ENDINGS

Birds Wings

The grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror

Up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look and instead,

Here’s the joyful face you’ve been waiting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes,

If it were always a fist or always stretched open,

you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting

and expanding.

The two as beautifully balanced and coordinated.

as birdwings.

~ Rumi

I sit in my living room appreciating its ambience and the comfort of familiarity. We have been living in our house now since 1996. That’s the longest I have ever lived in a place, and I still find it surprising that it continues to be a refuge. We moved here when I was going through chemotherapy, and I wanted a space that would be healing. The house is larger than we need but my husband and I fell in love with its yard. There’s a large lawn that is dotted with trees and it goes from the house down to a small pond. A brook feeds the pond and a small bridge goes over it into a mini forest of fir trees. It’s a bit of country in the city. We even have a woodchuck that we sometimes see scurrying across the ground. The holes it makes are annoying but it’s a wonder to experience an animal in our yard that is not a squirrel and feel a connection to nature. In the last few years, we had to take down some of the ash trees but the city had a tree planting initiative and we now have added a magnolia, a beech, a Japanese maple, and a pin oak that are taking root. We won’t be around to see them mature but others will see them and benefit from their shade. We buried our two dogs in the yard and marked the spot with a small grave. I surrounded the grave with white stones from the beach where we go in the summer. The house is in the city but its silence brings serenity and it has proven to be a sanctuary. I came to live here when I was undergoing chemotherapy and very ill, I was able to recover from a stem cell transplant here and be healed. Many life events have been celebrated in the house and yard including staff retreats for my colleagues at The Center for Mindfulness. We also held celebrations here, an anniversary for the CFM and my 50th and 70th birthday. It has always brought joy and solace. Now I wonder if is it time to leave.

I have turned 80 and will soon be 81 David is in his late 70’s and we have been thinking about the viability of remaining here. Caring for the grounds and maintaining the house is becoming more difficult. We consider aging in place but are concerned how it would be if we were incapacitated or one of us died. Our energy is diminishing and the constancy of effort it takes to keep things running properly has increased. I have never been good at saying goodbye or letting go. I breathe deeply when I think of leaving and moving to a smaller place and a new community. I look at the books I’ve collected through the years, the mementos from trips we’ve taken, our photographs, furniture, and more. I have some of my Mom’s flatware and my grandmother’s dishes. Using a particular spoon or knife brings a sense of warmth but my nieces and nephews live far away and are not interested in any of it. My mother collected cut glass and treasured each piece. They now reside unused in a breakfront that was my parents. I have a lot of “stuff” big and small. I am the oldest in my family now and I seem to be the repository for my parent’s treasures: Memories. I like to think an object is just an object and the memory remains. I know the love they represent is eternal. Still, it challenges me to say goodbye and let go.

My thoughts about leaving are heightened because I have decided to end my psychotherapy practice. This will give me more time to focus on meditation and mindfulness and free me up to explore other interests. I only have a few people I continue to treat but they have been with me for many years and the relationship is meaningful and runs deep. Saying goodbye is hard for them—and for me. I feel a bit like a mother might as her children grow up and leave the nest. It’s exciting and a little scary. Saying goodbye brings up all the other goodbyes we’ve had to make to move into another stage. I know that it’s fruitful to examine what arises but I feel it viscerally now that it is happening. The mind knows everything dies but saying goodbye is not conceptual. I feel it in the body. There is loss. Endings are real; Trust, faith, stamina, and love, are required to face what arises and move into the next stage; Trust in the rhythm of life itself and faith in love and connection. We are never alone but are part of a larger whole.

Years ago, after I recovered from a near-death experience during my stem cell transplant for lymphoma I wrote a book based on my experience with cancer “Here for Now: Living Well with Cancer Through Mindfulness”. Here’s a poem from it.

For Now

Dropping down

Lower and lower.

The quiet grows within.

Doing nothing

My wanting mind stills.

In the silence

In the space

What I have been seeking is found.

It is nothing less than everything

And more than anything.

Being here

For now

Now.

Please join me Thursday, May 2, 2024 at 11:00 AM EDT

We will discuss our goodbyes and what helps us say hello.

Here’s the link to register.

What is Important?

A question I carry with me daily is what's important. I ask it as I go through the day and choose where to place attention. It arises in little things, whether to have my usual egg for breakfast or perhaps just some toast or to choose to brush my teeth and floss when I feel tired and want to skip it. I remember the necessity of caring for my body and how often I've needed to see the dentist in recent years. I need to care for my health. That's important and requires effort. There are consequences if I do not. The same is true with meditation. I am fortunate to teach and lead meditation sessions. It's a gift to sit in silence with other like-minded people. It's a source of connection and reinforces my practice.

Relationships are important to me, and they, too, need tending. Sometimes, the people most important to us can be the most challenging. I like to get my way, and so does my husband, David. Recently, we spent time with my family in California. It was a beautiful day, and we had taken the train with my niece, San Francisco. She was going to work, and we were going to a museum. We planned to meet for dinner in an area near where she used to live but a distance from the museum, and then we returned to Sacramento, where we were staying. We were tired when we left the museum for the Bart station and needed guidance on how to get a ticket in this busy hub. There were many options, and we weren't sure how much a ticket to our destination cost. In our fatigue and anxiety, we differed on the amount and whether it was necessary to include the price of the pass to the transit system. I thought one thing and David another.

We could not agree on the information we received from the man in the information booth, and both of us stubbornly and heatedly defended our position. Each of us thought we were right. What was important? Being right or taking a breath, calming, and listening to each other? Essential was cooperation and goodwill. This needed to be improved. Finally, in frustration, I returned to the information booth and paused to take in the information again. I discovered my husband was correct. I do not like being wrong. I do like harmony and I did want to meet my niece and enjoy being with my husband and her. I paused, let go, and we got our tickets. 

When the train arrived, it was crowded. I found a seat, but David was moving slower and had to stand. A stranger sitting next to me noticed we were together. Seeing my husband's gray hair and tired face, he got up from his seat and gave it to him. David and I looked at each other. I smiled. He met my eyes. Peace? Not quite, but on its way. It was important. We both thanked the man and appreciated being able to rest. We were chagrined that we had argued, but angry feelings were dissipating. Our good Samaritan did not hesitate to give up his seat. He saw a need, put aside his self-interest, and generously acted. It was an excellent reminder to be kind, respect each other, and enjoy the privilege of being well enough to get on a train and have the energy to argue—and makeup. Then we could enjoy our dinner and our niece.

Understanding and kindness are important. My family is important. Recognizing vulnerability and the preciousness of love and connection is important to me. Being grateful that my husband and I are alive and together is a gift I cherish. Valuing the time we have to be together and using it wisely is important to me. I'm also committed to acknowledging what is true, even when I wish it was different. Values I hold dear are being honest and seeing things clearly and with kindness. I find it hard seeing the effects of aging on dear ones. My brother  is having medical issues. I see how busy and tired my nieces and nephews become working and caring for their children. The children grow up so quickly. What a wonder. All of us are subject to aging, illness, loss, and death. What's important? Living as wisely as possible, NOW!

JOIN US FOR THE AGING WITH WISDOM GROUP HELD VIA ZOOM.

We will be meeting this THURSDAY, APRIL 4th, at 11 AM EDT. Let's contemplate what we feel is important and hold dear. How do we actualize this in our lives?

Here’s the link to register:

I hope to see you there.

Warmly, Elana

Who Knows?

I’ve been teaching stress reduction and practicing mindfulness for about forty years. It isn’t easy to comprehend as it is growing old. I hesitate to even use the word “old,” but that is what my age, 80, is considered to be. My mother died at 70, and I thought that was old. From my current perspective, that is young. Dad died when he was 80. He lived a whole life and didn’t want to go, yet he had pasted this quote on his bedroom wall: “You can’t reach the other side without leaving the shore.” He knew he’d be leaving this shore and felt the next one might reunite him with my mother. He saw life—and death as an adventure. Everything changes, and that includes our view of things. Our attitude does make a difference. Acceptance is core. Experiencing life as it is, free of bias and reactivity, requires maturity. After all these years, I still find it hard to face what it is like to be old. I find it hard to believe that I am old.

