THE ESSENCE OF EIGHTY

I am eighty years old. I am a widow. I live alone. My hair is gray, my face is lined, my breasts are sagging, my belly is bulging, my knees are creaky, my voice is croaky, my back is sore, my hands are covered with age spots, my fingers are gnarled, my energy and my hearing are fading, and my memory sometimes fails me. And yet, I can say without reservation that I have never been happier.

How can that be? Given the emphasis our culture places on the physical attributes of strength and beauty, I should be disheartened, even deeply depressed. But conventional wisdom, with its focus on old age as a time of decline and debility, misses much of the essence of what it means to grow old. As I said in the little talk I gave at the party celebrating my eightieth birthday, one of the gifts of age is the ability to appreciate the cycles and seasons that give life its beauty and its mystery. Though as elders we may suffer losses in vigor and in appearance, we stand to gain in the strength of our character and in the power of our capacity to face with calm endurance whatever life has to offer.

Those of us fortunate enough to live long have learned that we are best served when we can refrain from fighting the flow of life. We have learned that we may face bewildering burdens, unanticipated afflictions, unwanted encumbrances, or trying treacheries, but in spite of these trials, life goes on, so we might as well embrace our destiny with as much graciousness as we can muster. Many of us, by the time we reach our eighties, have learned to navigate the currents of life, giving ourselves over to the ebb and flow while still maintaining our buoyancy and our orientation. We have learned not to move too insistently upstream, against the current; we have learned not to allow ourselves to be pulled down by the undertow of discouraging events, but manage to keep our heads above water—at least most of the time. Throughout our lives we have been taught to swim ahead with determination, to steer our way courageously through rocky rapids, to thrash around vigorously when frightened or threatened. Later we discover that it is often to our advantage to let go, to just gently, fearlessly, float. The older we get, it seems, the easier the floating becomes. We have learned the importance of giving ourselves over to the natural flow of our lives.

One of my personal examples of this challenge was in dealing with Norm during his years of Alzheimer’s disease. During the early years of his illness there was a widely-accepted philosophy that those with dementia should be constantly brought back to the “real” world, that they should be corrected when making misstatements, admonished when forgetting personal information, or reminded to refrain from fantasy. I rejected that perspective, and instead accepted him wherever he was, did not correct his errors, did not admonish him for his forgetfulness, or disrespect his fantasy life. During one stage of his illness he daily reported overnight trips to China, Russia, England, and other exotic places that he took with a fellow resident, a woman whom he described as his companion and driver. (She of course was oblivious of her role in his imaginary travels.) I smiled when told of these excursions, and expressed my interest in his trips. My straightforward acceptance of his stories pleased him, made him less anxious, and made life better for me also. If he was happy in his imaginary world, why should I disturb that?

Another challenge for me was when my daughter Laura was ill with life-threatening cancer. She was near death on more than one occasion, and often seemed to have descended into a dark place of hopelessness and despair. Most persons wished me to emphasize the positive, to focus on her recovery, to insist that she look on the bright side, but I could see that that approach was not helpful to her or to me. I eventually came to believe, and accept, that whatever path she took, whatever her soul chose to do, whether it was life or death, would be all right. This radical, rather astonishing, acceptance actually brought me peace and comfort. Though that was more than five years ago, I was learning then to truly appreciate the cycles and seasons that give life its beauty and its mystery—and I emphasize the mystery. Of course, I do not deny my joyful relief when she chose life.

Advancing age also allows us a sense of detachment that does not seem readily available when we are young. Perhaps it is due to the accumulation of experience, but we finally recognize that life is not made up of just blacks and whites, wrongs and rights, but that events and relationships are full of complexities and complications. I personally find it harder now to decisively place blame, for I can usually see the points of view of both sides of contentious issues. Recently my granddaughter’s engagement was broken, her wedding cancelled, a terribly traumatic happening in her young life. She feels betrayed, is heartbroken and angry, understandably so. My heart goes out to her. But, unlike many familiar with the circumstances, I admit to also having sympathy for the young man. I can also see his suffering. Had this been my daughter rather than my granddaughter, I doubt I could have brought this perspective of distance. It comes as a virtue of age.

