It Sounds Like Joy

Ever notice how we human beings have ways of marking the passage of time? Sure, we have our calendars, our reminders, our clocks and gizmos. I’m talking about the not-so-obvious ways of marking time. The ways that mark time in subtle ways that leave you realizing after the fact how time has passed rather than noting it up front.

I am not a winter person. I like cool weather but I’m really a sunny, summer person. I mark my years mostly by noting the passage of the seasons. The months from January to the end of March are dreadful for me. In the region where I live winters are relatively mild, but temperatures can vary from a balmy 60 degrees one day to snowing and freezing levels the next. I find this pretty tough on my system. I’m always glad when Daylight Saving Time arrives. Even though I lose an hour, I can see that summer is on the way, and with it, some more consistent temperatures.

I’m also in a career field that allows me to not have to show up or punch a clock during the summer, while still receiving a paycheck. I am not paid for those days, but the pay for the days I do work is spread out over the entire year. So, in addition to the seasons, I mark the advent of time through the annual cycle of my job. For example, for most people the New Year begins in January, but for me, the New Year begins in late August. I know the New Year is coming up when I see close outs on summer swimwear and sales on school supplies. When others celebrate the New Year I am celebrating the halfway point in another year.

Some people count time by using holidays as markers. There are the usual fall festivities of Back-to-School leading up to Halloween, which a friend of mine swears is the official start of the holiday season. Then, of course, to make the longer nights and shorter days more bearable we have all the big parties like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah and New Year’s. we move trough the dreariest part of the year with fewer holidays, until we arrive at 4th of July; marking our passage already through half the summer and the year.

Tonight, as I lie awake listening, I realize that sounds can also indicate the passage of time by evoking memories of earlier times when the sounds were similar to the ones we hear now. Or, maybe, it is how the sounds differ that strike a chord in our memories, giving us pause to realize how much things have changed; to note the changes over the course of time.

Tonight, for me, is one of those “sounds” moments. In earlier posts on this blog I wrote of the sounds I heard late at night. These words were penned at a time in my life when I was experiencing the end of a very disastrous marriage. At one point, I lived in a trailer borrowed from friends. Now, almost five years later, I can feel the rumble of the semi’s and the roar of their tires on the pavement as I lied awake fearful and anxious wondering how we’d survive. At a later point, I was rebuilding life in an older home requiring a great amount fixing up. Awake late at night, I heard the gurgling hum of the pool pump and the sound of the occasional car passing on the highway a mile north of our old home. The divorce was final, the dust had settled, I was incredibly worried about finances, but I was safe and, in many ways, happier than I’d ever been.

Tonight as I lie awake, I listen. I hear sounds that are similar to those earlier times, blending with new sounds. I still hear the familiar sounds of tires on roadway, the tinkling magical sound of the wind chimes hanging outside my bedroom window, the cool air coming in from outside, and tonight…rain.

But it isn’t entirely the same either. The tires on roadway are now on a freeway, an interstate. The same one I lived beside in the borrowed trailer. Instead of a thundering roar of truck tires barreling by only a couple hundred feet away, I hear a steady soft roar reminiscent of the ocean, constant but not loud. It is muffled, but definitely there. Calming in its steady tones the distant roar of the freeway is a reminder of how things have changed and of how they haven’t. The wind chimes tinkle from a different home, a two story, larger, newer, easier to maintain. It has a dishwasher, and no yard, but plenty of spacious decking. Gone is the hum of the pool pump, the click of the hot tub heater kicking in, replaced these days by the soft sound of the breeze blowing through massive cedars.

So much has happened in the last five years. As I sit considering all that transpired since this time half a decade past, I’m astounded at what I’ve lived through. Proud of some accomplishments; embarrassed and ashamed by others. It’s all part of life and I’ve made my peace with my past. I ponder the passage of time tonight not with calendar nor clock, but with the simplicity of sound. The sounds take me back and move me forward simultaneously…and for the briefest of moments time stands still. I am, as I was back then, grateful, content, and filled with a strange, unlikely emotion that comes not from having things or lacking stress, but from being alive. It sounds like joy.

5 Lessons Learned From My 3-Year-Old Self

Just yesterday,it seems, I was three, toddling around my grandparents’ property in Idaho; following my grandfather everywhere and chasing the neighbors chickens from across the road. These were happy, carefree days. I was surrounded by people I loved, in a location I loved, doing the things I loved, whatever that is at three, and nothing in my world was amiss. I looked forward to each moment. In fact, I was too busy enjoying each moment I had no concern for the next. My old mind now recalls those happy times as the endless days of summer. There were no rainy days both literally and figuratively.

Fast forward 50 years and the landscape dramatically shifts. I’m no longer three, no longer quite so carefree. My free-spirited happy-go-lucky three-year-old self morphed into a middle-aged woman with worries. There are wonderful summer days aplenty in my 50-year-old life. There are also many, many overcast and rainy days too.