I struggle with physical changes in the body and the mind. I visited the dentist today. My teeth are old, and I need an implant and more crowns. My eyes have changed. My cataract has ripened, so it will be removed. Hopefully, I’ll see better, but who knows? I know there is much I do not know. I do know I am not alone. I remind myself of the freedom that arises from letting go. Accept, I tell myself. Accept growing old. Accept change. Accept the workings of mind and body. Accept that I can’t always be in control, and the mind/body holds surprises. Accept that I struggle and the effect of struggling with what can not be changed changes how I relate to change itself.

          Breathe. 

Accept not liking struggle. Accept that the mind and body are not working the way they should. Accept what is and let it be. I hold on to things, and letting go is challenging. Accept that I am part of life, and it is constantly changing.

          Another breath. 

How fortunate I am to have a breath. I am grateful. It is a gift to be alive and have a mind that can remember how fortunate I am.

Some things are easy to accept, and I am calm. There is equanimity. I used to complain about the weather, but I’ve learned that the weather is constantly changing in New England. There are seasons. The winter brings cold and, with it, freezing rain and snow. There is also sunshine, and the air is fresh and crisp. I have a warm house and am fortunate enough to have the proper attire to be outside and withstand the cold. The trees are bare, but leaves will return, snow will melt, and spring will come, followed by summer and fall. How fortunate I am to be able to grow old, have teeth and crowns, and see with new eyes.

I am writing after teaching a mindfulness class that focuses on perception. In it, I showed a video of a selective attention test. The footage showed people dressed in white and black playing basketball. You are asked to count how many baskets are being made by the people dressed in white. Time is given for counting, the screen turns black, and the correct number is given. There is a pause, and the announcer asks, “But did you see the gorilla?” Most people shake their heads no. The video is then rewound; this time, expectations have altered, attention shifts, and is more inclusive. All see a person dressed in a gorilla suit enter the court between the players, pound its chest, and leave. In the first showing, many limit their focus to answering correctly and count only those in white. This limits awareness. 

I’ve seen the video before, so I now see the gorilla in the first showing, but I wonder what I do not know as I go through the day and my husband and I contemplate what makes sense as we age. What is wise? Where is my focus placed? I don’t want to be blind to beauty, love, or the joy of another day. I want to meet what will unfold with curiosity and wonder, even as I struggle with saying goodbyes and letting go. Who knows how long we’ll live, how well we will be? I do know where I place my attention makes a difference. I care for myself, exercise, eat right, appreciate my loved ones, and engage in what nourishes me. I do my best to practice kindness. I do know illness and death are part of life. Who knows when, what, or how? Right now, I am here…and I remember to be grateful.

Hope to see you at our next meeting. This month, I am teaching a mindfulness course that meets on Thursday morning, so we will gather later than usual but return to our usual time in April.   

Our next meeting is on March 7th at 1:00 PM EST

Please join me and explore this process of aging with wisdom. You can register by clicking here.

Warmly, Elana

Choices

Today, I decided not to do my early morning walk with my husband as there has been no dog to walk since Zeke, our dog, died. I enjoy being outside, feeling my body moving, and meeting our neighbors who walk their dogs. David carries dog treats, and the dogs come running to him. It’s fun to see their excitement and eases the absence of Zeke. I really appreciate the dog walkers who have become good friends and make me feel part of a community. I feel quite lucky to have their companionship. I usually walk regardless of the weather, but it’s been very cold and icy. I wear my boots and crampons, which bite into the ice, and use my walking poles for stability, but lately, I worry about falling. Going up the hill takes more effort, and I need to stop a few times to catch my breath and lower my heart rate. I take pride in being mobile and making the effort to work out and stay active, but today, the temperature was 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I was warmly dressed, had my boots and crampons ready by the door, was finishing my coffee; and David was waiting for me to go outside…and I said, “Go without me.”

This was a surprise. Normally, I push myself, but walking in this weather has been a strain, and today, I didn’t feel like it. I’m walking slower and lagging behind the pact of people and canines, and I wouldn’t say I like that. It’s less fun. I find it difficult to acknowledge my fear, but I have learned acknowledging limitations is necessary, and my fear is realistic. Or is it? I’m using my walking sticks. My arms are getting stronger, and I am going to physical therapy to strengthen my right hip. I hope to be less reliant on my poles and be able to feel secure walking without them, but progress is slow. I ask myself when to push and when to pause. What is wise? Do I feel loss, gain, or both? Do I give myself a choice? This morning, saying, “Go without me.” felt freeing. I used the time to meditate. It was delicious. 

There is a poem I sometimes read to my stress reduction classes on the value of being able to say no. Reading it always makes me smile. It’s “The Art of Disappearing” 

By Naomi Shihab Nye.

“…Walk around feeling like a leaf.

    Know you could tumble any second.

    Then decide what to do with your time.”

Sometimes, I forget that there are choices. I feel fortunate that I am to be able to walk. I also appreciate having the freedom to discern when I don’t have to. Do I need an excuse (it’s icy), or can I just say to myself, I don’t feel like it today—and not interpret it as bad or giving up.

My energy is more limited than it used to be. I wouldn’t say I like accepting this, but it is a fact, so I do my best to gauge what is important and plan my day around it. After the morning walk, I sometimes have to sit and rest, which decreases my time or mental clarity to meditate and write. Today, I had the energy for both. This afternoon, I will go to a memorial for my husband’s friend and be able to be truly present. I feel good that I’ll be able to celebrate his life and sad that he can’t be there to enjoy it with his dear ones.

How lucky we are to engage in life and have choices in living it.

Away & Back

It snowed today. I admired the beauty of the scene outside my window and breathed a sigh of relief that our electricity did not go out and our home was warm and cozy. As I write, the time I spent in Brazil over the holidays is a memory. David, my husband, and I rendezvoused in Sao Palo with our niece, who lives in Sacramento, and her husband Marcello, who is Brazilian, and Lucas, their 5-year-old. I celebrated Christmas Eve with Marcelo's uncle and aunt and their family and friends. This was a first for me, and watching the children go agog with wonder as a tall man with a white beard and a red suit entered the house was very special. There was no chimney, but Papa Noel came with holiday cheer, a microphone, speakers for music, and two helpers. Marcelo's cousin, who orchestrated the event, was as excited as the kids. He used to be Papa Noel, but his daughters started asking why, when Papa Noel arrived, he wasn't there to be a part of the festivities. Wanting to maintain their belief in Papa Noel, he hired an actor he greeted with as much excitement as his children. This was overwhelming for Lucas, who does not speak Portuguese. Still, one of Papa's helpers spoke English, knelt beside Lucas, gave him a present, and translated for him. 18-20 people were there, all having a good time and embracing us as family. Feeling so welcome was the actual gift.

Savoring family and seeing the children grow, my nieces mature, and getting to know their spouses is special to me, so when Bekka said, "Want to come to Brazil with us?" I didn't hesitate and said, "Yes". We began our trip in Rio de Janeiro, introducing us to the warmth of Brazilian hospitality. Our guide there told us how people liked to gather together and how bands and dancing were standard in the streets during this time. This joy in community set the stage for the vacation. On Christmas Day, our celebration with Marcelo's family and friends continued. After a barbecue of juicy Brazilian steak (a new experience), a driver met us at the Uncle's house and drove us from Sao Palo to the resort town of Ubatuba. It was late afternoon, and as we squeezed in the car together, Lucas squirming on his mother's lap, it became dark, and the roads windy and filled with ruts. We arrived at the Airbnb and breathed a sigh of relief that we were safe. The house was spacious, with a pool to entertain Lucas and keep us cool. We spent the rest of the week hanging out together, doing nothing special but lounging at the beach in chairs under an umbrella and occasionally cooling down in the water. The surf was powerful, but there was also a swimming lagoon by the beach, surrounded by mountains and jungle greenery. The beach was crowded, but we didn't mind. The weather was balmy.

