Do you ever feel like your days are being nibbled away by chipmunks? My days seem to disappear in hundreds of tiny bites. [Read more…]
Let’s Pop the Cork on Our 2011 Goals!
Old is Good (Part 2)
I feel left behind when I see those up-and-comer headlines, like “40 Under 40!” listing young people who are expected to set the world on fire. [Read more…]
Boomers Are Cheap Dates
I can’t drink anymore. Well, hardly anything. And it pisses me off.
In my twenties, my roommate and I would marvel at the volume of wine bottles in the trash can after a weekend. We were embarrassed, but maybe a little proud of ourselves. What partiers we were! She and I still went to work Monday morning, feeling fine, ready to take on the world.
In my thirties, I noticed I had to be more careful or I’d get a hangover. It didn’t happen very often, because I was working hard, building my career and raising my son. I didn’t get out that much. Although rare, waking up with a headache and a queasy stomach nevertheless served as a reminder that I had overindulged, and I learned to dial it back.
But then middle age crept up, and in my forties I noticed this new phenomenon: the pre-hangover. Even if I drank very little, just a couple of glasses of wine, I might still wake up the next morning feeling tired, sluggish and unmotivated. How depressing.
Now in my fifties, there’s even a new phase: impairment. After one glass of wine, I feel like taking a nap. I don’t have the snap and verve of normal energy. If I want to get anything done after that, forget it. So if I’m dining out, I’ll order a diet Coke. If I’m at a party, I’ll mix diet Seven-Up with white wine, and drink a lot of water. Woo hoo.
Not.
Ah, well. A person adjusts, and there are benefits. I’m sure I’m healthier. I like waking up in the morning feeling clear-headed and energetic. I weigh about five pounds less than I used to, and my stomach is flatter. I’m a popular dinner companion because I fill the role of designated driver.
The only downside is watching other people suck it down, and listening to their increasingly brainless laughter.
Party on.
What Do YOU Want (Part 2)
When you go to bed at night and feel satisfied that you managed to knock off most of the things on your To Do list, do you ever think about the sum of that list?
Is it really an accomplishment? You can get going really, really fast but, at the end of the day (I hate that cliche’ but in this case I mean it literally) did it get you any closer to your goal? Do you even have a goal? Is it to get through the day, errands accomplished? Accounts settled, calls made, kitchen restocked with bread, milk, cereal – is that your life?
When you are on your deathbed, will that have been enough?
I was reading about Jonathan Franzen in Time magazine recently, and he says with life becoming busier all the time, more than ever we need to slow down and read a good book. “The place of stillness that you have to go to write, but also to read seriously, is the point where you can actually make responsible decisions, where you can actually engage productively with an otherwise scary and unmanageable world.”
The same article quotes Soren Kierkegaard and “his idea of busyness: that state of constant distraction that allows people to avoid difficult realities and maintain self-deceptions.” Is this at the heart of our To Do list? Besides making sure there’s always milk and bread, are we just staying busy so we don’t have to ask ourselves, “Did I get what I wanted? Is there still time?”
I think that movement without a goal might add up to wasted effort, time, and life. If I know where I’m going, I can evaluate whether the things I’m doing are getting me there. And if you have the kind of brain I do (fluttery and imprecise), you have to slow down from time to time and meditate. It’s hard, but it’s like exercise – I definitely see a result. My mind clarifies, and I can identify what my priorities are and whether my current activities are moving me toward completing those priorities.
And whether those priorities make sense, in view of the big picture of my mortality.
Here’s how I meditate: I force myself to STOP. I walk to the spare bedroom. Set the timer for 10-15 minutes and bury it under a pillow so it doesn’t startle me. Sit in the comfy chair, close my eyes, and let thoughts rush in and out of my head like a strong breeze – let the thoughts come. Let them go. Don’t stop them. Don’t make mental lists. Don’t conduct analyses. Don’t think.
Listen to the sounds of the house – the dishwasher clunking away, a lawnmower nearby, the gentle whisper of the ceiling fan. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth, while saying one word: rest.
Rest.
Rest.
Does Your Doctor See You Through Gray-Colored Glasses?
I’m not trying to make you paranoid, but when you go to the doctor, are you being stereotyped? [Read more…]
I Am So Grateful
To all my sistahs who have recently sent me your wonderful, kind words of support, I want you to know that I’ll still be in touch. I don’t know what the future holds but even during recuperation, I’ll have access to my laptop. You know me. You can’t keep me offline.
Here’s what I think will happen: soon after October 1, I’ll have surgery, and then we’ll know if my problems are benign or – not. But no matter what, I’m going to keep blogging. Some will be about my situation because I know you’re worried, but most will just be about the usual navel-gazing I’m known for – the unexamined life and all that.
While waiting for the surgery, I am riding an emotional roller coaster. In trying to maintain my sanity I’ve been meditating, and I’ve cut out caffeine and alcohol. Boy, that’s tough; most days I really could use a drink! But this is a healthy decision. Did you know alcohol actually increases long-term anxiety? More on that in a future post, no doubt.
To stay upbeat, I also watch comedies, read happy things, and think about the impending birth of my granddaughter, Ella Marie Morgan, who is due on Oct. 5. Her parents Amy and Daniel are in the picture. Both are elementary school teachers. I promised I would watch Ella full time when Amy goes back to work in February. It’s a scary and thrilling proposition. When I agreed to it, my son did that manly, surreptitious sniffly thing. You know, because men don’t cry.
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