing to waste."
~ Paul Romer

We are facing a health crisis as great, if not greater, than any we have faced before.  We do not yet know the full extent of this crisis other than what we have just learned from the preliminary results of John's bone marrow biopsy.  He has been diagnosed with a rare blood cancer that will require further information as to prognosis and treatment.  We do not have a clue as to what good could come from this.  But we do trust that something will.

It is out of our desire to create something good from this crisis for ourselves and for others that John agrees we should share our journey here.  Not that we intend to share intimate details, or rage against the universe, or wring our hands in despair. For it is what it is. But this is a blog about aging, and medical crisis and how one deals with it is one of the most challenging aspects of aging I observe. And am now experiencing.

So, in the weeks and months ahead I will be sharing the lessons we are learning, hoping that they will be of help and support to others who are faced with a similar challenge. And hoping you will share with us also - questions, comments, the lessons you've learned.  Let's learn together.

A Reason to Get Up in the Morning

purpose (n):  the reason for which someone exists
The New Oxford American Dictionary

Rick Warren, author of The Purpose Driven Life would most likely approve of this definition. As might the throng of readers who have purchased his book in the ten years since it was first published, making it the second more translated book in the world, second only to the Bible.

This definition and the Rev. Warren's thesis have bothered me since I first encountered them.  The idea that each of us has a single life purpose and that only if we discover it and live to achieve it, will we be fulfilled, flies in the face of my experience.

At first, I thought my reaction was simply because my generation rarely used that word to describe why they existed, or even why they made the decisions they made.  Commitment -yes; responsibility - yes; achievement - yes.  Sometimes, merely survival.  Or the Catholic catechism reason for our existence: "to know, love and serve God in this world and to be happy with Him in the next."   The closest I came to the concept of life purpose was when the nuns tried to convince me that I had a "calling" to become a nun.  (Until my constant questioning convinced them that I would have trouble with the vow of obedience!  Somehow the calling ceased to exist.)

I  recognize that there have been individuals throughout history who have lived lives of a singular purpose.  Think Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa, Nelson Mandela, various famous artists. But personally, I have known wonderful people who would have told you they didn't act from any all-encompassing purpose.  I have known happy and satisfied people who would look at you askance were you to ask them to define the purpose of their lives. Plus, I consider myself to be a content adult, only mildly neurotic, who has done some worthy things in and with my life, and I have never been able to declare a life purpose.

Eventually, I settled on merely disagreeing, with little more than an occasional twinge when I came upon another book purporting to "help you discover your life purpose."   

Then, a few months ago, I began to read books and articles about successful aging.  And would you know it, much of the research pointed to having a purpose as an essential ingredient in aging well.  However, the distinction was having a purpose, not Purpose with a capital P.   Simply put, a reason to get up in the morning.  Purpose as meaning.  Purpose as direction.  Purpose as commitment.  Now, this fits with my experience.  

In my late teens, I would have said that what drove my choices was wanting to be the first woman in my family to go to college.  Later it was to be a good wife and a good teacher...good at my jobs.  Still later it was to survive the aftermath of divorce .  With each new change, a different purpose or commitment, a new direction. Sometimes just to weather the transition between what was and what could be. The constant, not a Life Purpose but the life changes that call for different purposes.

I think finding a new reason to get up in the morning may be one of the most challenging aspects of retirement and the ensuing years, especially if your previous reason has been success in your career or acquiring things or status.  Some folks approach this stage of their lives  already knowing what that reason will be - travel, the arts, an interest, hobby or commitment to which they can now devote all their time, their role as grandparent or community elder,  etc.  

Others, and I include myself, need to take some time to explore what might engage their skills and expertise, what new directions beckon to them, perhaps to regroup and soul search awhile.  To remain open to possibilities they may have dismissed when younger or possibilities they never imagined to exist.  

Either way, purpose with a small p.  Purpose as reason to get up in the morning.  Purpose as an ingredient in the recipe for aging well.  

Worth Investigating

"Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at 20 or 80."

~ Henry Ford

There is a commercial for a local active retirement community that never fails to annoy me. It shows a young couple stumbling upon the development and asking an older couple of residents where they have landed.  The older couple, lean and sun tanned, he with a full head of gray hair and she looking like she could model for Chico's, shows them around... to the golf course, the restaurant, and the pool.  It ends with the younger man saying, "We have to figure out how to turn 55."

I realize that some would say I have no sense of humor, or that this is just creative license, par for the course in advertising.  But I think it is another example of promoting the "forever young" movement, a term coined by Daniel Klein in Travels with Epicurus, a movement whose favorite term seems to be anti-aging.  It is the polar opposite perception of old age promoted by those who also see this stage of life one dimensionally - but chiefly negatively. A stage marked by frailty, loss, and isolation.  Neither perception captures the full range of possibilites, as well as the challenges of aging available to us today.

Also, this commercial belies the vast array of activities available in that particular community, activities that are educational, creative, charitable  and social in nature.  Activities that address the complex needs and interests of an "active" retirement community or simply any older individual who wants to continue to learn and create, who has skills and expertise to share and the desire to do so.

The portrait of aging I prefer is painted more satisfyingly in three books I have read these past months.  Klein's Travels with Epicurus is the recounting of his journey to a Greek island to contemplate what the old men there can teach him about growing old.  Spurred on by the decision to forego the dental implants recommended by his dentist so that he would not have "the smile of an old man", Klein, an acknowledged old man, travels to the island equipped with his journal and his favorite philosophers to contemplate aging in a culture where aging is not only not feared, but enjoyed. Imagine that!  Well-written, insightful, humorous, a great gift for a favorite older man.

The Wonder of Aging, by Michael Gurian, bears the subtitle A New Approach to Embracing Life After Fifty.  It's filled with practical tips, solid science and inspirational and motivational stories.   I particularly appreciate the terms Gurian uses to define the stages of aging.  No old, old old and oldest old but rather The Age of Transformation, The Age of Distinction, and The Age of Completion, terms that describe the work to be done during that stage of one's life.  The research and the stories flesh out what Gurian means by his term "realistic optimism", the attitude he advocates for embracing life after fifty.

Finally, The Blue Zones:  Lessons for Living Longer from the People Who've Lived the Longest, by Dan Buettner.  Buettner shares the secrets of living longer (and well) from four of the world's Blue Zones - Sardinia, Italy; Okinawa, Japan; Loma Linda, California; and the Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica.  These areas have a higher density of centenarians due to common elements of lifestyle, diet, and outlook.  Buettner's science is easily accessible and the stories of the vibrant individuals he interviewed are fascinating.  He concludes the book by distilling his research (funded by National Geographic) into nine lessons with suggested strategies for incorporation into our Western lives.  I was relieved to see Lesson Four: Drink red wine (in moderation). Guess which zone taught him that!

I trust it's obvious that I enjoy learning and sharing what I'm learning.  If you are reading about aging and have found other valuable resources, I'd love to  know.  If the above books intrigue you, let me know.  If you have found some good websites (nextavenue.org and sixtyandme.com are two I like), well....