The scenery was beautiful, and the servers brought food to our table from the restaurants dotting the shore, which was delicious. We contently drank fruit juice and beer, and I tried the Brazilian alcohol, Cachaça, which is like rum, quite potent, and gives a mellow high. It went well with the spicy shrimp dish I ordered and the fried yuca. Yum. No guilt. The people came in all shapes and sizes, and I was impressed with how comfortable the women seemed with their bodies. Stomachs hung over bikini bottoms, and breasts often sagged in bikini tops. I was so inspired that I got a bikini too—and wore it! Once anyway.

A highlight for me was hiking to a waterfall, going over a swaying suspension bridge, holding on tight to the wires along the sides, and getting some help from Marcelo, but making it. Bekka was impressed. "Pretty good for an 80-year-old," she said. I loved that, and with some help, I navigated the rocks by the waterfall and dropped into the pool at its bottom.

Home again. I'm glad we got here safely. It is cold, but I genuinely don't mind. I continue feeling so appreciative of my good fortune to be healthy enough to travel and have the means to do so, have people in my life that I love and who love me, and live in a place that is relatively secure where roads are paved. There is a working infrastructure that provides services that can be taken for granted. It snowed, and the road was plowed. I have food to eat, a roof over my head, and a flush toilet that allows me to put toilet paper in it and flush it down. Yes, pipes in Brazil often don't support toilet paper, and there is a receptacle by the toilet for their disposal. I am no longer on Brazilian time and wake up at 5 am, which is 7 am there. It snowed, and our road was plowed. I can drink the water from my sink. The little things count, and they are not so little.

As I end this blog, I ask myself, what can I appreciate that I have taken for granted? There is a long list. What comes to your mind?

Let's reflect on our good fortune and bring into awareness some of these "small" things that enhance our lives. We can discuss this when we meet again on Thursday, February 1, 2024, at 11 am.

Friends are always welcome. If you or your friends are new to the group, please register.

Holiday Time

We have entered the holiday season, and I have mixed feelings about it. It arrives as the weather here on the East Coast is becoming colder, and darkness comes earlier. I find the transition from the warmth and freedom of summer challenging. It may be cozy to sit with loved ones by the fire and sip hot chocolate, but I enjoy being outdoors, and I have never been a fan of heavy winter coats. I appreciate Thanksgiving, which reminds me of the blessings in my life and to hold them dear. I feel very fortunate to have a loving family, but also sad that we are far apart. My parents are no longer with us, and my brother and his family live 3000 miles away. I am thankful I am close to my cousins, and we celebrate life events and holidays together. I love seeing their children grow and mature, but sometimes I regret that my husband and I were not able to have children, and I fantasize what it would have been like if I had my own. At the same time, I appreciate that there are children in my life, and I can experience their maturation. We are all aging but I have not fully adjusted to the fact that I am now part of the elder generation. All my elders have died. Some friends have lost their partners, and I feel for them and others who are alone this time of year. I am aware that I will be attending more funerals and fewer weddings or bar mitzvahs.

As a psychotherapist as well as a meditation teacher, I know that everything changes, but sometimes, my expectations haven't adjusted to the altered reality that aging brings. I've learned to be judicious with my expectations. My energy level and how much I can do daily is no longer the same. Expectations can disappoint, and losses can be heavier to bear. My aunt used to say, "Life is a package deal," and she wasn't thinking of gift wrapping.  I am committed to living fully and authentically but accepting losses is challenging. As Rumi suggests in his poem The Guest House, can I welcome them all?

To balance darkness I am happy there is a festival of lights. Chanukah candles are lit, and Christmas decorations go up. Trees and houses sparkle with multi-colored lights. The New England Botanical Garden at Tower Hill has created an incredible show called Night Lights. Myriad lights are strung throughout the garden, with little gnomes dotted along the paths and there are fire pits for smores and hot cider, and hot cocoa to drink. I’m like one of the children agog at the display. Of course, being Jewish, I've always had some envy of Christian friends with Christmas trees they could decorate. I light a menorah, and we celebrate Chanukah. It is lovely but less splashy. One year, I put lights on the Ficus tree in our living room and got one of those outdoor laser light projectors. It was fun.

I am glad this time of year is inaugurated by Thanksgiving. This, too, is mixed. So many people in this world are now suffering and don't have a home or enough food to eat. Thanksgiving in this country does not adequately honor the indigenous people and tell how they suffered with colonization. The story told in schools must change, but the premise of giving thanks, helping each other, and sharing warms my heart and reminds me to be more generous. 

My awareness of the blessings in my life has expanded. I can't forget how sick I have been in the past and how lucky I am to be alive. I give thanks for this miracle. I give thanks to the fact that I can share my life with David, a loving husband, and my family and friends. People age, get sick and die. This includes me and those I love. I can't help worrying a bit about the length of time we have. But we are well now, and every day I say thank you for the support I have. Without David, I would not have driven over three hours in Thanksgiving traffic to celebrate the holiday.

It is  the third generation that is carrying on tradition. My mother was very close to her brother my cousins' father, and we kids would celebrate holidays with our parents. It was often a raucous time. This year, Justine, my cousin Sherry's daughter, and her husband Chris hosted us in their new house with their two small children, us elders, her parents, in-laws, an aunt and uncle, and one of their children and her spouse. We elders appreciated being there without responsibilities or running around and being hassled by the work involved but it felt strange to watch the "kids" scurrying around preparing the meal and doing very little. Even so, I missed my afternoon nap and  I wasn't accustomed to being asked if I needed help when we went for an after-dinner walk (or that it was necessary as the ground was uneven and rocky.) I am proud. and I didn’t like admitting that it was helpful. It was a taste of dependency to come.

David and I are not ready to leave our home, and we have yet to downsize, but we know changes will have to be made. We acknowledge our fears, but we are reluctant to move. Mindfulness is about facing what we fear and keeping steady. My Dad used to say, "Getting old isn't for sissies." He also said, "You can't get to the other side unless you leave the shore." And then there is Leonard Cohen who in Anthem sings,

"Ring ring ring ring ring.
Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in 

So, I savor this moment, the cracks, losses, and gains. I trust, laugh, sing, and remember that there is a light in everything. 

Connect to what nourishes. Love the good, face the fear, and let the light get in. 

I look forward to honoring this holiday time and sharing what it means for us this Thursday, December 7 at 11AM EST. If you are new to the group, please register. Friends are welcome. 

Lost & Found

About 30 minutes before teaching my last class for UMassMemorial on Mindfulness called Mindfulness Tools I realized I couldn’t find my wallet. It was in my purse which I also couldn’t find. The equanimity and calm I do my best to cultivate, especially before I teach, disappeared. Instantly my pulse increased, my heart rate was up, my stomach contracted and my mind was fully absorbed in looking for the bag. I sometimes drop my purse on the floor next to the bed but it was not there. I looked under the bed and in the side table by the bed where I sometimes put it. It was not there. It was not in our car or the pockets of the vest I had been wearing or in my jacket. I don’t always carry a purse. I’ve been using hiking poles for walking to keep me balanced and steady. This means I must either carry a pack or put my wallet, glasses and phone in a pocket to keep my arms and hands free. Two days earlier I went to a performance in a small local theatre without the poles and I thought I might have carried my purse there and then left it. I called the theatre and there was no answer so my husband, also worried, offered to go there and see if he could have someone look for it. Class was to begin in five minutes. I thanked him and instantly felt stupid, guilty and disturbed. It was BAD to have lost my purse and with it my wallet. How could I have done this—again?

David, my husband, has been repeatedly telling me to leave my things in one place. I always nod in agreement and then forget to do so. Sadly I often misplace things, wallet, keys, eyeglasses. Just recently I had to replace my car key. I looked every where and they had vanished. After getting new ones I discovered the original fob a few months later. It was tucked away on the key ring in my day pack. I had looked in the pack before but it was hidden to keep it safe while we were on vacation and not using the car. Remembering this experience contributed to my distress. It confirmed my carelessness and how our memories and our perception of them influences our response to the present.

