The Sounds of Silence

"To hear, one must be silent."

~ Ursula K. Le Guin

It has taken me a few months to venture into the waters of silence. I'd like to say I purposely chose to wade in, but it has happened gradually and accidentally at first. Like so many folks these days, technology has made it all too easy for me to be distracted - the computer, the TV, the phone, notepads - so easy and enticing.

With John's death, 21 months ago today to be exact, I initially found silence to be foreboding. In the middle of the night, when I would wake to overwhelming grief and anxiety, it became a habit to get up, turn on the TV or music and distract myself until I could fall back to sleep. During the day, I would read (usually with a background of music), or call a friend, or run off to do errands or attend a meeting—anything to keep the pain at bay, at least for a little while. At least until I could parcel it out in doses and drum up tried and true approaches that had guided me through other challenges of my life - approaches, in retrospect, that only kept the demons at bay. 

And then, the virus hit, and though I thought and hoped, as many of us did, that everything would be back to normal by autumn, the rising statistics this summer soon proved me wrong. June and July presented a confrontation with everything I believed about myself, the future, and my ability to quiet the cacophony in my head and plan for the future. How does one plan for such an unknown future?

Then, one recent morning, with no particular reason that I can recall, I started to journal in total silence. No music, no news, silence, and the quality of my writing and the level of honesty was so noticeably different that I knew immediately that I could only still the inner noise and confusion by being willing to be quiet enough to hear and deal with it.

At first, I was stunned by a level of grief that I now realize I had simply covered up. Cloudbursts of tears became thunderstorms at the mere glance at John's photo or the discovery of a loving card. I could feel waves of irritation or anxiety physically when I prepared to run even the simplest errand. The more I wrote in silence, the more I got in touch with outrage over how this virus has been mishandled and my dismay over the distrust, nastiness, and division I see in my country. The more I wrote, I more I got in touch with a fear of incompetence and a degree of loneliness I had not felt in decades.

Gradually, I lengthened the periods of silence. I wrote more and more. Began to take my lunch out to the patio and just listen for birds or children playing behind the backyard wall. Slowed down and enjoyed my food. Noticed the sound of the breeze through the trees in the early hours of the morning or Rufus' gentle breathing as he curled up beside me in bed. Caught an idea as it surfaced unexpectedly. 

But most importantly, I recognized, quite abruptly in fact, that my underlying fear was not that I couldn't cope with the present, but instead that I had no sense of purpose for the future, and that I knew errands, and house maintenance and even volunteering were no longer enough. That, without John, I have come to yearn for family and physical proximity to people with whom I have a longer and more intimate shared history. At that very moment, I decided that I will move to New York State when my younger sister retires. At that very moment, I accepted that just as a future decision has emerged in my willingness to be still, so will a larger purpose.

One recent night I realized that I hadn't watched TV for a week other than to turn on some music while I cleaned the house. And that I am going to bed earlier and sleeping better. That when I do wake, I don't get upset. I merely read awhile until I go back to sleep. That projects are emerging more naturally, like simplifying the house, not just organizing it. Or finding it easier to let go of "stuff" because I'm already thinking of moving. Or knowing what I want to blog about without false starts and second-guessing!

Am I totally comfortable with silence? Not by a long shot. Do I plan to take up meditation? Not now, not yet. But I am growing comfortable with long stretches of silence, more confident that I will hear what I need to hear. And, surprisingly, grateful for this period of solitude.

Escape Is Not a Dirty Word

"None of us can face what's happening head-on all of the time."

~ Sheldon Kopp

What Took You So Long?

Reading Sheldon Kopp's If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him in the 70's was life-changing.  I came upon the book on a bookstore table while on a mission to get past the anger and self-recrimination following a painful divorce, convinced that someone smarter than me, wiser, could provide a road map out of the angst and confusion that was overwhelming me.  I think I had read a half dozen self-help books by the time I came upon Kopp (easy to do in the 70's) and still hadn't found that map.  And there he was, telling me I had to create my own map, that there was no guru, no Buddha out there to show me the way. Or as he stated pretty succinctly in an 'eschatological list' at the end of his book - "it is so very hard to be an on-your-own-,take-care-of-yourself-cause there-is-no-one-else-to-do-it -for-you adult." I had to chart my own course.

Initially, I threw the book across the room.  Then, picked it up and read it again.  And over the years, have revisited parts of it several times.  Whereas he never intended to be another Buddha, his exhortation to take charge, to take responsibility for my life has never left me. 

