Category Archives: aging

There’s a nap for that

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Most days our time is spent on routine tasks.  We get up, we have coffee, we prepare ourselves (and possibly a family) for the approaching day and we leave the house, or not, with confidence as we anticipate the next eight to twelve hours of our lives.  It seems like a standard operating procedure.

But life has a way of throwing a myriad number of curve balls into our otherwise predictable strike zone.  It can be exhausting trying to anticipate what is coming next.  By 3:00 pm, the wall looms directly ahead and we plow right into it.

Statue_of_the_Tired_Man

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There is much to be said for getting to the point in your life that admitting an afternoon nap is acceptable.  It doesn’t make us old, it makes us smart.  If you can afford yourself a bit of a break, a 2o-minute power snooze has been proven to boost your energy level, your cognitive skills, your creativity and your memory.

So the next time your boss catches you catching some z’s at your desk, you can simply tell that executive figure that you are clearly increasing your productivity in the workplace.

How do you feel about an afternoon siesta?

 

It’s all over

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My dad was a staunch believer in always giving 100 percent effort.  His mantra played over and over in my head every time I wrote a test in school and every time I had to put any form of exertion into a task.

Somewhere along my journey through this life, that chant of success began to increase in volume and unwittingly seeped into every other aspect of my life.  Sometimes it felt good and other times it felt more like punishment.

I began to take most things to a new level.  And going overboard on simple achievements was just the beginning.  Realizing I couldn’t attain perfection led me into a pattern of over-eating.

When the over-eating became much more noticeable, I began to over-analyze and over-think everything about the problem instead of just recognizing it for what it was and dealing with it head on.

overthinking

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Of all the things I do with the utmost intensity, over-thinking is the worst of them.  I cannot seem to let what will be just be.  My brain configures numerous scenarios, all with different outcomes, and will not stop when it should be satisfied.  There is always another possibility.  This is a fantastic gift to have when I am writing fiction but, when it comes to creating plot lines based on my reality, it is a detriment to normal productivity.

I expend a great effort each day to quell those thoughts.  I could take an issue so benign and have it twisted into something so distorted from its original form that it becomes a gnarled version of what it once was and something so far removed from what it ever should be.  If I could ever transfer these thoughts to pages of a novel, it would be quite the story.

For now, I will wait out the current situation that has me over-thinking.  I will listen to those little voices as they churn out ending after ending but when I reach the point that I eventually find out what will really happen, the wait will be over.

 

 

 

 

Time is not linear

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I remember the phone call like it was yesterday.  My brother called from Vancouver in the wee hours of the morning to tell me that I was an aunt and my nephew had safely entered the world.  I was living in Ontario and felt like I was a world away but somehow felt like I was in the room with him at the same time.   That phone call came 16 years ago.

Tonight our family gathered at my nephew’s restaurant of choice to not only celebrate the auspicious occasion of his 16th birthday but also the successful completion of level one of our graduated licensing system for new drivers.  Yes, local friends stay off the sidewalks, my nephew is behind the wheel.

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It was a numbing experience watching their familiar vehicle turn onto the road that led to the restaurant and not see my sister-in-law behind the wheel.  TJ held the very proper pose of hands at 10 and 2 and didn’t even flinch when his dad lobbed a snowball at the car and hit it squarely in the middle of the driver’s door.  You could feel the pride, and some relief, radiating from his 16-year-old face as he crossed the parking lot.

As I write this post, their family has returned home and, at his request, TJ is out driving around our small town taking his dog “Zoey Hot Wheels” for a car ride.  I’m sure it is the first of many trips they will share with him behind the wheel and I couldn’t feel more proud of his smooth transition into the next phase of his life.   Happy birthday Buddy!!

 

 

The mosaic of a life

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My drive to work each day is relatively stress-free compared to most commuters.  I have a 10-minute journey through a small, quaint little town and the traffic in the winter is minimal at best barring any unforeseen wildlife charging through an invisible cross-walk.

This relaxing drive affords me the time to look around and absorb the nuances that make me appreciate the fact that this town is my home.  Like all towns, Port Carling is steeped in rich history and tradition and we are proud to boast those memories in our Museum as well as through unique artist renderings.  In 2005, “The Wall” was unveiled and, at the time, it was the largest historic photo mosaic mural in the world.

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(image credit: muskokalakes.ca)

This tribute to history contains 9,028 individual photos that bring to life the 1922 RMS Sagamo going through the locks in Port Carling.  These photos span a century from 1860 to 1960 and yesterday, for some reason, this mosaic really struck a chord deep within me.  I have passed it every day on my way to work and never took the time to truly comprehend how snapshots of occurrences in our lives can create such a grand picture of our past.

So many little pieces of our history are used to make up our most significant memories. Stopping to look at this wall made me think of all the snippets that have etched themselves into my brain and have begun to create the mosaic of my life.  Some of those fragments in time are dripping with vibrant colors of happiness and others are mottled with the greys of anguish and grief, but all of those hues combine to create the spectral portrait of my life.   

If you were to create an emblematic picture of your journey, what would your mosaic look like?

