Is That All There Is? Let’s Keep Dancing!

by Cari

Many people, especially in the second half of life, after they have climbed the corporate ladder, become senior partner in the law firm, made it to full professor with tenure or otherwise excelled in their chosen field, when the 401K is feeling plump and comfortable, the kids are grown, appropriately on a path resembling theirs, and the  mortgage is paid or quite manageable,  reach a point in the script called Life, where they hear a small muted voice singing the Peggy Lee song of 1969,  “Is That All There Is?”  As the song instructs in the singer’s seductive voice, “If that’s all there is, let’s keep dancing…bring out the booze.”   Many choose to dance out the rest of their lives, following that suggestion. It’s just too difficult  to leave their comfort zone or even familiar discomfort. 

 

Or, a crisis occurs, as profound as illness or death of a loved one or as mundane as incremental boredom, accompanied by acute awareness of one’s own mortality. The voice within may get stronger, urging us to disturb the apparent equilibrium and leave the comfort zone.  We sense there’s got to be more, and despite our rejection of our childhood religious indoctrination, we begin to consider that there may have been a nugget of truth within it.  We go in search of the spiritual, often using the same model that has worked for us in the past:  we embark upon a shopping trip for a product called spirituality.  It’s the way our culture has taught us to pursue what we want. We go church-hopping like we used to go bar-hopping. We check out the latest guru like we shop for a hairdresser. We use tools and rituals, rolfing, extreme yoga, meditation, and fasting, looking for the heavens to open up or the burning bush to appear. We often have a preconceived notion that we can acquire enlightenment in the same way we achieved success in our educational endeavors, our career, our physical fitness program, our remodeling projects. We have a vague idea of what spiritual looks like, just as we had an image of an ideal body type when we signed up with a physical fitness trainer.  We are doing the best we can with the tools at hand.  

 

Embarking upon a spiritual path requires commitment and willingness to seek and trust, entering into the dark night of the soul, coming through it and wondering if it’s all worth it. Maybe I should have just kept dancing. Maybe I should revert to the good life and bring out the booze. 

 

My longtime friend, colleague and spiritual companion Jill and I have, along the way, pondered the financial security we gave up when we left the practice of law and became very intentional about our spiritual paths.  We have had those double doubting days when we questioned our sanity and wondered at times, “Where’s my secretary?”  And when we compared our meager and modest retirement funds with what might have been, “Where’s my financial security in my old age?” Every time we do this, we ultimately, painfully yet joyfully, acknowledge that our life choices and the rich experiences we have had were worth what we gave up. Besides, we say parenthetically, if you have come this far, you can’t go back. We believe this in the depths of our souls.

 

At some point, we all seem to realize that what we seek can be found in ordinary everyday life, like planting a garden, hiking in the Colombia River Gorge, being present at the birth (or death) of a grandchild, rescuing a love-starved animal from the pound, sitting with an elderly dementia patient or someone similarly struggling to complete their life journey. The Divine was there all along! We had to stop and just be still. We had to mindfully put one foot in front of the other amidst the darkness and doubts, and just keep on keeping on until we realize the light we are looking for is shining from within. 

 

Buddhist author and teacher Jack Kornfield illustrates this poignantly in a story he tells in After the Ecstasy, The Laundry. He unfolds a narrative in which a famous Tibetan teacher warns his audience that the spiritual path involves “one insult after another,” discouraging those who are not fully committed. “If you haven’t started,” he says, “it’s best not to begin…but if you have begun, it is best to finish.”   It’s a dance of wholeness and holiness I intend to finish.

Training for the Endurance Ride of My Life

 

by maureen

The other day I was thinking about an expression my late father-in-law used to use: “Rode hard and put away wet.” Of course, it refers to using a horse hard, running it until it is all lathered up, and then just putting it in the stall without walking it out and cooling it down. When they sweat, horses lose a lot of water and electrolytes. If they are “put away wet,” it can lead to either overheating or, if they have access to water, drinking themselves sick, leading to colic or even founder. So it’s caring and compassionate to cool a horse off slowly, allowing it to drink small amounts of water frequently. So why was I thinking about this, you might ask. I haven’t owned horses in years, and even when I did I rarely rode them hard enough to lather them up.