So, it was intriguing, to say the least, to discover while recently culling my library, that I own another of his books, one that I hadn't revisited for many years.  What Took You So Long ? An Assortment of Life's Everyday Ironies is a slim volume of photographs illustrating simple, insightful statements written by Kopp in the late 70's.  Whereas The Buddha contains language and references that definitely are dated, this little book could have been written yesterday.  

Consider - "You wait for everything to be all right, knowing all the while that the next problem is in the mail" or "Not everything worth doing is worth doing well" or " Unable to get our own way, often we settle for trying to prevent other people from getting their way" or "If we allow pain more of our attention than it requires, we miss some opportunities for joy."

Any of these - and several other - statements continues to ring true for me, perhaps even louder at this stage of my life, but the statement about escape is a welcome reminder, a suggestion that it may even be necessary to take a break, to escape for awhile, without feeling guilty.  Because "often things are as bad as they seem" and yes, "no one can face what's happening head-on all of the time."  So, I'm taking a recess from Facebook for awhile, from all the petitions and surveys, from all the outrage and angst, the venom and the vitriol, from all the requests for contributions.  I'm reading a new mystery series, potting some succulents, redecorating the guest bathroom, working on a jigsaw puzzle, starting a new still life.  It'll all be there when I check in again.  All the worry, all the outrage, all the divisiveness, all the drama. all the challenges.  For now, I choose to escape - for awhile.

And once again, wherever you are, Sheldon Kopp, thank you.

Keep It Simple Sweetheart

"Life is simple, but we insist on making it complex."

~Confucius

I think most people would understand were we to choose not to decorate for the holidays this year.  Coming off a rough month for both of us, we are weary.  But having had to forego our Thanksgiving tradition with friends, and having spent so much time last year organizing decorations for an easier holiday this year, we decided to go ahead, albeit more simply.  

So, our Christmas tree, a bit smaller than last year's, is up, decorated and topped with our traditional angel.  The mantel, with fewer ornaments than last year, is lovely nonetheless.  A few of our other decorations rest in their usual spots - not ready yet to give up my Santa collection or the large bowls of beautiful ornaments.  But several items are destined now for other homes and newer memories.  Simpler, not abandoned.

The effort has been well worth it.  First, decorating together is just plain fun and it was rewarding to see that my efforts last year were worth it.  Not only fun, but easier than usual. Second, we both love the look and feel of our home at the holidays and would have missed it. Third, while almost everyday brings new information, new challenges, a new normal, this is a cherished piece of the old normal.  Fourth, when there is so much out of our control, decorating, (and deciding what to let go), is something we can control.  

Most valuable, however, has been the recognition that not only do we need to simplify our home for easier maintenance and a calmer environment, but we would benefit from simplifying our efforts, our habits and routines as well. This is a project to do together and one that will keep us on focused on the here and now, rather than worry and fret over a future we can't control.

So, we've started, not just to be better organized or reduce clutter (a goal I've been working on ever since we merged two homes into one), but to simplify, to make easier to manage, to reduce maintenance and effort, to reduce the complexities. A different set of criteria. 

After only one week, we have made a small dent, and it's already clear that this will take a different way of thinking.  We will do well to remember why we are doing this.  We will have to focus on what we are gaining rather than what we are letting go.  We will have to pace ourselves, to keep our approach and strategies simple, too.  One collection, one box, one cupboard, one drawer, one pile of papers.  Our mantra...keep it simple sweetheart.

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.

Just Like That!

"Aging is no place for sissies."

~ Bette Davis

I woke this morning, a bit tired, having watched a couple Harry Potter movies late into the night. I was looking forward to a leisurely Sunday.  I'd have a Kahlua coffee in the den while tackling the crossword puzzle and  then wrestle with the sudoku. John would make eggs after he got back from Starbuck's with his soy latte, no foam, volcano hot.  Later I'd post a piece about Gene Wilder and the waves of nostalgia I've been experiencing since hearing of his death.

I went into the great room, surprised to see John sitting on the sofa, wearing his Greek fisherman's hat, apparently waiting for me,  No "Good morning."  No "How'd you sleep." Just  "I think you'd better take me to the emergency room.  Something's not right.  I'm having a hard time breathing."  Just like that!

Last night, Harry Potter in the den while he watched sports in the great room.  Tonight, well, when I left him, he was watching sports - in an ICU room.  Something is not right.  We still don't know what or why.  He's had a couple blood transfusions and, of course, a series of tests. We've been reassured he hasn't had a heart attack or stroke.  But - something is not right and they don't know what or why yet.