Another advantage of increasing age is the development of patience. One of the things I am most proud of in my handling of Norm’s illness is that I quickly learned the necessity of remaining patient, regardless of his often frustrating behavior. Sometimes he repeated himself endlessly, telling the same stories over and over again. One example is when he told me dozens of times a day how important it was to have compassion, a situation in which my own compassion was sorely tried! Then there was the matter of getting dressed. During one period, it would take him several hours just to put his pants on. If I had a deadline or if I had other things to do, that was of no concern to him. Still, I rarely became irritated, but remained calm, gently prodding him to get on with the task at hand. I had always considered myself somewhat volatile and impatient, but I learned that patience is a quality with great advantages, for it avoids the wasteful expenditure of energy when demanding punctuality of things that cannot be scheduled or hurried.

Acceptance, detachment, and patience are related, as if tied together with one thread. One reinforces and strengthens the other. To have one is to make the other more accessible. They also seem to me to be qualities that are especially related to the ripeness of old age. For many of us who are fortunate enough to live into our eighth and ninth decades, a kind of mellowness permeates our being. In spite of the inevitable sorrows and serious setbacks we experience, we continue to savor those precious moments of serenity and simple satisfaction and our hearts are filled with gratitude.

Before I am misunderstood, I wish to point out that, of course, youth also has its virtues. The energy, enthusiasm, ambition, freshness, and beauty that young people possess invigorate and stimulate our lives and our culture. We absolutely need the qualities that youthfulness brings; we need that unsullied zeal, that exuberance, that eagerness, that passion, that keen desire for something new and exciting. Those characteristics are invaluable in producing inventive ideas and bringing about much needed change. But as we acknowledge the significance of the contributions of the early stages of life, let us not forget to value the gifts of old age, for these are all too often dismissed and denigrated. Old age has been badly misrepresented and is frequently underrated. I may not be the attractive young woman I once was, but I would not trade this stage of life for that earlier one. If satisfaction and contentment count for anything, then old age wins hands down.

A POEM FOR ME FROM JESSICA

To Gaga, a poem about your fire.

When I am an old woman I shall wear red
With fantastic jewelry
And painted pink toes
I will drive too fast
Grow beautiful gardens of flowers and herbs
I will drink bottles of wine
Eat fine cheese and nuts and fruit
I will have a family that adores me
And an array of lovely friends,
artists and priests, chefs and writers, teachers and scholars, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, old, young, here, there…
I will read books and write books
I will learn, I will go to school
And make art, take photos
I will give great hugs.
I will go to dinners,
I will cook,
And have parties
And sing and dance and travel
I will be wise, and have grey hair
And glasses and
Beautiful wrinkled hands.

When I am an old woman I will wear red, and black and gold and white and perhaps purple too,
When I am old I will be me.


I love all that you are.
Thank you for being born.

Happy Birthday.

Love, Jess

A TOAST BY LAURA AT MY 80TH BIRTHDAY PARTY

We are here to celebrate 80 birthdays and 59 anniversaries, 55 years of mothering, 28 years of grandmothering, and six months of great-grandmothering. These markings are the raw numbers of old age, but they don’t reflect the memories, stories, lessons and wisdom that come to us in snippets or snapshots or the fullness of a life lived with intensity and insight. That my mother has taken pen to paper—or fingers to keyboard—to share these is a gift to us and a bequest to future generations.

Each of us has entered my mother’s book in a different chapter—some long ago, some more recently—but we are, nevertheless, all part of a story that began in rural North Carolina and moved across the country to the suburbs of St. Louis. The end is not yet written, so we will refrain from speculation, but suffice it to say that we will be eagerly awaiting the sequel at her 90th birthday celebration. But as we reflect today upon the time we have been give with our mother, grandmother, confidant and friend, however long or short, we are reminded that our connections with one another constitute our greatest blessing and though we choose to celebrate the length of our lives, it is their essence that is more worthy of recognition. And so it is true here.