 

The expression, however, is more of a metaphor for mistreating someone or something. And I was thinking about it in the context of how, over the years, I have used my body pretty hard – taken it for granted, really – and not taken very good care of it. I’m starting to see some results from that. It might be too late to undo the damage, but I am trying.

 

This came about as a result of sciatic pain from spinal stenosis that I’ve dealt with for nine years but that recently become much more constant and painful. The pain interferes with my life more than I’d prefer. It is difficult for me to sit in a kayak for very long and recently even driving to the Oregon Coast, about 90 minutes away, results in pain. If I don’t figure out how to ameliorate the pain, there will be no long road trips, only very short kayaking adventures, and probably no horseback riding, or gardening or many other activities that I want – and NEED – to do.

 

As a young woman I was always fairly active, athletic and strong. Back when I did have horses, I sometimes had to heft bales of alfalfa and 100-pound bags of grain around. But the passage of many years and a lack of persistent exercise have left me weaker; my ankles and knees complain when I try to run. I’m soft and flabby and tire much more quickly and easily. And most likely, some of that reliance on my youthful strength contributed to some of my back issues now. The bottom line, I have been realizing, is that I rode my body hard and put it away wet, and I’m paying the price now.

 

Although I can’t unwind the years and do things differently, I can start from where I am. I can do the physical therapy exercises that just might help, strengthening muscles I need to be an active single woman in the world. I can lose a little weight to allow my body to work less hard. I can choose more carefully the fuel I give my body. None of these things are difficult, none are as painful as the sciatic pain and the loss of ability to do things I enjoy. Making self-care a priority is not something a woman, especially a mother, finds easy to do. But this is a way of showing myself love and care and compassion. And it’s a way of saying I love my body and want it to function as well as it can for as long as it can.

 

So I say it now, and encourage you to repeat it with me if you have also ridden your body hard over the years: I love my body and deserve to have a strong and healthy and pain-free life, and I will do all I can to make it so. Starting right now. Giddy-up!

Simplifying: Part of the Spiritual Journey

 by Cari

I awakened this morning with the word simplicity in my mind and heart, and was pleasantly surprised at the synchronicity when I opened my daily reflection the title of which was Simplicity and Unity. This is our job in the second half of life: to simplify our lives so that we can remain aware of our connection with all creation, those who went before us and those who come after us. We’re part of the tapestry that is being woven. We are blessed with the time to do this, unlike previous generations of women. We have choices thanks to the revolutionary 1960’s and 70’s and to the women who started it and made some strides in the 19th century. We stand on all their shoulders and this makes us accountable.

 

Of course, our sisters in countries other than North America and Europe were and are not as fortunate. Nor was my own mother who was coming of age at the time of the Great Depression. She was born, raised, forced to leave high school to help out (her brothers were not), married, lived as a widow for 23 years, and died within a 3-mile radius in the Ohio Valley. She sobbed when I first left after my divorce in 1968, “All those years and everything you own [and my 5-year old son] is in that little car.” Upward mobility, accumulating things, albeit at a bargain, was important to her until the day she died in a small efficiency in an assisted living home.

 

When I told her 13 years ago that I was selling my house in Miami and all the “stuff” within, giving up the practice of law, and traveling 3,000 miles away to study theology, she sighed with dismay and incomprehension, “Your dishes, your furniture, everything? That’s so far away!” Yet, my mother sat at her kitchen table with a map, marking my location as she followed me across the country, giggling gleefully when I called her each night on the road. While I was living in community in a former convent with nine other theologians, sharing a bathroom with one, Mom was still living in my childhood home, three stories of space and an attic, with every closet and every drawer filled with stuff she had accumulated over 55 years. She grieved deeply until the day she died about having to leave the house that had become overwhelming for her, forcing her to simplify, to sell the house and dispose of its contents.

 

Materiality is one aspect of simplifying. Divesting of excessive things and being aware of the demon, Consumerism, provides some space for us to grow in a different way. The first half of life is building ego which is necessary for our individuation. For those of us in the second half of life, the task is going inward. That doesn’t mean we have to sleep on hard surfaces and wear those scratchy goats hair cloaks of biblical fame or engage in daily flagellation, physical or spiritual. We do need to be mindful of our busyness and its corollary tiredness, without replenishing with self-care. I enjoy sleeping on my Tempurpedic and a glass of Oregon pinot noir and gathering with friends and traveling to India.