I felt shame and wondered whether I was developing dementia or am I just chronically absent minded? Either way it was upsetting and I didn’t like it. Now I had to let go, refocus and calm. Stop, Pause, Exhale…and begin class.

I opened the Zoom room for class, noted my heart was beating fast and my respiratory rate was accelerated. I repeatedly tell others that we need to be accepting of things just as they are. It was the last class and I wanted to be organized, cogent and calm and it was currently impossible. “Accept, there is no other choice,” I told myself.

“B r e a t h e…exhale…inhale. ..exhale again. Feel the touch points of my body with the chair. “I followed my own instructions, but my agitation and self-blame did not dissipate. This was too well conditioned to immediately go away.

I looked around the Zoom room at the participants present and saw caring, intelligent, people who, like me, were vulnerable and wanted to feel peace and contentment. ”Everything changes,” I tell people. “This too shall pass. It’s OK to make mistakes.” I remembered the meditation on equanimity that John Peacock, a teacher of mine translated as, “Life is filled with joy and sorrow. May you not be too disturbed by its rise and fall.”

I felt my connection with the class and our common humanity and my mind/body began to calm. This wasn’t about me. We are all vulnerable. We make mistakes and we need to acknowledge them, move on, and be loved and loving.

After I welcomed everyone and thanked them for being present I began class with Metta, a loving-kindness meditation.

“May the pain and sorrow of the world be healed.

May we be safe and protected.

May we be happy.

May we live with ease

May there be peace.”

Pain and sorrow continue to exist in the world but we don’t need to make it worse. As a formal practice ends it is often said, “May the merit of this practice be of benefit to all.” Together we can make a difference. I’d deal with my lost wallet and purse later. What is important is here now.

P.S. After class ended I went looking for the purse again. I made many calls to see if I had left it in places I had been. People were very helpful but it was not found. I took another look around the house, this time with less agitation and it was on the floor in the living room, blending in with our rug, leaning against a chair.

The Aging with Wisdom group meets via Zoom again this Thursday, November 2nd at 10:30 A.m. EST This is an earlier time than usual. We typically meet at 11 a.m. and will return to meeting at that time in December.

Let’s help each other be present so we can name some of the pain and sorrow that we may carry and be at peace. We will do a loving-kindness meditation.

Summer Reflections

As I write, the sound of falling rain predominates my awareness with a tapping sound that is dramatically percussive. Now, moments later, it has a softer patter. I sit on a sofa across from a large window which gives me a view of the sky, which is uniformly gray and heightens the vividness of the orange color of the trumpet flowers that live by the window. I sit here watching the flowers and the tops of the pine trees moving with the wind, and I get a comfy feeling. It invites me to close my eyes, take a snooze, and do nothing. Yet even here, on vacation, some "shoulds" emerge. There are books I brought to read, exercises I wrote down to stay in shape, art supplies waiting to be touched, and pictures to be painted or studios to visit. I let go. The thoughts pass. I am aware of the preciousness of time. A little over half our vacation is over. I read Mary Oliver's in Blackwater Woods this morning in the meditation group I lead every Monday and Friday morning.

...

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

The time has not yet come to let the vacation go, but I am aware of its ending. We walk the dog in the morning along a local beach and always stop and say hello and chat with the "regulars" like us. It's our social hour, and I hold it dear. It's not only a beautiful beach, but the people are interesting, and everyone is friendly. We meet people from far away and locals living on the island. Knowing our time on this beautiful beach is limited heightens how special it is to share the moments of exuberant dogs, water, sand and sky, and poop bags which we carry as we consciously monitor our pets to make sure everyone is safe, well behaved and the beach continues to be pristine. We've been taking a vacation here for many years; some children are now adults, and some of our adult friends are graying like us. Conversations have changed, but smiles and mutual pleasure connect us. This, too, shall pass—and we all know it.

I've been very aware of impermanence … and the wisdom of letting go while at the same time holding on to what is precious—the gift of time, a love of people, and especially the gift of having a partner to share the rhythm of the days. He's conscious of change too. Will we return next year? Can we still kayak, walk, swim, get groceries and go to the dump? Can we laugh when we get frustrated and appreciate each other? It is not to be taken for granted.

Every day as I walk the beach, I see changes in the shoreline and the creek's path as it runs off into the sea. I now walk the beach with my walking poles and go for shorter, less frequent swims. My husband carries our elderly dog in and out of the car and walks slowly down the path to the beach. These days we're both slower, and…we keep on going, but…just today, my husband David said that we should look into continuing care in our community. I am not ready to admit frailty. Some changes are easier to accept than others, but…so be it.

As you read this blog, I will be at home and beach days, and choosing freshly caught fish to cook for supper or dripping ice cream cones will not predominate my awareness. Still, I hope to continue loving what is here and, when it is time be able to let it go ...with gratitude for what has been and is now here.

Reflections on a Birthday

The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
Still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
For some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
Meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes, Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi

 
It’s beautiful today. The sun is out and it's warm enough to wear my sandals and cotton shorts. The leaves are freshly green and in full growth. My tomato plants are in the ground, and the lettuce is ready for harvest. There are sprouts rising from the seeds that were planted and I’m excited to see their development. I hope the deer, rabbits, and groundhogs are well-fed enough to keep away. It’s easy to feel grateful today. Knowing this time of new growth will not last helps me savor each moment.  I am aware that conditions make a difference in how I view life and are not always as perfect as this day. When I’m cold or struggling with something I don’t like, like an illness or bad news it’s harder to be appreciative and remember that this too is part of life and that every moment has value and meaning. Meeting this moment with openness and acceptance takes effort.

As I approach my 80th birthday, time has a different feel to it. I don’t know how many more moments I will have, so each one counts. I do not dwell on illness or death, but knowing its inevitability, not only for me but loved ones, prompts me to pause, collect my thoughts, ground myself, and practice equanimity so I can meet each moment and maintain a steady heart and mind.  The Guest House by Rumi is a poem that speaks to this, It is a poem I have not always liked or appreciated, but its message is profound.
“This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
 Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
 
… meet them at the door laughing and invite them in”.
 
I used to think people read this poem too glibly. I felt it created expectations that were unrealistic and led to judgment and frustration. My mind resisted its message. How can you meet sorrow, fear, anxiety, anger, or disappointment and laugh?  Welcome them? Really? Only lately can I appreciate its practicality and wisdom. Wanting to live fully, moment by moment, until my demise is a goal of mine. This requires an acknowledgment in body and mind of change and all that it brings.  It is not helpful to struggle fruitlessly against what can not be changed but, laugh? That feels BIG!

I am fortunate. I get to lead meditations a few times a week. This reinforces my practice, and the participants who attend inspire me. Just the other day, I asked the group how mindfulness manifested in their daily life. One of the women responded, saying, “I have three young children, and sometimes I yell at them. I don’t like this, so when I’m about to yell, I laugh instead. It changes the whole environment.” Wow. How wonderful to be this wise and be able to laugh. This takes a willingness to step aside from what we want and truly see another and their needs, Acknowledging our anger and having the strength not to be blinded by it but be able to pause for a moment and do something new and radical instead-- laugh.
Laughing is letting go. As I age there are small and large things have changed and require a letting go. Some are simple and don’t affect our sense of identity. An example is the sofa I said goodbye to after 30 years of use and called the junk man to haul it away because, sadly, no one wanted it. It was soft, and my husband David and I couldn’t easily rise from it. I had trouble saying good-by to that sofa as it was the first piece of furniture we bought when we married. It was even harder to admit and accept the change in my body that necessitated this change and letting go of the image of my younger self as nimble and spry. This self had dark hair and was free of wrinkles. Not only could she spring up from the sofa easily, but she could also move it around to try different spots in the room where it might look better. No more! My perception of heavy and strength has also changed. I’ve been asking for help opening bottle tops. So it goes.
 