When did I grow up? When did I take on the responsibilities and cares that fill my days? How and when did I lose that sense of existing only for the moment without worrying about or anticipating the next?

These days, with a birthday around the corner marking the half-century milestone so many love to hate, I’m prone to pondering the reality of my aging and the inevitability of my ultimate death more often than ever before. Will I be okay financially after I can no longer work? Will my physical body age well so that I can remain active, mobile, and self-sufficient for as long as possible? Will my mind and my memories remain intact? Will my children be able to obtain the skills and educations they need in order to live well and take care of themselves as adults? I have replaced my 3-year-old ways of living in the moment with a 50-year-old’s ways of stressing out about the wrong turns in life and the reality that, at 50, I am again in a place of starting over without the benefit of youth, energy, time and a fairly clean slate to work with.

I’m aging. I don’t like it. Unlike being an infant and being unaware in my helplessness, I will someday be helpless again (oh, I do hope not too helpless) only this time, I will be aware of that helplessness and my dependency upon others. I will be aware of days when I was stronger, when I was healthier, when I was better able to cope independently. I think I will not enjoy being in that place. I am working hard now to avoid that by staying as active and mentally alert as possible.

I wonder often, of late, what these days will really be like. Like the fable of the Ant and the Grasshopper, I wonder when it comes to the latter years of my life will I be more like the Grasshopper or the Ant? So often, to date, I’ve foolishly chosen the role of the Grasshopper. I do not choose this path now, but I doubt myself. Can I adequately prepare for the winter years of my life at this late stage of the game. Am I even ready, beyond merely storing away for a rainy day, to weather all that I might encounter in years to come? Aging, especially aging well, is not for the faint of heart.

So, facing the reality of my humanity and my mortality, I pause to consider a few lessons gleaned from my 3-year-old self. These lessons don’t do anything to slow the inevitable ticking of the clock in its relentless march toward the future, but they might help make the the journey into the days ahead something far more enjoyable to look back on than my anxious 49.75 year-old-self is doing now. These ideas are not new, they are not profound, but they are, I think, helpful in creating the kind of perspective that creates the kind of life that leads to the kind of future I hope to live.

Lesson 1: Live in the moment. At 3, I really had no idea that the future existed. I lived in a perpetual state of “now”. I didn’t worry about troubles to come. I knew the big people in my life would take care of everything. In fact I wasn’t even aware that there was anything they needed to take care of for me. I spent all my existence exploring and enjoying the world immediately around me whether it was mucking around in the pasture in my Grandpa’s old galoshes or playing in the hay in the barn or chasing the neighbors chickens to see if they would fly. I enjoyed each and every moment as if it was new even though each and every day was much like the day before and the day to come. As adults we gain greater capacity to remember and learn and anticipate. That’s good, but we often lose the sense of wonder and joy that comes with being in the present without dwelling anxiously about what must be done next. I’m not suggesting we scrap planning or goal-setting. But backing off and focusing on being in the moment and appreciating that moment for what it is, instead of viewing life always in terms of the things that have to happen to get through the week or the month. I’m a planner and a scheduler, so this is always a challenge for me.

Lesson 2: Trust more. Worry less. My 3-year-old self didn’t worry about the future and the potential problems that could befall me. I now know that there were plenty of things that were worried about by the Big People in my life, but I was unaware of any of it. As an adult, I cannot pretend to be unaware or cavalier about challenges I face or business I must tend to. I do, however, need to trust more actively that the Big Person in my life is working out the details. If there is one thing I’ve learned in the last 5 years since my divorce, it is that things always have a way of working out and it is usually in a much better or more manageable way than I imagined, even if it isn’t perfect. I need to step back and trust more that this will continue to be so. Even if things go badly, my worrying about it won’t change anything. It also makes me and those around me miserable.

Lesson 3: Laugh. This needs really no explanation. 3-year-olds laugh enthusiastically and with abandon. As an adult, finding the humor and hilarity in even the most awkward or troublesome situations can often diffuse tension and release stress. Plus, it can be a whole lot of fun.

Lesson 4: Hang out with those you love. At three, I was very fortunate. My mother lived with my grandparents while she worked to save enough money so she could go to college. My grandparents owned a small department store in the rural Pacific Northwest community where we lived. I spent nearly all of my time with my grandparents either on their property or with them at the store. Later, when my mother eventually went back to school, I spent plenty of time in institutionalized daycare and I made good friends there. To this day, though, my best an most enjoyable memories were of the times I hung out with Grandpa while he went about his daily tasks. No fancy “play dates”. No movies. No trips to this or that whatever Funville. Just time together every single regular, ordinary day. These memories are the happiest for me now. I need to make sure I make the time to “just hang” with those who are most important to me. This is very different than rushing to and from planned activities with loved ones.