To that end, let us make a toast to times shared, advice given and sought, wisdom imparted, stories remembered and, of course, the joy of reading. Happy Birthday, Mom, and may there be many more chapters to come.

COMMENTS TO PARTY GUESTS: AUGUST 23, 2008

The evening after my grandchildren had planned a special dinner and ritual honoring my eightieth birthday, I had a large party here at my home. There were approximately sixty guests, nourished by the delicious food prepared by my good friend Tim Brennan and entertained by Kim Portnoy, an excellent jazz pianist. It was a fabulous party! The mood was one of joyful celebration—just as I had hoped. Between dinner and the cutting of my tiered birthday cake, which was decorated with fresh flowers and an abundant number of the numeral 80, I offered these remarks to my guests.

Thank you for being here and helping me celebrate my eightieth birthday! I was especially eager to reach this milestone because I wanted to tell you how wonderful it is and how lucky I am to have lived this long. We all know that growing old brings inevitable failings and losses, but it is important to remember that it also provides us with untold opportunities and rewards, even pleasures, among which is the ability to appreciate the cycles and seasons that give life its beauty and its mystery.

I also wanted this occasion in order to express my gratitude to all of you—my family and my friends—for all of you have contributed to the richness and fullness of my life. Many of you have been with me through both dark times and bright times. When I needed to talk, you listened to me; when I was confused, you helped straighten me out; when I was depressed, you cheered me up; when I was joyful, you laughed with me, and recently, when I was grieving Norm’s death, you comforted me. Throughout the years your love and support have sustained and nourished me. The little spider on my invitation suggested that I am still weaving the web of my life and I am incredibly blessed to have caught each one of you in that web!

As a token of my appreciation, I have a gift for you—my long-awaited book, Leafings and Branchings, which tells the story of my life. I have had many interesting experiences as I traveled from my childhood, raised during the Great Depression on a farm in North Carolina, in a house without electricity or running water, to the comfortable, privileged, and gratifying life I lead today. I hope you will get half as much pleasure in reading about my life’s journey as I did in writing about it. I would love to hear your impressions after you read it. There will be copies stacked on the table by the front door, so as you leave you may take a copy with you if you wish.

Perhaps you noticed that on my invitations the “eighties” were hanging from a tree like ripened fruit—just as are the ones on the tree in my garden. I would like to share with you a short poem, called Halcyon Days, written by Walt Whitman when in his seventies, for in many ways it reflects my own sentiments.

Not from successful love alone,
Nor wealth, nor honor’d middle age, nor victories of politics or war;
But as life wanes, and all the turbulent passion calm,
As gorgeous, vapory, silent hues cover the evening sky,
As softness, fullness, rest, suffuse the frame, like fresher, balmier air,
As the days take on a mellower light, and the apple at last
hangs really finish’d and indolent-ripe on the tree,
Then for the teeming quietest, happiest days of all!
The brooding and blissful halcyon days!

So, here’s to being eighty—the brooding, blissful, happiest days of all!

PRESENTATION OF MY BOOK TO MY FAMILY

When I was in my late seventies I decided to write a book about my life and have it ready to present to family and friends on the occasion of my eightieth birthday. Though I had allowed my daughters to read the text before publishing, no one had seen the completed book until the evening of August 22, 2008, when we gathered for a special family ritual honoring my birthday. I had sewed special cloth coverings for each book I handed out, so everyone waited until I had finished with my presentations to remove the casing. These are the remarks I made to my family:

This book is my gift to all of you. It is dedicated to my daughters, my grandchildren, and to all their children and grandchildren yet to be born, that they may know something of my life—my interests, my values, my beliefs, and my loves.