On a retreat, my teacher John Peacock, a Buddhist scholar and translator, talked about equanimity.  He read a text from an early part of Buddhism on Loving-Kindness that included equanimity. I have taken it to heart. It reads:
“This life is but a play of joy and sorrow.
May you remain undisturbed by life’s rise and fall.
I care deeply for you, but you are the owner of your actions and their fruit.
And I sadly can not keep you from distress.”
 
As a psychotherapist, my initial thought was a relief—you are responsible for your actions. I can’t fix you. Then I began to think about myself and the joys and sorrows I experience. It was telling me that life is full, and it inevitably has its ups and down.  How I live, and approach life has consequences. —being happy or not depends on me and how I act and be.

Equanimity is about balance, and it's the balance that is born of wisdom. Mindfulness means a capacity or quality of awareness where our perception of what's happening in the moment is not distorted by bias, old fears, projection into the future, anything that may arise, holding on, or pushing away.
Sep 14, 2021, Tricycle: The Buddhist Review

I aspire to having equanimity and learning from my experiences, and trusting the wisdom that has accrued from meeting life’s ups and downs. There is a story I sometimes tell that my brother told me.  In it a successful businessman is being interviewed by a reporter.
“Can you tell me the secret of your success?” The reporter asks.
“Yes, two words,” answers the businessman.
“What are those two words?” Asks the reporter.
“Good decisions.”
The reporter says, “How do you get to make good decisions?”
He answers, “One word.”
“What’s that one word?” The reporter asks.
“Experience.”
“How do you get experience?”
“Two words.”
“What are those two words?”
“Bad decisions.”        
Reading the above, I laughed. Yes, wisdom can be hard gained. We are human, and being human we’ll always make some mistakes. There are losses, some of which are heartbreaking…and there are gains, such as wisdom, along with compassion and gratitude.

A friend commented on aging and said, “ I used to run into friends, and we’d talk about what was happening with the kids. Now, he said, it’s about health. “How’s your hip? Did the knee replacement go well?  Sometimes it’s about a person we know who has died.” In meditation, there is a sense of timelessness. I’ve been having trouble watching the news, and my health can not be taken for granted, but that is life. I am still here. Sometimes when I guide a meditation, I say, “Just this.”  And in my mind, I add “Enough.” This moment is enough—and for the moment, it is

Let’s contemplate how we maintain our balance as we navigate the verities of life. Hope to see you at our last meeting until September. Here’s a link to join us in the Aging with Wisdom group.

Colors of the Leaf

It’s raining outside today and I’m sitting at my nephew’s kitchen table in Brooklyn debating whether to try out my new waterproof jacket and explore the neighborhood. I grew up in a suburb outside the city and spent my twenties in NYC but Brooklyn is like a foreign country to me. I love exploring new places and am curious about the wonders that this area offers, but the rain is coming down hard and I am less inclined to venture out into inclement weather. My mind has been active but my body is sending signals to rest. It was only a four hour car ride to get here but with all the excitement of travel and an unfamiliar bed I didn’t sleep well last night and I am tired. My mind has been contemplating what it means to embody mindfulness as I age. The emphasis is on this body of mine and acknowledging its changes and the need to be accepting and let go of what used to be. I sigh as I say this and write about it. I am mindful of thoughts and feelings but I am aware of my struggle with acceptance.

Vitality is important to me. I don’t want to be dead before my time and this is independent of wrinkles or sagging skin but it is related to changing capabilities. My body seems to need rest more than in the past and I parcel out energy more judiciously. I can’t go, go, go like I used to do. What I anticipate doing doesn’t always match what is wise and possible to do. My internal self hasn’t quite caught up with the external reality. My minds, says “yes, go or do” and my body indicates caution. I walk daily and exercise and appreciate the ability I have to do this—now--and it changes depending on my hip, the weather and the time of day. When I did finally go outside here in Brooklyn it was fascinating and I found myself noting rest stops. I look at myself in the mirror and what do I see? Who is this “me”? My looks have changed and my mind is not as retentive as it used to be. I now need to write down telephone numbers and passwords to make sure I will remember them. This I know is wise. I have always been absent minded often forgetting where I placed my glasses or my Iphone. Fortunately, this is habit and I always find these items but at my nephews I “lost” my sneakers. When I looked by the door where I had left them they were not there. I didn’t recognize any of the ones lined up neatly by the door. No one had moved them, they weren’t in my room or visible. It was a mystery. Kindly, everyone in the household went looking for them and they were not to be found. Just as Gregory, my nephew was going to run up the stairs-again- I examined the shoes by the door a second time. This time I saw my sneakers and yelled, “STOP!. My sneakers are here.” Only they were just not the ones I had described. They were my other sneakers, the ones that gave a spring to my walk. Last minute I had switched them and forgot I had done so. I sighed—only later could I laugh.

I am lucky. There are many things I am able to do and I do my best to appreciate this. I maintain a zest for life but…I am less nimble and more cautious. The tub at my nephews is very high and after my morning shower I had trouble lifting one of my legs over the side of the tub. My balance is precarious, and I had to hold the towel rack tightly to slowly maneuver the leg onto the floor. I feared falling. I abhor fear but fear of losing my balance is realistic. I am forced to embody mindfulness and recognize the truth of the situation and my imbalance in order to be balanced and to stay safe. I can forget which shoes I brought with me on my trip but I can’t forget to acknowledge the consequences of ignoring changes in body/mind. I don’t want to fall.

Recognizing the truth of change, seeing and feeling it clearly and letting this knowledge inform my actions is mindfulness in action NOW. I ask, can I acknowledge my physical and mental limitations with acceptance? What is wise to do and not to do? The rain doesn’t really present a problem but how I meet the moment can be. My energy level and fear of illness is present. I now find myself asking “Is it worth an expenditure of energy? How will it affect the rest of my day? I’m not worrying about catching a cold from walking in the rain but I do consider the big picture and ask myself how important it is and what would it’s effect be? I love going mask free now that Covid has abated but I continue to be judicious in wearing my mask and evaluating the number of people and their closeness of contact. I enjoy the freedom of going out to eat again and traveling. It’s a risk I am willing to take.

I am now home finishing this blog after the Monday meditation I lead through the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion. My computer is by the window and I gaze out at trees and sky. I note the changing color of the leaves to the group and mentioned how the leaves have changed from the chartreuse of a baby leaf to a deeper green of maturity and fullness. One of the members had mentioned that every leaf contained many colors and their true colors become evident when fall comes as the sunlight and warmth diminishes. “It’s a metaphor,” said a wise member of the group. Yes, thank you. How wonderful to remember, aging brings fullness and depth and let’s our true colors emerge. The cycle of life is rich. May our true colors continue to be known. This I will remember, and along with you my friends, it will help me mindfully embrace change and all that it entails.

You are invited to join me this Thursday, May 4th at 11 AM Eastern time for my Aging with Wisdom group. We meet via Zoom. This month we will explore some of the changes we are experiencing in our mind/body and acknowledge the colors of our life.

Change

Many times, as I sit down to write this blog I wonder what to write about. Fortunately, there is nothing BIG happening in my life. Each day I continue to feel grateful—and a little nervous about what could happen. As a psychotherapist and mindfulness teacher, I’ve spent time helping worriers worry less and focus on what is present rather than an imagined future or a past that is no longer here. I am not accustomed to the anxiety that sometimes pops into my awareness that centers on change. I like the fact winter is now becoming spring and I see the crocuses popping up in the neighborhood. I can accept changes in the weather but--me? I forget I am older but then I feel an ache in the body or notice the wrinkles on my face or the fact I have to reach up on my toes to take a dish down from the cupboard because I’ve shrunk a bit. I find it heavenly to go to bed early or have a nap. I appreciate my ability to ambulate and take care of myself even though it takes longer to put on my socks. So why the anxiety? Is it my way of recognizing impermanence and how difficult I find it to contemplate the inevitability of loss?