 

When I left Miami, I told several attorneys where I was working that I was pursuing a deep spiritual calling in my soul. I recall one attorney looking at me with envy, wanting to do something different with her life, but feeling compelled to continue practicing law because “it’s all I know; besides, I need to make money.” Nothing wrong with that. Financial security is important to all of us. However, questions that I grapple with are: How much is enough, and what is the psycho-spiritual cost of becoming one of the herd in Western culture? How do I balance the financial and material with what my soul calls me to do? How do I accomplish this living in a culture that encourages busyness and consumerism?

 

Take time out to reflect on the fact that we are the first generation of women who can even articulate these choices, and remember we truly are continuing the individuation process of our mothers and grandmothers who did not. Simplifying helps us to be united with them.

 

Becoming Self-Confident

 

by maureen

Sometimes I wish I had 25 percent of the self-confidence my seven-month-old golden retriever, Jameson, has!! One-quarter would be about right — more than that would be, well, frankly bordering on narcissism.  He is so sure everyone loves him and just wants to be his new best friend.  A case in point: yesterday I took him to the beach to play with my brother’s springer spaniel puppy, Maddie, who is a couple months older than Jamie. We were all having lunch together — my brother and his wife, another brother, and the dogs and I — on the front deck/porch of a restaurant in the town of Cannon Beach on the northern Oregon Coast. Jamie stood over the sidewalk every time someone walked by. “Yes, you have permission to give me pets, hugs and kisses, treats . . . in fact, you should.” Consequently, he got lots of love and attention from many people; a couple people even took pictures of themselves with Jamie. The UPS man wanted to take him home. A few people — clearly not dog people — avoided or ignored him but that didn’t faze him in the least. He welcomed everyone who was willing to give him the attention he believes is due him.  Now, granted, Jamie is a very beautiful young golden retriever, but I think it was his attitude of self-worth that drew people as much as his looks. Maddie, on the other hand, is just darling but a little more shy and got much less attention. I felt a little guilty about that; Jamie didn’t and Maddie didn’t really seem to mind. Different dog personalities. Maddie loves her people and was very friendly to our lunch circle, but she didn’t feel the need to go beyond that. It’s almost  like Jamie can’t get — or give — enough love.

 

There have been class experiments done — with humans, of course — where students are told to go into a coffee shop with the belief that they will be treated rudely or ignored, and of course it happens.  Then they were to go into another coffee shop with the attitude that they would be noticed, treated in a kind and friendly manner, not just by the barista but by others in the shop. And of course that happened, too.  I’ve never really had the presence of mind to try that experiment myself, but I DO know that when I am feeling confident and positive and good about myself, good things happen. People seem attracted to me and want to interact. But when I slip into self-pity or — worse — self-loathing, when I begin to see love as very scarce and fear I don’t deserve what little there is out there, I see immediate results; and not the kind of results I want or need. Seems like when I don’t NEED love, it’s there for the taking but when I feel out of place, unloved, uncomfortable in my own skin, and just need a little positive attention, it’s much more difficult to come by. All the more reason for me to learn to better love myself. And practice that attitude that says to the world, “I am lovable and worthy and loved. And so are you!” Because it’s true; we are all loved far more than our human minds can comprehend.

 

For me, learning to love and respect myself and see the value in myself has been a life-long process. It doesn’t take much at all to send me off-track. Sometimes just looking in the mirror will do that. I need to remind myself how much more I am than my physical appearance. Often, it seems. Over and over again. Now, repeat after me: my beauty runs far deeper than my physical appearance. I am worthy of love . . . and pets and hugs and kisses and treats!! Even if I have to give them to myself.

Accepting “Good Enough” Parenting Removes Shackles of Guilt

 by Cari

 

My work as a spiritual counselor in hospice obviously brings me into contact with people at the end of life. In my hospice, most are around the age of 90, some past the century mark. Most are women; most are mothers. Women at this tender age and time of life often obsess about their parenting, expressing regrets for not doing enough, not being enough, not giving enough for their children, and this often creates an obstacle to their moving beyond this life peacefully.

 

One 90-something-year-old women shared her spiritual narrative which included her husband dying when her child was an infant. She described how she entrusted the child to her stepmother to assist in raising him while she pursued an education and became a school teacher to be able to support her child, ultimately sending him to fine schools and opening many doors for him to enjoy a comfortable and fulfilling life.  Now at the end of her life, she feels like she is drowning in the self-imposed cup of guilt in which many of us imbibe. We could have done better, we say to ourselves. 

