FINDING THE NEXT THING

How does one circumvent becoming invisible? I think next to loneliness, not being seen is just as spirit crushing. I think this can happen to anyone in any stage of life. People that I admire the most seem to meet this challenge of living a meaningful life by simply finding a daily purpose and routine which places them in situations that foster social interaction. In the age of our current pandemic, social isolation can often become the norm and living alone compounds the issue. So my goal will be to find a daily routine that is a good fit for me. It's scary thinking about going it alone but all new beginnings can be a bit scary. I've even developed a mental list of new routines which I will try out. While social media platforms are fine, they just can't replace in person conversations. Yesterday I went to a really cute coffee spot in a mountain lodge which I think might serve as a good spot to start each day, and most importantly, they sell the daily NYTimes. Hopefully, I will then begin a local exploration of events and service opportunities which take place on a routine basis. I will reconnect with friends in my area and see what they may be interested in doing . Starting over and making new friends at 69 is not going to be easy but it will be an adventure. I will find my purpose in the next thing and I will not allow myself to become invisible.  

STOP THE CLOCK

Even as I folded their little clothes every laundry day, I knew that these moments were numbered -finite. How I wanted time to just stand still - to literally stop the clock. I felt keenly, painfully, the premonition of an empty nest. I think most parents experience this sense of the emptiness to come, even in the busyness of their days. There are just so many perfect moments in being a parent. Now, as the fullness of time is catching up to me, I find such joy and comfort in remembering those special spaces in time. When I am out and about and see young parents,  I make a silent wish for them - that they find joy in all those "stop the clock" moments, that they remember to push the pause button and take time to see this presence of perfection for the sacrament that it is.

IT'S MESSY

Some days it's easy to feel like a road hazard. It's like I have a detour sign on my forehead. Go around - nothing to see here. Road work ahead. Slow down, don't you see the red flags? Some days . . . I just know I am under construction. . . And that's okay. Patch and repair work takes time, and it's messy. But once the steam roller does it's nasty job, I know that there are more smooth rides ahead. In the meantime, just go slowly. 

BEST FRIENDS

I knew what I wanted from a marriage. I wanted what my parents had.  A true partnership. I wanted a wing man. I wanted a cheerleader. I wanted someone I couldn't wait to get home to.  I wanted someone that I could share everything with. I wanted someone who always knew what I was thinking. I wanted someone who felt my joys and sorrows as deeply as I did. I wanted someone who looked at me with the tender eyes of love - always.  I wanted someone who saw the "real me"  in youth and old age. I wanted someone who humorously supported all the band wagons i jumped on. I wanted someone who knew what "sitting with" actually meant. I wanted a best friend.  I got all that and much much more.

Four P.M.

4:00 p.m.  Each day I look forward to 4:00 p.m. it means I made it through another day. When I was working, it was the time I arrived back home. In retirement, it was the time I would start preparing dinner.  Now it's a border line between the day and the evening. Between street clothes and pajamas. Between remembering other days and other nights. Between now and what's to come. 

Widowhood

It can be a certain time of the day or the way the  sunlight streams through the woods.  It's cooking up the other half of the flank steak we so recently shared.  It's not washing your pillow case.  It's placing pillows in a vertical line on your side of the bed. It's looking at your shoes in the mud room.  It's looking at your clothes hanging in your closet - your dup kit, your tooth brush, your comb. It's looking at the last check entry you made . It's facing all the lasts with you  and all the firsts without you. It's solitary meal times and solitary bed times. It's listening and not hearing; it's looking and not seeing. It's the absolute. It's the final. It's the never again. It's widowhood.