One voice above the crowd

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I was in a funk, a genuine textbook-defined funk, and I had given myself permission to wallow in it.  I disregarded my routinely sage advice to take it one breath at a time.  I blatantly ignored my history of dealing with things head on and I became a turtle, pulling my head into my shell and hoping the scenery would somehow look different the next time my face emerged from that shell.

But each time I gave myself the slightest courage to see if the landscape of my reality had changed, my eyes blurred and my vision became marred by a new set of tears. I promptly pulled myself back in to my shell.

Friends and family picked up on the noticeable difference in the cadence of my voice.  I became lost in a miserable state of unhappiness and my writing began to reflect my mood.  Fellow bloggers also left encouraging messages in the comments of my blogs but, although I knew I was being irrational, I couldn’t stop crying.

Life has a funny way of interjecting when it needs to bring something to your attention.  My funk may have been based on something that could be defined as trivial in the grand scheme of things, but it really affected me to the point of becoming consumed with pessimistic thoughts that I can usually push aside with ease.

I knew I couldn’t change the cards I had been dealt, but one particular comment from a fellow blogger really made me rethink how my hand could play out.  I read it a few times until I was able to fully process the message and understand its true significance.

In my melancholy, I had forgotten to give equal value to the potential of a positive outcome as opposed to focusing solely on the negative.  I had all but conceded to the loss without allowing myself a chance for a win.

One comment, from someone I have never met in person, changed my outlook.  I am no longer dwelling on what could be an unfavorable outcome but giving every hope that something fantastic may be just around the corner.  Since I cannot predict the future, I can only wait to see what the outcome will be but at least, now, I wait with much more hope than I had before.

 

Wait for the feathers

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“Some days you’re the pigeon, some days you’re the statue.” ~ J. Andrew Taylor

Pigeon-on-Statue

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Many of our days are inherently better than others.  On those precious days we are the pigeon.  We are free to fly, the wind lifts us and lets us soar and we feel like nothing can bring us down.  We are above all of the little problems that life presents.  We gain strength and power as we fly.  We are able to stop when we want to and simply observe life at its best from a lofty perch, but we are also able to spread our wings and rise even higher on the warm currents of life.

Some days, however, that magical wind seems non-existent and our wings seem to fail.  On those days, we are the statue.   We are a solid mass under the weight of our own problems.  We feel like we are stuck and there is no room to move.  We feel stagnant and are rooted in our place, only able to watch life pass us by and not feel like we can participate.  We are heavy with worry and cemented by fear, feeling like the world is doing nothing but looking at us and simply passing us by.

On the days we are the pigeon we have to remember to empathize with the statue.  And on the days we are the statue we have to revel in the thought of what it is like to be the pigeon.  To truly embrace all of life, we have to be willing to see it from the perspective of the bird and the bust.  We have to understand that life is not always going to let us soar but we are never going to be stuck in one place for long if we break free of the mold we created for ourselves.

Life will ground us.  It will root us in our place until it sees fit to allow us the capacity to fly once again.  And in those moments that we feel fixed in a certain spot in our lives, we just need to wait for those feathers to grow large enough to carry us into our next chapter.

Perched precariously on the fence

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This is a lofty spot,

this place where I find myself.

I am currently balanced for fear of falling,

but this is a spot I find hauntingly familiar.

There is no right or wrong,

only what is best for me.

And whatever side I choose,

wherever I decide to plant my feet,

that is the direction I was meant to follow.

I can only believe in my truth,

that I cannot make any progress in my life

without making the decision to pick a side.

And once that decision is made,

that fence will no longer seem like an obstacle,

but merely an arrow.

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Holding on to strength

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worry-zdralea-ioana

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.”
― Corrie Ten Boom

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It is easy to tell someone not to worry.  I am guilty of doing that very thing on an extremely frequent basis and in many different circumstances.  Recently, I have become much more aware of how redundant that statement can be and how little it does to alleviate the concern of the person doing the worrying.

Worry is a big part of the human condition.  We spend countless hours stressing about the things we cannot foresee, cannot control and cannot change.  We are designed to be thinkers, to be problem-solvers, and in those brief moments that we are left without an answer or a contingency plan we submerge under the waves of the unknown.

For as much as I try to not unsettle myself with things out of my control, today was a glaring reminder of how quickly worry can overtake us and truly drain us of our strength.  There is a small path in the carpet in my office where I paced back and forth.  There is an emptiness in my stomach where nourishment should have found its place, but didn’t.  And there is a dull ache in my temple from the inescapable habit of clenching my jaw when I am apprehensive.

Today worry was the cat and I was the feeble mouse.  I was victim to its cunning and could do nothing more than to hide in the metaphorical corner and play dead, hoping that the insidious predator would leave me alone.

Now I sit, writing this post with a slightly more peaceful feeling than I had earlier today.  Worry still beckons, the concerns of tomorrow still evident, but it holds much less power now than it did earlier today.  I have regained some of my tenacity so I can face tomorrow with a new courage.

Worry may be strong but I am stronger.

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image credit: Worry by Zdralea Ioana – http://www.fineartamerica.com