Change can keep things interesting. It tests assumptions (that what is here now will be around tomorrow). I find I worry, not about myself, but about loved ones. I’ve been recognizing how much my husband means to me and how many things he does for me and the degree to which I depend on him. We’ll have been married 37 years but it still feels fresh, like yesterday, when we took our vows. I remember moving from a small apartment in Cambridge MA to a house in Worcester, MA, and how strange it felt. I remember looking at the other houses on the block and feeling I didn’t belong there. Teaching mindfulness has been continuous but even that has changed. It was beyond my imagination to know that I’d be teaching virtually rather than in person. I even remember the first computer I got, a desktop, and my colleague and I didn’t know how to turn it on. It has always been satisfying to teach mindfulness and combine it with psychotherapy and see how a person’s view of life could change in only eight weeks. But me? I had no idea how mindfulness would infiltrate my view of the world. That I could and would actually be happier and more satisfied with my lot in life—even when illness and death appeared. That meditation and its principles were practical rather than conceptual. Yes, we are ALL subject to aging, illness, loss, death, and the consequences of our actions…and you don’t have to suffer—even me. That is an ongoing challenge, thank goodness. It means I am alive. Staying awake and aware keeps me on my toes and connects me to others, people, trees, sky, earth, and our dog. Daffodils are now popping up and each day I see how they are growing among leaves and snow.

Worry and anxiety remind me of the need to let go, be accepting, SURRENDER to aging, and remember what is important. So last week we ordered a new sofa that’s firmer than our old one and easier to get up from. I wonder how long we’ll be using it and able to stay in our home but I truly enjoy living here. I love our yard and it continues to need care. We trimmed some branches off trees this week. This provides more air and space for the tree to expand and for new branches to grow. I have always wanted a vegetable garden and I’m planning on creating a bed for one and planting some lettuce, kale, tomatoes, and flowers. I’ve never done this before, and I’m excited.

Thank goodness for laughter. Thank goodness for love. Thank goodness everything changes-mind, body, thoughts, and feelings. I see my worry when it arises, do my best to let it be and it does pass. I realize it also serves a purpose and ask myself, what is needed now? What is wise to do to ease these later years? Should we put a handrail in the shower so we won’t fall? Plan a trip while we still can walk? Learn about the resources in our community to age in place? Write this blog and enjoy the reflection it brings and share some of my thoughts and questions with you?

What is changing in your life? Can you acknowledge anxiety and worry and listen to its message but not be submerged by it? Can you experience your aliveness whether you are in a slow-moving line at the grocery store and you are in a rush or you are observing the blooming of a daffodil? What helps you stay afloat and savor the moment as it is, whatever it is, and be all right?

NEXT SESSION: THURSDAY APRIL 6th at 11 AM EST Please register (if you have not already) to receive the Zoom link.

We will continue to meet on the first Thursday of the month at 11 AM EDT on May 4th and June 1st then we will break for summer. There will be no meetings in July and August.

Don't Know Mind

I’m writing today from my brother’s home in Sacramento. His daughter’s birthday is today, and her daughter’s birthday party is tomorrow. We live 3000 miles away but want the children to know us and celebrate with them. More and more, I realize the importance of acknowledging connection and sharing love. Appreciating time together and sharing joy and love is precious. It is a great gift. It was a spontaneous decision to come for this celebration and we weren’t sure we’d get there. Travel has been hazardous and blizzards were moving throughout the country canceling flights and closing airports.

We debated, should we or should we not go. We planned only a long weekend and didn’t have the luxury of rescheduling for a later date. The decision to come was made on a beautiful day in Worcester and spring-like weather in Sacramento. I am all too familiar with impermanence — we are born, we die, and a lot happens in between, not only to us but to the world around us. My mother used to say, “Man plans and God laughs.” I say, expect the unexpected, and …who knows what will be…there is much to discover.

Thursday afternoon when the plane was slated to leave it was sleeting and the roads to Logan airport were icy but the airport was open and the flight hadn’t been canceled. We checked weather reports for later in the day, decided it was worth a try, told the dog sitter we were going and left for the airport. Our flight was supposed to leave on time but, who knew, would it leave or not, and if so when. With a credit card that gave airline lounge access handy and a lot of reading material, we notified my brother and family that we were going for it. When we arrived at the airport the parking lot was full but the attendants asked when we’d be back, gave us a placard to put on the car, and directed us to a spot reserved for overflow. Almost immediately, a second car came and parked behind us, blocking our exit. With assurances from the attendant that the cars blocking us would be gone by evening and hoping for the best we took out our suitcase, rolled it through the airport, through security, and to the Delta Club lounge. The club was crowded but we found a spot, had lunch there and boarded the plane on time. Whew. Then we waited…and waited. The plane was de-iced, then went towards the runway and stopped. The pilot then announced we had used too much fuel waiting to take off so we had to go back to the gate to refuel and get de-iced again. With apologies from the captain three hours later the plane took off. Who knows? Would we land safely? Would we make our connection or miss it? The plane was slated to arrive about 10 minutes after our connecting flight was slated to leave. David and I began looking at other options but then settled in. I watched two movies. The stewards brought snacks and gave instructions for those of us who would miss connections but also suggested that our connecting flight might be delayed too. We wouldn’t know for sure until we landed.

We landed safely, de-planed, and discovered that our connecting flight was still on the ground. We walked to its gate, found a lounge nearby, settled in, and again waited. I read more and looked at the flight board to see if there were any changes in the schedule. I called my brother to update him and tell him that we were slated to arrive in Sacramento after midnight and he didn’t have to pick us up as we could take an Uber. “No,” he said, just text us when you get here.

Two and a half hours later the flight left. We landed safely and I texted my brother and his wife we had arrived. It was sleeting and hail had fallen during the day in Sacramento but they had followed the flight on their app and were waiting for us by the curb outside the airport. With gratitude and relief, we entered their car. My brother said that he hadn’t been up past midnight in years. My sister-in-law asked if I had worried. I was almost too tired to answer but I replied, “No. I just got through it”. Don’t know mind: No problem. How wonderful we are safe and here.

When we meet this Thursday, March 2nd let’s examine Don’t Know Mind.

Hope to see you on zoom, wherever we are.

The Last Chapter

At a recent meeting of mindfulness-based teachers that I attended one of the teachers asked for advice. The teacher had been talking to one of the people who had enrolled in an MBSR (Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction) course and asked whether her mother, now ill, could attend with her. My colleague wasn’t sure whether this was advisable or not because the daughter had implied that her Mom was in the last chapter of her life. We all agreed that this question required further inquiry. What was the mother’s condition? Did she have the energy to participate? Was she interested in mindfulness and in taking the course or was it primarily the daughter who wanted this for her? If you are very ill and on a lot of medicine that clouds your mind and makes it hard to be awake or concentrate it might not be wise to sign up for an eight-week, two-and-a-half hour class that requires daily 45 minutes of home practice. Taking the time to stop, do nothing but observe the workings of mind and body can be very challenging.

The teacher did speak to the Mother and decided it was appropriate for her to take the course. He reported in our next meeting that she had attended the class and he was delighted to have her there. She was in a rehab facility but was able to be attentive and fully participate in class. In fact, he said, “she was a rock star”.  I wasn’t surprised to hear this. In my experience the more we are challenged, whether in pain or living with a life-threatening illness the more motivated a person is to keep attention to the here and now and appreciate the concreteness of the present moment—whatever it is, like it or not because it signifies our aliveness. Who knows what will be in the future but this moment is ours. I learned this from my bouts with cancer and from my father who lived with me at the end of his life. He wrote on an index card that he tacked to the wall, “You can’t stop the bird of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent it from nesting in your hair.”

I am the oldest person attending the teacher meetings and I sometimes feel my age there. Hearing “the last chapter” named Is what really stopped me at the meeting.  “I’m in my last chapter.” I piped out, “What does that mean? I don’t usually think in terms of last chapter. As I approach eighty, I realize I have lived the majority of my life, but my story is still unfolding.  The ending is yet to be determined. When I’m reading a book there is a beginning and an ending, but the author has control and there is a planned order to it. The last chapter usually ties things up. There is a resolution. No more pages to turn. If it is a mystery or a thriller, the kind I’ve been enjoying lately, the villain is caught and the hero continues on miraculously whole, strong, and vital.