I have lived an extraordinary life, blessed and enriched in ways I never could have imagined as I grew up during the Great Depression on a farm in North Carolina. That poor, often sad and deprived, little farm girl still lives within me, but she now has the company of many other happier, more fulfilled, and more loved sisters in my psyche. The title, “Leafings and Branchings,” represents the abundant, spreading limbs on the tree of my life, and the subtitle, “Memories of My Many Lives,” reflects the multitude of sub-personalities that reside within this one bodily frame.

On this, a celebration of my eightieth birthday, I am especially grateful to all of you—my family—for you are, and have been, the central core of my life. When I ran away from home at age eighteen I essentially cut ties with my original family, losing touch for many years with my parents and my brothers, and never really feeling a part of their world again. In some ways, that was freeing, especially given my parents’ often hostile feelings toward Norm and me, but then I had to figure out how to create a proper emotional and caring environment for my own family. Since my mother did not provide me with a good role model for mothering or for family unity, I had to improvise, and although I had help from Norm, I often got it wrong. I made too many mistakes to enumerate, and for all my false ideas and faulty judgments over the years I ask your forgiveness. I must admit, however, that in spite of my frequent blunders, things have not turned out too badly! All of you instill in me a sense of deep pride and joy. I never imagined that I would be so fortunate or that I would end up with such an accomplished and loving family.

Before I address each of you, I wish us to take a moment to remember Norm. Needless to say, none of this could have happened without him. I wish he could be here with us in person, so I could express to him my appreciation for all he gave us. I have confidence that his spirit hovers around us this evening. To you, Norm. Thank you for helping guide and nurture this wonderful family of ours.

Laurie, since you were our first child, you were perhaps the one to suffer most from my lack of experience and expertise. It has been said that birth and death allow for no rehearsals, and I would say the same for motherhood. One enters into it with no prior knowledge, and since I did not have a mother to turn to for help, I was especially ignorant. I sought guidance from books, a rather poor alternative, especially since they offered little in terms of how to deal with such fundamental issues as how to provide love and comfort. I wanted desperately to be a good mother, different than my own, but too often I failed to meet my own standards. In spite of my failings, however, you have done extremely well. You are an educated and proficient woman, a loving and attentive mother, and a talented writer. You were a skilled lobbyist for charter schools, and continue to be a well-informed (though highly opinionated!) political junkie. You faced a serious illness with grit and courage. I am proud of all that you are and all that you have done. I especially wish to thank you for your patience with my missteps and for your kindness in including me in your life. This book is for you.

Jenny, you were next. There is an old joke that says if you want a perfect child, have three and throw the first two away, another illustration of how little we as new parents know and how much we learn from each child. You arrived so quickly after Laurie—less than two years—that I really did not have much time for developing great insights into child-rearing. But your placid nature helped make it easier and your entirely different way of being added to my learning curve. I was made aware of how each child has her own distinctive characteristics, from the day of birth onward. You too managed to overcome my shortcomings as a mother. You were determined from an early age to be independent, so you made your own way through graduate school, and made your own decisions with careful thought and planning. You arranged your career so you could be at home with your children. In your writing, you focused on your lifelong interest in family issues. Later, you created the nonprofit organization that represents much of your outlook on life—doing good for others. I congratulate you for your accomplishments and thank you for all you have given me and taught me. I also ask forgiveness for the times I have hurt you. This is for you.

Dan, though you arrived in our family relatively recently, you have surely become a most valued member of our little group. You faced some formidable challenges when you married Laura. Becoming an instant step father to two young women who already had their ideas about how to do things had to have been a confusing, demanding, and sometimes frustrating role for you. But you adjusted admirably, even, it seems, eagerly, and you have been accepting, accommodating, and generous in helping guide them during some of their most formative years. As if that weren’t enough, you were then faced with the trauma of Laura’s illness, a terrible time for all of us. We are all grateful for your professional advocacy and for the personal devotion you displayed during those difficult times. In addition, I wish to thank you for the expert advice and technical information, as well as the muscle power, you so kindly provide me when I need help. I am especially appreciative that you are willing to live only a few blocks away, for that gives me a great sense of security. This copy is for you.