We've been here before.  Waiting on news.  Waiting for specialists.  Sitting in ICU rooms. After all, we've weathered breast cancer and non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  We know not to panic. We know how to advocate for ourselves.  We know we have supportive family and friends. We know how to ask for help.  We know we are stronger together.  

Somehow this feels different, however   Those bouts with cancer were fought in our early 60's. Today, in our mid 70's, we see more of our contemporaries in decline. We have less energy, less stamina.  Less to distract us, to occupy a worried mind. We are more reliant on each other, so feel more at risk when one of us is ill.  

But we are not sissies.  We may be old-er, but we are not sissies.  We are stronger together.

So, my plan for tomorrow.  Get there early enough to meet with the doctors - and stop off at Starbuck's on the way for his soy latte, no foam, volcano hot.  

  

...and Holding On

"All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on."

~Havelock Ellis

I've repeated this quote because I'm still pondering it, seeing evidence of its validity everywhere I turn. 

The most obvious has been in the constant assessing I find myself doing as I strive to simplify our home.  I've been on an organization and decluttering kick for the past five years, ever since we downsized from two homes to one.  I thought I had done a wonderful job (if I do say so myself) until my sister visited last fall and commented that even though we had a lot of 'stuff', it didn't look cluttered.  It took awhile to figure out why the comment, intended as a compliment, still unnerved me. I was organized, uncluttered, but, clearly, far from the simpler look and feel that I really wanted but hadn't acknowledged.

So, for the last couple months I been removing the next level of belongings with simpler as the new criteria - a criteria that has forced me to examine and reexamine more closely the underlying reasons for holding onto...anything and everything.  For me, and I suspect for others, it's not the object that I'm holding onto, but what it represents - a memory, a relationship, an image of myself, an aspiration, an achievement, a time and place, maybe a "what if" - perhaps more.  With this realization, the decisions of what to keep and what to release became much easier, even enjoyable.

The more valuable realization dawned on me, however, when I went to visit my 90 year-old friend the week before she was to move into independent living near her family in the Midwest.  As I drove up to the house she had lived in for 17 years, she was standing in her near empty garage giving the last donations to a crew of compassionate and caring men who have obviously done this before.  We walked into her near empty home.  And in that moment I could hear the inner voice...the reason.  I'm beginning to let go now while it is my choice, while I have a partner to help with the decisions, to take the stuff to donation and consignment.  Because I want to, not because I have to!

So...this is what I've come to...

• this fine mingling of letting go and holding on is an art each of us comes to in our own time, for our own reasons, in our own way
• that it is much easier when it is our choice
• that the tangibles are much easier than the memories, the regrets, the dreams and aspirations, the relationships that we are asked to let go along the way
• that letting go may be one of the biggest and most important challenges of the aging process

But for now, it's my clothes closet.

Letting Go

"All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on."
~ Havelock Ellis 

I have had this title and quote ready for about a week now, considering what I wanted to share about the process I've been going through as I let go of possessions I once thought so important.  About how satisfying and mature it feels to let go - the shoes, the books, the incomplete projects, the attachments, the "just in case" stuff.  Although I also was embarrassed at how many rulers, scissors, candles, index cards, post-its, etc. we still had after all my previous attempts to declutter.  I also planned to include the names of a couple books that have been helpful in the process.

And, then, this week a lesson in letting go no book could adequately provide.  This past Tuesday afternoon, a beautiful spring day in southern Utah, a large group of acquaintances gathered on the patio of a local restaurant to celebrate a successful event held earlier in the day.  Drinks and appetizers added to the sense of conviviality. The festivities were well underway when she arrived, our eldest member.  The sweet, charming, and cherished 90 year-old who has been a joy and inspiration to so many.   She is interesting, curious, with a wonderful sense of humor.  Always impeccably dressed, beautifully coiffed, her white hair surrounding a constant smile.  In good health, intellectually, emotionally, and until very recently, physically.

She came on the arm of a good friend to say one final good-bye as recent health challenges have caused her to agree to move to an independent living facility near family in the mid-West.  As we embraced, I could see the pain and sadness in her eyes.  Trying to be of help, I said, "This must be so hard."  

"Oh, it is, but it's for the best, I guess." 

"I understand,"  I said.

"That's what everybody says.  I understand."

And we hugged and exchanged kisses and promised to stay in touch.  And I tried to tell her how much she has meant to me and how I will miss her.

But our conversation has niggled at me in the days and nights since.  For I believe now that I missed her point. I don't understand.  I don't know how many of us can.  She is being asked to let go of her home, her friends, her independence, her sense of competency, the environment and weather and activities she has known for decades.  And to do so gracefully.  All within a couple months. 