 

Projecting my own guilt and angst about errors committed in single parenting, I shared with this woman Winnicott’s concept of the “good enough” parent.  Jungian analyst, James Hollis, talks about this in at least one of his many books, Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life: How to Finally, Really Grow Up.  The “good enough” mother does the best she can with what she has at the time. According to Winnicott, a mother’s failure to adapt to every need of the child helps the child adapt to external realities. This sounds suspiciously like the individuation process which we all go through, consciously or not. And, perhaps what we left out or didn’t do perfectly in our parenting is fodder for the spiritual journeys of our children. Let’s also be mindful of the final result of our parenting. Both my patient’s son and my own son are highly successful adults. Maybe we need to focus more on what we did that was good enough to get them there. 

Getting Started

from cari

I have been reflecting on this blog and what we want to do with it more generally after a call from a potential client yesterday who found me online. I was in the car when she called and when I asked her whether she was calling about grief work, spiritual direction or what, she very astutely said, “I think some of all you have to offer.” This made me laugh as I imagined my website as a Chinese menu and she was selecting a variety of items to taste and see, samples of what might make her life more delicious.

 

In rereading the description of this 67-year-old woman’s “problems,” I’m recognizing all the feelings expressed and realize that I’m just past many of them, the pain of going through them, like labor having a child and now on the other side (really just at the outer edge), ready or not for the “what’s next?”  It seems every woman, knowingly or unconsciously, goes through this developmental stage and we seem to feel unique and alone when it happens. This is what we may have to offer, in a blog, a book, spiritual counseling, etc. to remind women that YOU ARE NOT ALONE; we’re really all grappling with many of the same emotions and pain. There is, indeed, grief in the midst of this growth, loss of what was. But there is also great joy and blessing, if we don’t get lost in the grief. It can also be a deeply spiritual time, for some of us we finally have the time and freedom to explore more deeply our spiritual sides.

 

That’s my blog for this morning. I’m looking forward to sharing some of my experiences with you. Welcome!

* * * * *

from maureen

Cari and I are in a dream group together in which we meet monthly with other women of a certain age, share our dreams and try to determine what our subconscious is telling us through these wacky dreams we seem to have. Interestingly the theme of “getting older” and even facing death  seem to crop up often in our dreams. We’re all at an age where we’ve lost or are losing parents, spouses, even siblings. We’re at the age when we know some of our hopes and desires will likely never come to be, where we are beginning to accept that we can’t physically do some of the things we used to be able to do (or thought we could, anyway) when we were younger.  It’s a time of letting go — mostly of illusions.

 

Last week I was having a little “crisis” about not being “good enough” any more, not being attractive or slender or desirable enough. It seems I still struggle with my value as I think others see it.  Mostly I see in myself the extra 20 or so pounds that have accumulated over the years, the saggy skin and muscle.  In my heart I can’t believe I’m “old” because I just don’t feel old, but sometimes I have to admit I look old, and probably the outside world thinks of me that way. I spent some time looking at pictures of myself in my early 20s, maybe just to remind myself of who I was then and who I am now.  And to remind myself that even though I looked pretty good back then, I really didn’t have much else together. At all! I’ve come a long way, baby! And there have been wounds and casualties along the way, and I’m no longer “fresh” but I am whole, and I have done a lot in this life. Just living takes a toll, and I’ve paid the toll and  have nothing to apologize for to the world, really.

 

Cari and I wanted to do this together about women of our generation, who grew up in the 50s and 60s (she’s 9 years older than me), who faced huge changes in culture and society — often helping bring those changes about — and how society tends to see us differently than we see ourselves or than we want to be seen. As women, there’s a point — in our 50s usually — when we feel as though we’ve become invisible. But it should be a time when we come into our true strength, our wisdom, our compassion.  So we hope this blog will help other women (and us) remember that true beauty.

 

I continually have to work on letting go of the past “me” and finding confidence and security in who I am now, who I know myself to be, and not operating out of a fear or sense that there is a scarcity of love/appreciation/respect in the world. So I’ll be doing this blog as much for myself as for anyone else who reads it. And if any of you have some great ideas and suggestions on becoming the women we were meant to be, please feel free to share — kindly and compassionately — in the comments.

 

Blessings on this journey we travel together, and welcome to our blog!