Rocky, just as I can say of Dan, you have a special place in my heart because of your love of and devotion to my daughter and to my grandchildren. You have taught them skills and exposed them to experiences they would never have had without your interests and your guidance. That is especially true regarding sports, from ice skating to baseball to tennis to golf to water skiing. You were an excellent teacher and set a good example for them, not just in how to become good athletes, but also in how to be good sports. You also chose a life style that allowed you to spend valuable time with your family, a great gift to them as they were growing up. My one complaint is that you chose to settle in Minneapolis. It is indeed a beautiful city, and I realize it was always home for you, but had you lived closer I would have had more opportunities to take part in the lives of your family. I did not get to see all you as often as I would have liked. Still, I know that I can call on you when I am in need and for that I am grateful. This book is for you.

Now to the next generation.

Carolyn, we were thrilled when you arrived—our first grandchild. I remember going to Philadelphia to stay with your parents for a couple of weeks, helping reassure them, doing household chores so your Mom could get some rest, and also on occasion offering advice, though I tried hard to wait until I was asked. I also was then just getting involved with photography so you were a perfect subject. I thought your fingers and toes and belly button and bottom, not to mention your sweet face, were the most exquisite and perfect ones every to appear on this earth, and I wanted to capture every part of you on film. I was delighted when your Mom and Dad moved to St. Louis, for then I got to watch you grow into a highly intelligent, generous-hearted, loving, socially aware, gifted young woman—the latest achievement being a PhD from Harvard. Being witness to all that has given me great joy. Thank you for being such a beautiful soul. This book is yours.

Rebecca, luckily your parents lived in St. Louis when you were born, so you have been a part of my life from your first days. Your Mom was so exhausted after your birth—she did not remain in the hospital for some much needed rest—that I was the one to take you back there for something related to your bilirubin count, either testing or treatments, I’m not sure which. Anyway, we were bonded from the beginning. When you were little we had what you called our “dates,” when we would play or do special projects, and though of a different order now, I still treasure our times together. You have put your wide range of organizational talents, innovative energies, and aesthetic tastes into an extraordinary global endeavor—that of helping women in developing countries establish themselves in their own businesses. I applaud you for the hard work you have put into creating Nest. Thank you for your vision, for your dedication, and for your love. Here is your copy.

Jessica, I went to Chicago to help your parents when you were born. They lived in this bug-infested apartment, and I slept fitfully on a pull-out couch with the springs poking through, so I was a bit alarmed when your Mom said she would be happy to live there forever! Nevertheless, I loved getting acquainted with you, and by the end of my stay had taken you—at all of two weeks old—to the Greenhouse at the Ritz Carlton Hotel, thus introducing you to one of my favorite spots in Chicago. When, a couple of years ago, you went with me there—as well as to other top quality restaurants—you had developed a highly cultivated taste for wholesome food and good wine. That gastronomical interest is one you have pursued on many levels, including preparing some lovely meals for me, and most recently in your work with the slow food movement. You also have great artistic talent which you have demonstrated with your creative projects and with your book art. I am especially grateful for your help with my book. Your cover design is what makes it the beautiful volume it is. Thank you very much. This is yours.

Rachel, you were Minnesota born and Minnesota bred, and you certainly exhibit the values and training so lovingly given you by your parents. Having recently completed your undergraduate degree, you are now pausing before you take the next step into your adult life. What is obvious is that you have a highly developed social conscience, a love of children, and a deep empathy for those less fortunate than you. Your studies regarding women’s issues and your work with disadvantaged families demonstrate your dedication to causes that receive all too little attention in our culture. Though I have not seen nearly as much of you as I would like, the times we have spent together have been delightful. You are an excellent conversationalist, for you have not only the ability to ask good questions, but also the capacity for active listening, a rare skill. And you have that most welcome of gifts—a marvelous sense of humor. In that way you remind me of Papa. I look forward to seeing how your life continues to unfold. This copy is for you.