I recently spent a weekend with two very dear friends. We had not been physically together since Covid so it was a joy to share bread, laughter, and companionship. All three of us are now in “our last chapter” and we spent our time together adding to our stories and being fully alive and awake. We were filled with questions and the not knowing what was coming next but appreciating the joint exploration. What arose again and again, was gratitude. We also talked about endings, of people we love who have died and how it might be for us. For now, however, we had nourishing meals, thoughtful conversation, and shared love and community. It was what was called for now.

Time & A New Year

“Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable…

- T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets 

I’ve always associated the changing of the calendar year as a time for celebration and when I was single I’d feel badly if I didn’t have a date or something special to do. After I was married my husband and I would meet friends or go out to dinner but I always thought there was a forced gaiety to the occasion. One year we had friends over and made a fire in the fireplace so it would be cozy. It was a good thought but we neglected to open the flu and the house was filled with smoke. Our dear friends were very polite and did not run out of the house as we urged them to do but waited until the new year arrived. Fortunately, this happened close to midnight and we did open the flu but the smoke lingered long after they left. It was a night to remember. I’m not sure that we’ve had a fire in the fireplace since then.

Time feels very subjective to me. When I am meditating each moment feels timeless and there is only the now. I am able to observe the arising and passing of breath, sensations, sound, feelings, mood and thoughts. There isn’t a sense of time unless something arises that I don’t like and then the sitting practice can feel endless as I struggle to “let be” and not fight what is happening. Letting go and acceptance is not automatic but when I can soften into and not fight what I can’t change relief comes and I don’t think about time anymore.

December and January is a time when I am teaching less and my time is more open and less scheduled. It can be an adjustment to not have something I have to do. My sense of time is altered, and I have to be careful not to fill it up with doing but appreciate the space I am given and savor the moments of quiet and peace that are present. I choose carefully my use of time.

My husband keeps telling me that now that we are older and living in a big house it is time to think about downsizing and decluttering the house. I do not think the house is cluttered and I resist getting rid of books and mementos that he thinks should go yet, when I look at all our photograph albums and boxes of old letters and diaries I have held onto over the years. I have to agree it is a lot. I was given a scanner and for a long time I have wanted to scan some of my photos so with the time I have, I decided to go through an album and scan the photos I wanted to keep (almost all of them). Unknowingly, the album I chose was one my father had put together. I hadn’t seen many of the photos and as I took them out and placed them on the scanner it brought me back to another time and place but it felt fresh. Viewing my younger self with my older one brought a different perspective to those times. This older me observed the younger me and marveled at how young she looked and much more attractive than I used to feel. It brought back memories of how annoyed we used to get at my father’s ever present camera. Now I could see it as sentimental and caring. It marked his love for family and perhaps his wish to keep us with him forever. He too had trouble letting go. The photos marked the last two years of my mother’s life and a time when they visited my brother and his young family in California, which was far from where they resided in New York. I found myself touched by the photos and how lovingly my father carefully put them in the album, wrote on some of them with a gold pen, and made real their presence in my heart.

I am now older than my mother when she died, she was 70. My Dad is now gone too. He died at 80, an age I am approaching which added a poignancy to my viewing. I could now appreciate their aliveness and warmth and understand their wish to be close to their children and grandchildren and their sadness at being so far away. I too live on an opposite coast from my brother and his family. We zoom and visit each other but I too would like to babysit my grand nieces and nephews and see them more often. Looking at the photos I could feel my mother’s warmth and her love and her worries. I could appreciate her and feel her vulnerabilities. There was no holding of old hurts or residue of resentments from time past.  I could smile at my father, appreciate his spirit, impracticality and creativity. I could understand his reluctance to let go.

A new year is approaching. I like to ask, what do you wish to leave behind and say goodbye too and what would you like to bring forward with you?

I can leave behind that younger self who never felt quite good enough but can appreciate the part of her that quested for meaning and understanding and desired to keep growing and learning. I bring with me a love of family, of people, of learning, and a sense of curiosity about what the next moment will bring.  I bring with me memories of people no longer here and adventures I enjoyed but will not be repeated but cherished.

I don’t have any new year's resolutions. I bring forward gratitude for being gifted with love and life. I don’t need to drink champagne but, I toast to you, dear friend and companion on this road of life. May we meet this moment, this day, this year, and this life with love, gratitude, and courage to not know what will come but to know we can meet it and wish each other a HAPPY NEW YEAR.

I hope to see you this Thursday, January 5, 2023 for my free, online Aging with Wisdom Group. Here’s a link to the registration page.

Giving Thanks

As I write I am sitting with a full heart and a full belly. Thanksgiving is over and I am still digesting the sweetness of being with family. I live three thousand miles away from my brother Bob, his wife, and my two nieces and their three children so it is very special to break bread with them in person rather than virtually. We don’t get to visit very often so it is always meaningful to see how the kids have grown and developmentally matured. Us elders also have changed as we have aged and don’t look or act like we did when we were the kids. I am all too aware of the passing of time and the passing of generations. I am now the oldest in this gathering and I’d love to host the event but my husband and I are visitors and it is my niece who cooked the turkey and made most of the holiday meal. She laid out the table, organized the food, and hosted the celebration with us elders helping, a reversal of roles. While we sat sedately the children, a four-year-old, a three-and-a-half-year-old and a ten-year-old ran around having a glorious time with each other. During dinner, they sat at the children’s table which brought back memories of Bob and me being kids and sitting with our cousins many years ago while the grownups ate. Bob and I kept saying how my mother would have loved being here and seeing us all together. Seeing how hard my nieces and their husbands work to manage a household, career, and child-rearing I had a fresh appreciation of my mother and all she did in raising my brother and myself. I wish I could have thanked her more. Not having children I continue to be impressed by the patience, energy, and the skill it takes in raising a family. It’s relentless. It’s wonderous, challenging, and a blessing…and it goes by very quickly, even when we are caught in a moment that feels interminable.

Ideally, each day is an opportunity to give thanks for what we have, and too often as we engage in modern living don’t take the time to stop and appreciate. 

Bob and I and our spouses are the elders now and new traditions are being formed. This year his daughter Anna brought to Thanksgiving a reading included in Braiding Sweetgrass that was written and said daily by first nation people, the Haudenosaunee‘s, and we went around the table reading it. It is called the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address Greetings to the Natural World and begins by thanking

The People 

Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles of life continue. We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and thanks to each other as people. 

Now our minds are one.

The Earth Mother 

We are all thankful to our Mother, the Earth, for she gives us all that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time. To our mother, we send greetings and thanks. 

Now our minds are one. 

The Waters 

We give thanks to all the waters of the world for quenching our thirst and providing us with strength. Water is life. We know its power in many forms- waterfalls and rain, mists and streams, rivers and oceans. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the spirit of Water. 

Now our minds are one. 

And continues with 

The Fish, The Plants and Food Plants, Medicine Herbs, Animals, Trees, Birds, The Four Winds, Thunderers, The Sun, Grandmother Moon, The Stars, Enlightened Teachers, and 

The Creator

Now we turn our thoughts to the Creator, or Great Spirit, and send greetings and thanks for all the gifts of Creation. Everything we need to live a good life is here on this Mother Earth. For all the love that is still around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our choicest words of greetings and thanks to the Creator. 

Now our minds are one. 

Closing Words 

We have now arrived at the place where we end our words. Of all the things we have named, it was not our intention to leave anything out. If something was forgotten, we leave it to each individual to send such greetings and thanks in their own way. 

Now our minds are one. 

This translation of the Mohawk version of the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address was developed, published in 1993, and provided, courtesy of: Six Nations Indian Museum and the Tracking Project All rights reserved. 