Why does this answer spring so easily?  Because it is easier to say than to admit that we are afraid our time will come to have to let go of so much?  So suddenly?  I don't understand.  Honestly, I hope I never have to.  So I am going to call, and apologize and tell her that I don't understand.  But I do care.  And I will miss her.  I will hold her in my heart and thoughts.

  

Bah Humbug

"I don't have pet peeves; I have whole kennels of irritation."

~Whoopi Goldberg

My commitment to be realistically optimistic has been sorely tried these past days, what with news from and about San Bernadino, Chicago, and Baltimore.  So I'm taking a break and venting.  Hoping that by doing so, the air from my balloon of discontent will be released.  My "kennels of irritation" include:

drivers who pass on the right

private conversations held in public

commercials in which anyone is demeaned in the name of humor

this excruciatingly long and nasty political campaign

political candidates who don't answer the questions asked of them

interviewers who let them get away with it

people who demand respect while being disrespectful to others

opinion masquerading as fact

diatribe posing as debate

the atmosphere of extreme polarization 

sweeping generalizations 

hearsay repeated as truth

rights without responsibilities

assertions without evidence

labeling that diminishes and isolates

But most of all,I am distressed by the current hate and fear mongering that brings back the horrors of Joseph McCarthy and HUAC - and the knowledge that too many Americans know very little about this period of our history and the damage that was done to individuals, our trust in our government, and our reputation in the name of protecting America.  Am I just showing my age?

Simplify, Simplify

Our life is frittered away by detail.  Simplify, simplify.
~ Henry David Thoreau

My efforts to simplify started four years ago (although I didn't recognize it as such at the time) when we decided to move to St. George where we owned a second home.  When we sold our Vegas home, we had just 27 days to move. In the midst of the recession, and deluged with foreclosures, the Vegas consignment stores had a glut of belongings.  So we moved a houseful of furniture to a house full of furniture.  There were boxes and crates, chairs and lamps, electronic devices stacked in the garage, and on the patio and courtyard.  Luckily, St. George is a low crime community, so nothing was stolen - I think.

After more than 25 years of marriage and a business run from our home, the accumulation of "stuff" was overwhelming and the decisions required to diminish it equally so, but necessity IS the mother of invention. Boxes and bags of books went to the library; we placed furniture and accessories in several consignment stores; Catholic Charities volunteers came to know John by name as we sent crates of redundancies for donation. Gradually, the patio and courtyard cleared and I could park my car in the garage.  We had successfully downsized.

What followed was months of organizing what was left.  Organizing and reorganizing, labeling and relabeling until I finally realized that merely organizing the stuff was like the proverbial rearranging of the deck chairs on the Titanic.  Better organized, yes, but still too much stuff - so this January I began a campaign of donating or gifting three objects, tossing three objects, and reusing or storing three objects every day. I waged war on the stuff  for six months!  

So recently, when my sister commented that although we have a lot of stuff, our home doesn't look cluttered, (and meant it as a compliment), I was initially disheartened.  All that work, all those months of donating and consigning and tossing.  All the organizing and labeling.  What had I missed?  

Looking back on my efforts, I realize that I had used the criteria of orderly, functional, and creative as I made my decisions. But not simple.  Why not simple? Why now?  And why has it become so easy to let go of things I thought so important until now?

Over these past weeks, I have renewed my campaign.  Another donation to Catholic Charities.  Another to the library.  A box to the food pantry.  I don't have satisfactory answers to my questions yet, but this much I know:

• The more I let go of, the easier it gets.
• The fewer choices, the easier to choose.
• As I simplify space and objects, I'm instinctively simplifying routines and activities as well.
• Less IS more - more space, more time, more freedom, more peace of mind, more satisfaction.
• And less is less as well - less to clean, less to maintain, less to insure, less to worry about, less to remember.
• For me, simplifying means making life simpleR, not necessarily simple. (I'll never be a minimalist!)
• To let go of possessions, I've learned to let go of the meaning attached to them.
• Possessions have no intrinsic value in themselves.
• People simplify their lives for different reasons - some political, some ethical or spiritual, some economics, some purely out of immediate necessity.  I started out of necessity but am now thinking about simplifying more philosophically.
• Although there are movements that foster simpler life styles (the tiny house movement, Voluntary Simplicity, minimalism, etc.) and that are attracting younger folks, I suspect conscious aging fosters simplifying for different reasons.
• Holding this as a process rather than a project reduces stress and encourages creative problem solving.
• Some days it's even fun.