Nick, being the youngest grandchild and the only boy gives you a special place in our family. But, since those were not conditions chosen by you, they are not really the reasons that make you special as a human being. During this past academic year, while you were a student at Washington U., I had the joy of getting to know you much better and of observing your interaction with others. I was greatly impressed—with your maturity, with your discipline, with your intelligence, and with your integrity. Unlike many young persons, you are able to transcend barriers, relating with ease to others regardless of age, or gender, or social standing, or outlook. Having you here in St. Louis last year was not only an enormous blessing for me but also for Norm in the last months of his life. He had a strong connection with you, and I hope that will always remain in your memories and in your heart. I know that whatever your future holds, he would have been proud. This book is yours.

Raven, I do not have quite the same history with you that I have with my grandchildren, since I did not know you from your early childhood, and yet you are firmly ensconced in our family circle. We love you of course because of your love for Carolyn, but you have also brought us other gifts. I especially appreciate that you have widened my literary horizons with your writing and your poetry. I also find your playfulness a marvelous attribute—one that counters my own more serious nature. The time we had together traveling through Italy, and the visits I have had with you and Carolyn provide me with many wonderful memories, of which some of the greatest are our engaging and stimulating conversations. I feel privileged to benefit from your wide-ranging knowledge and interests. I also am deeply impressed with your courage and tenacity in overcoming a potentially destructive addiction. You deserve enormous credit for that, and I salute you. With my love and respect, this book is for you.

In closing, I wish to thank all of you for this special occasion. You have warmed my heart, made me proud, replenished my soul, and filled me with joy. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

AT AGE EIGHTY: SOME INSIGHTS

At a recent family celebration of my eightieth birthday (which was August 20), I was asked to impart some “words of wisdom” to my grandchildren. I found that daunting, so decided instead to share a few experiences and some of the insights I have acquired in my long life. During the recent Summer Olympics held in Beijing, we learned that, for the Chinese at least, eight is a lucky number. So, since I have now lived for eight decades, am eighty years old, and August is the eighth month, I talked about eight events or pursuits that were especially significant for me. Of course, there are many more, for life is one continuous learning experience, but here are a few of the highlights.

1. First, running away from home at age eighteen—another eight!—because of my love for my husband Norm was probably the single most crucial event of my life, and was perhaps the most risky, for I was completely without any financial or family resources and faced a very uncertain future. Looking back on it, I can see that I had a lot of what might be called foolish courage, but that audacity altered the course of my life, even though I paid a high price—separation from my family, which brought me considerable anguish. Still, I’m thankful I took that leap into the unknown, for I cannot imagine what my life might have been had I not done so. Could I have remained in Smithfield, North Carolina? I don’t think so! Sometimes it’s smart to follow your heart.

2. After we married and graduated from Washington U, Norm and I went to graduate school at the University of Iowa where we got masters degrees. Following that I worked as director of a preschool for handicapped children for a couple of years before I got pregnant. It did not occur to me to continue working, for at that time being full-time wife and mother seemed my only choice. While I knew next to nothing about mothering, I worked at it and was happy having children to love and nurture. And I was good at being a homemaker; I enjoyed the creative aspects of cooking and sewing and gardening and entertaining. I was, of course, not totally fulfilled with having only domestic chores to occupy me, so later I taught part time at St. Joseph Institute for the Deaf, but there is much to be said for the pleasures found in making a comfortable and attractive environment for one’s family. I was, and am, a natural Hestia, a woman of the hearth and home.

3. Having said that, I decided after my daughters Laurie and Jenny left for college to develop some non-domestic interests. Discovering the artistic possibilities of photography was a huge step for me. I developed an eye for composition, mastered technical procedures, and learned to express my emotions in a visual medium. In short, I became an artist. The years I devoted to photography were both productive and profoundly meaningful. Without any conscious awareness of what I was doing, I explored some of my deepest feelings, conflicts, and sorrows, and thereby produced some photographs that were both psychologically evocative and esthetically pleasing. This work also gave me an identity beyond that of mother and homemaker, an important step for me.