Thanksgiving Address: Greetings to the Natural World English version: John Stokes and Kanawahienton (David Benedict, Turtle Clan/Mohawk) Mohawk version: Rokwaho (Dan Thompson, Wolf Clan/Mohawk) Original inspiration: Tekaronianekon (Jake Swamp, Wolf Clan/Mohawk) 

I share this Thanksgiving greeting with you. As you read this I will be home again in Worcester but I hope to continue giving thanks each day beginning when my eyes open in the morning and I am alive for another day and when the day and my body sleeps. Let’s give thanks this Thursday when we meet for our monthly Wise Aging Group. Thanks to people who may no longer be with us but continue in our hearts and minds and thanks to all the mundane daily tasks required as we move through the day and take on the responsibility of living fully.

I thank you for reading this and joining me this Thursday, December 1 at 11 AM, EDT. 

Here is a link to the meeting information including the Zoom log-in.

Precious Moment

I walked into a wall the other day—literally. It capped a morning filled with frustration and empty of equanimity. The day began at 5:15 AM as I prepared to leave for Boston for my yearly mammogram and visit to my breast cancer oncologist. I had a lumpectomy in 2018 and I get a mammogram and check in with the doctor every year to make sure cancer has not returned. I left by 6 AM for my 8 AM appointment to give me some extra time before my visit to relax and almost immediately ran into heavy traffic on the turnpike. I turned on my GPS and it recommended an alternate route. I remember debating whether to take the exit it suggested but decided to follow it even though it was different that my usual one and was routed through town roads rather than the highway. These roads were also congested. They were also unfamiliar to me and I wasn’t confident that the directions were correct. The longer I drove the worse it seemed to get.

“Calm”, I told myself, “Smile, it’s ok to be late, but as I looked at the estimated arrival time on my phone and it got closer and closer to 8 AM I got more and more agitated. I did not want to miss this appointment which had been very hard to get. More than a year had passed since I had last seen the doctor.  Finally, very stressed I arrived at the hospital at 8:03, got valet parking, and was in such a rush that the valet had to come after me to get the key for the car. In my haste, I forgot to give it to him. When I arrived and my blood pressure was taken it was so high that the doctor took it a second time to ensure it had dropped. In-breath, out-breath: Agitation.

Appointment with the oncologist over I felt relief and walked through the building to go to my next appointment which was for a mammogram. The imaging center for the mammogram was in a different hospital that was a 10-15 minute walk to get there. I had to change floors as well as buildings and go over a few bridges.

I walked meditatively feeling my feet connecting with the floor. I arrived, filled out the paperwork, and when I was done a lovely receptionist sat down next to me and softly whispered that I was two weeks shy of a year to take this test and my insurance wouldn’t pay for it; I’d have to return for another visit. 

 I try to make one visit when I go to the cancer center. I now see two oncologists, one for lymphoma which I’ve been treated for since 1995, and one for breast cancer which was diagnosed and treated in 2018. Now I’d have to return not only to see my other oncologist but for a third time to get the mammogram.

My calm disappeared once again. This was TOO MUCH. We handled the situation, the receptionist and I, she very compassionately telling me she’d squeeze me in after the two-week period and I decided to see if I could change the appointment with my other oncologist so I could do both appointments on the same day. Success, but calm hadn’t yet returned.

I remembered the bridges I needed to cross to get back to my car but at a busy intersection of corridors, I became confused. I kept walking hoping to find my way—mistook the glass wall between corridors for a door and slammed into it nose first.

A person in a white coat behind me witnessed this, came up to me and asked, Are you alright?

Dazed, I said, “Yes, I just have to sit for a bit.” I was not alright.

The wall was very hard and thick. It did not shatter but my composure did. I found a comfortable chair by a window and sat and let myself tear up and not feel OK.

I found a comfortable chair by a window and sat and let myself tear up and not feel OK. “Let it be” I tell others. I am filled with gratitude that I am alive. I survived a stem cell transplant, two recurrences of lymphoma and breast cancer but… I have written two books about maintaining perspective Here for Now: Living Well with Cancer through Mindfulness and Being Well (even when you’re sick). I have been teaching Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction and talking about impermanence --how aging, sickness, loss, and death are part of the human condition—and we are responsible for our actions and their consequences but sometimes past experience is overwhelming and triggers a stress reaction. 

Being human means sometimes we hit a wall and…just need to stop and sit. What the mind knows and the body feels are not always in sync. The traffic, the fact that a colleague of mine suddenly died in the last week and being in the hospital again all accumulated and … it was too much. . .for a while. 

After I sat I continued to walk through the bridges I had previously come through, I stopped at the gift shop and treated myself to a bar of Lady Godiva chocolate, continued on and remembered the healing garden in the hospital, went in, and sat by the orchids until I felt calm enough to drive safely home.

No one likes to admit vulnerability and that includes me. We are all tender and sometimes things are just too much. I often quote Thich Nhat Hahn, a Vietnamese monk and wonderful teacher who contributed greatly to bringing everyday mindfulness into the world. He talks about every moment being a precious moment. In a recent class after I recited this, I was asked, “What happens if it isn’t precious?” 

“That’s a time for compassion and kindness,” I responded. Joan Halifax talks about “strong back, soft front” and it’s useful to remember that everything passes. So, dear friend, I write this blog—let’s give thanks for what we have and be loving to our soft tender spots—and thank each other for walking down the path of life together. Every moment is a precious moment…and it will change.

Join us for the Aging with Wisdom group where we will explore the questions: HOW DO I MEET THE UNWANTED? HOW DO I NURTURE MY VULNERABLE SELF?

Celebration

In New England, fall is a time of transition from the warmth of summer to the chill of winter and it’s reflected in the foliage of trees that turn from green to shades of red, yellow, and brown before they fall from their branches. On our morning walk, I wear a sweater and go up the hill a bit more briskly, carrying a tissue not to wipe sweat off my brow but to wipe my nose and survey the changing landscape. Normally, this evokes sadness but I find myself accepting the changes and I am savoring the emergence of new colors and the greenery that is still here. It is a reminder of impermanence. . . and for the first time, in the years since my mother died in October many years ago, I am not falling into sadness as I see the leaves dry up and fall from the trees or complaining as I add another layer to my clothes.

What is different? Could it be that I, along with five other adults of varying ages and backgrounds had a B’nai Mitzvah, a coming-of-age ceremony? This ceremony is traditionally given to boys when they reach the age of 13 and it marks their full entry to Judaism and participate in all its rituals and obligations. I came of age when girls were exempt from this ceremony and I resented this. My brother had a big party after his bar mitzva and his achievement was celebrated. I wanted to be celebrated too. At the time this was just the way it was, but now at the age of 79 I had the opportunity to partake in the ritual. It was too late for my parents to be there but still time to have my own ceremony and feel a sense of pride and accomplishment in my own achievements. I realized this is what I really wanted, and was most important.

It takes courage to acknowledge old hurts and regrets and risk a new identity that is stronger, fuller and takes effort to move into which is what the ceremony helped me feel. It can be scary to say, yes, I am good enough and try something new when failure is possible. It’s also very freeing and was worth the effort.

As I age, I’m finding myself gaining perspective and softening, soothing, and allowing myself to make peace inside myself so old wounds, injustice, and regrets no longer bleed into the present. How wonderful that I had the opportunity to be a part of this ancient tradition and share it with others.I feel grateful.

There are few poems I’ve memorized. One is “The Breeze at Dawn “by Rumi, a 16th-century Persian poet and mystic. It’s a short, succinct poem
easy to memorize.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

What do we really want? Really want!
We ask this in the first class of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program. The answer is usually peace or some version of “be happy” and we then discuss what is needed for this to come about..

I want to experience peace. I want to shake off old stories and examine their veracity with a fresh perspective. I want to be free to explore new opportunities, take chances and continue to be creative. I want to be able to deal with sorrow and not fall into despair. I want to be generous and kind, wise and understanding.

I want to be as John O’Donahue suggests, “live like a river flows carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”

Who knows what will happen and what will be, but I don’t want to go back to sleep.

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The Aging with Wisdom group meets this Thursday, October 6th at 11 AM, EDT.  I invite you to ask yourself the question raised in the blog "What do you really want?" more than one time and jot down what arises, which we will explore when we meet this Thursday. Here’s a link to register.

Take care, and may your adventure not be too wild but always interesting.

Warmly, Elana