Lesson 5: Explore and Play. This is what kids do, don’t they? Without the aid of a gaming system, television, or lessons filling every non-school waking hour, Kia create things to do and games to play. They explore ideas, the backyard, the tool shed. As adults, we can too easily fall into the trap of going, doing, being and providing for everyone else that it is no longer fun. We lose our playfulness and our curiosity. We need to take time to just play. One little known fact from Three-Year-Old World? Coloring isn’t just fun, it’s incredibly therapeutic. If you don’t believe me, go get a coloring book and a big box of crayons and try it. Even better, color while hanging out with someone you love.

I wish time weren’t flying by like a madwoman racing Mach 5 with her hair on fire. I wish, in a way, to be three again. Chasing chickens and following grandpa around the yard as he irrigated the property and fed the dogs without a care in the world except to be happy and have fun. I know I can’t make time stand still and it would be foolish to disregard all responsibilities and obligations of adult life, but my 3-year-old self knew how to take each day at at time and live it to the utmost. I can learn from that person I used to be, by following these five lessons.

What lessons would your 3-year-old self teach you?

Anniversaries, Birthdays & Other Musings of A Convalescent

An anniversary is a time to celebrate the joys of today, the memories of yesterday, and the hopes of tomorrow.

~Author Unknown

I’ve recently been thinking about birthdays, anniversaries and other events that commemorate the existence or longevity of relationships, lives, and important activities. This year, as with every year, is filled with several such markers which will recognize the presence of something or someone my life. I will celebrate the birthdays of my children; once again taking time to reflect on how quickly the time has passed since they each decided to depart my womb and enter the world as individuals in their own right. I will celebrate the birthdays of other loved ones as I give thanks for their existence.

In some cases, these anniversaries recognize the time since something ended instead of marking a beginning. This year marks the eleventh year since my first marriage ended and the fifth year since the end of my second one. It will be two years since I gave up dating. I’ll also celebrate one year in my new home, which is also one year since I decided to give up the battle I was fighting trying to keep up an old ranch-style home that I could not maintain nor adequately afford.

In yet other instances, the dates signify transitions rather than births or deaths. For example, it really is inadequate (though it is true) to say that I gave up dating two years ago. I did, but that’s not the whole story. I also met a wonderful man who is somehow able to tolerate and even, most of the time, enjoy my distractedness and my quirks. This year also marks the second year since I realized and began working on some of my own goals and dreams, instead of continually being tied up with making others’ dreams come true. That’s a good thing. I remember the day and the place where I made some pivotal decisions for myself.  Decisions which are just now bearing fruit and taking me through more change. Each transition is just another step along the path I began very intentionally walking in 2010.

This year, as well as hosting some notable anniversaries and birthdays, seems as though it is birthing some events that I might later look back on and recognize each year. I wonder, will I look back in years to come on every Valentine’s Day and think, “Wow, just  (insert number here) years ago, I was diagnosed with cancer.  Will I speculate each year that it’s been this many years since that particular event, or that one, or that one?  I do not yet know these things.

What I do know is this:  events during the first quarter of 2012 have changed my perspective on life.  Before this, I was still facing the big half century birthday, but I was facing it a bit cavalierly.  I thought, “I look young for my age. I feel great. I surely shall live to be 90 or a hundred.”

Life changes on a dime.

The form of cancer I have is entirely curable.  Nobody ever wants to get cancer, but if you have to pull the cancer card in the Game of Life, the kind I have is the one to draw. It is probably one of the most curable especially if caught early, which mine was.  I had to have surgery.  I might have to have radiation (that’s a big might; the fact that radiation might not even be needed tells you how early stage I am). I won’t have to have chemo. I am incredibly blessed and just as grateful. But my odds of getting cancer again, have just increased significantly.  Going through something like a 50th birthday, at the same time as experiencing a cancer diagnosis, when your youngest isn’t even in middle school yet, makes you think.  It makes you think long and hard about the value of life and things and the people in your life.

At the same time, certain things become less important while other things (like getting well and staying strong) become more important. The daily requirements of life morph into this strange place where they are both extremely important and not at all relevant.  This is the most difficult aspect of all.  How to live daily in a way that is relevant and meaningful, when so much of the daily stuff we do doesn’t amount to diddly squat.  It is vitally important that I continue to maintain and do the daily things, but so much of the things we make issues over just don’t matter in the long run.

2012 seems to also be birthing events I might well look back on as markers.  I wonder if Valentine’s Day will now have a new meaning for me each year as the day I was diagnosed with cancer.  Will I look back and say, in years to come, that it was (insert the number of years here) years ago when I found out I had cancer, or I had my first surgery.  Or will I always think of January 6, 2012 (the day of that first biopsy) as significant?  I wonder.

I wonder about these things and I wonder, now, about other things.
Instead of counting the days since certain things have happened, I now begin to wonder how many days until…