4. During those years taking, processing, and showing my photographs, I cultivated other interests as well. For one, I became fascinated with ritual, and began doing ceremonies with a group of women. Soon I also shared this activity with the family when we got together for Thanksgiving holidays at Webb Lake, at spring-times down in Sanibel, and on other important occasions. I loved those gatherings, when my grandchildren played dress-up, did craft projects, found examples of the elements, and entered into discussions of our chosen topic. I feel those rituals strengthened our family ties, helped us think more deeply, gave us a chance to explore metaphorical language, and encouraged creativity. I especially relished the coming-of-age rituals when we focused on each child, celebrating his or her uniqueness, and recognizing the important transition from childhood to adulthood. For me these were powerful times and I treasure those memories.

5. During the early and middle years of my marriage I suffered terribly from depression. Those periods of despair and sorrow depleted my energy and drained joy from my life, so I finally decided to address some of my own psychological issues. Much of my sadness had to do with unresolved problems with my parents, especially my mother, but I also was not happy with the relationship I had with Norm. I wanted to be treated with more respect and equality. Entering analysis with Lucy Klein, a Jungian analyst in Chicago, when I was in my early sixties was one of the best decisions I ever made. Though the sessions were often distressing and sometimes discouraging, I learned to face some of my demons, my fears, my conflicts, and my insecurities. Of course I continue to strive to be a better person, for we are never finished with our inner work, but slowly I was able to accept my failures, forgive my parents for theirs, and come to terms with the puzzles, pain, and pleasures of a good, but imperfect, marriage. I strongly believe that doing inner work by bringing awareness to our innermost feelings contributes to a happy and fulfilling life.

6. This leads me to the subject of relationships. Learning to live harmoniously with another human being from a different background, with a different life history, and with different needs is one of our greatest challenges, for it requires continuous communication, sustained negotiation, constant compromise, and a willingness to forgive past hurts. While building a strong, enduring relationship is not easy—it takes real work—it is enormously rewarding, for we can then reach beyond ourselves, broaden our horizons, and deepen our understanding of what love and commitment are about. There were times—even after forty-five years of marriage—when I thought I might leave Norm, but I am really glad that both of us made the effort to work through many of our differences and decided to overlook or live with those we could not resolve. I know that sometimes this is not possible and that it is wise to move on if there are basic incompatibilities and differences in outlook, but we should remember to value and to work at our relationships.

7. In order to build relationships that are lasting and loving, it is helpful to determine who we truly are. It sometimes takes courage to stand up to family expectations and cultural conventions, to follow our intuitions, and to accept our own special, maybe even peculiar, characteristics. As for me, it was not until I worked with Lucy that I began to get in touch with my own strengths, as well as weaknesses, and it was not until I was sixty-nine years old and entered a PhD program that I began to fully explore my intellectual capacities. I am not suggesting that you wait as long as I did, but it’s good to know that it is never too late to learn! Once we connect with our own authenticity and recognize our true character, then we are free to examine all possibilities and can lovingly acknowledge all our faults, all our idiosyncrasies, and all our gifts. We are also then able to accept the diverse characteristics of others and to have compassion for all human beings.

8. This brings me to number eight. As you know, I am not a follower of any particular religion, but I do feel that a spiritual outlook has added important dimensions to my life. Quite frankly, I am not sure exactly what I mean by that, except that having a sense of wonder and curiosity, asking questions and examining the deeper meaning of life, and looking within to ascertain how we are connected to others, to the world, and to the universe, all seem to be worthwhile pursuits. As we delve into the mysteries of life and death, we open our hearts and minds, and in some strange way that makes us better human beings. Though we cannot find definitive answers to the big questions, we can remember to treat each other with consideration, with compassion, with simple kindness. It is especially important to treat ourselves with the same respect and kindness we offer others, for we are just as deserving. Remember that each one of us is a vibrant, gifted, glorious, and lovable human being.

Thanks for listening. I love you all!