TO GO ON

Why is it that I suddenly feel so, well, old? Is it because my knees are stiff and sore, is it because I get tired more easily, is it because others treat me with a certain solicitousness not offered before, or is it because I am truly entering a new stage of life that I have not yet fully embraced? In the past I have had no difficulty accepting shortcomings regarding my age, so it is somewhat surprising to find myself experiencing a vague discomfort in acknowledging my current limitations and in allowing the caring attention of others.

There is a balance to be found here—as in so many areas of life. I am eighty years old, so cannot expect to maintain the same level of flexibility and vigor that I enjoyed earlier. And yet I do not wish to surrender too soon to feelings of incapacity. Is it rude to reject offers of unneeded help? Or is it more polite to accept such offers, even knowing that I am perfectly capable of doing the task myself? Perhaps there is a middle way, a gracious way of acknowledging the kindness without accepting the implied inability. I also know it is important to learn to accept offers, or to seek help, when I have a genuine need. It is not wise to be too stubborn or too proud.

In an earlier blog, I wrote about the gifts of age, among which were the qualities of patience, acceptance, and detachment. As I try to come to terms with the diminishment of my physical strength and energy and yet honor my concurrent desire for self-sufficiency, it is apparent that these three traits are fundamental to finding the balance I seek. As I live into this ultimate stage of life, patience will be required—from and for myself as well as from those who genuinely care for me. I am, after all, learning a new way of living, which takes time. In addition, realistic acceptance of my present physical status is essential if I am to avoid being in complete denial regarding the conditions of advanced age. Detachment also provides a valuable perspective. When I can stand back and look with some measure of objectivity I can see more clearly my circumstances, and, I must admit, they are not bad!

Which brings me to a final important point, and that is a reminder to myself to be grateful for all I have, especially for my basically good health. My complaints are minor and manageable; while my blessings are major and contribute mightily to my well-being—in spite of feeling, well, old.

P.S. I just came across a poem by Liz Waldner in The New Yorker the final lines of which seem strangely appropriate, perhaps qualifying as a synchronicity:

I am old enough to understand
being willing

to go on is a great gift.

HOPE AND FEAR

January 1, 2009: the beginning of a new year, a time when my heart is filled with equal parts of hope and fear for our country. The hope springs from what will take place on January 20, when Barack Obama is to be inaugurated. This historic occasion brings forth an enormous sense of pride and joy, for having been brought up in the segregated South, I am especially moved—and astonished—that I should live to see an African-American become president of the United States. It is my deepest desire that he and his administration succeed in changing the direction and the agenda of our nation quickly and decisively. We are all aware of how desperately we need that shift, for the past eight years have been disastrous—politically, militarily, economically, and perhaps most significantly, morally.

My fear is that the magnitude of the problems facing our new president will be overwhelming, that the deepening economic recession will reach catastrophic proportions, that we will be drawn into more wars, that our moral leadership on the world stage has been damaged permanently and irreparably. It is my fear that we as a people will become impatient with the inevitable slow pace of change and that we will succumb to hopelessness and despair.

I am struck by parallel feelings regarding my own life. As I enter my ninth decade, both hope and fear reside within me, in almost equivalent shares. This new stage offers changes and challenges, and it is my hope I can face them with courage and good humor, and that I can apply my own recommended measures of acceptance, patience, and detachment. My fear is that, without the specific events, deadlines, or goals such as I had last year, I shall fall into lethargy or ennui, failing to find the kind of stimulation and motivation I seem to need. I too fear falling into hopelessness and despair.

This past year was a momentous one for me. Norm died in March, making me a widow. Had he made it a few more months—until September—we would have been married for sixty years. His death, though not totally unexpected, still left a big vacancy in my life and in my heart. In August I celebrated my eightieth birthday with a glorious party. I felt a great sense of pride and accomplishment when I presented my book, Leafings and Branchings, to my family and friends. At present I have no similar projects to complete nor do I anticipate such significant landmarks this coming year. (Though we never know, do we?)

Last year at this time, I wrote that my intention for the coming year was to be kind. I have tried mightily to fulfill that intention, though I certainly have had some lapses. This year I wish to focus on maintaining hope, on not allowing fear to overcome my natural optimism regarding both the future of our country and my own personal fate. Since it is my belief that our thoughts have power, I intend to make every effort to think hopeful thoughts and thus add to the possibility of a kindler, gentler world and a full, satisfying experience as I continue to live into this late stage of my life.

I close with a quote from one of Norm’s heroes, Albert Einstein: “Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.”