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Last night I was at a gathering that my neighbors attend at this time of year; we share food, visit and walk the street to see our lovely collection of Christmas lights. But this year seemed a bit different.
For one thing, we had a smaller turnout. Some people were traveling for the holidays. But I think that others, in the depths of getting older, chose not to show up. And the street decorations are more moderate; when our street “mayor” moved away, he took some of the joy and energy that was part of the Christmas celebration. He didn’t do that on purpose, of course, but his absence was felt. For others, climbing tall palm trees and onto roofs just seemed too darned hard.
Still, we had a lovely evening with those of us who attended. Much of the conversation focused as usual on the compromised construction of our homes (roofs, primarily), and then we moved on to physical maladies. With a group of seniors, it almost sounds like a competition for the person who has the most limitations. (Fortunately, I had nothing to add to the list.) But then one neighbor stated something that often comes up with this type of group:
“We have many more years behind us than we have in front of us.”
Now, he may have meant that dying is just around the corner. But that isn’t how I related to his statement, which is true.
This fact encourages me to reflect on the many wonderful memories that form my past with my sweet husband: things like travel to exotic places, including Nepal, Thailand and Japan; the experience of living in a tropical environment and in a snowy one; the friends who have entered and left my life as we moved from place to place; the people who have stayed current in my life and feed me with friendship and love; my experiences as a consultant and trainer; my history of meditation; my publication of a book and co-authoring two other books.
I could go on, but I don’t dwell amongst memories very often. I try very hard, instead, to make the most out of this life I am now living. And now, with my neighbor’s poignant comment, I might like to think about the future.
What will my future be? I must acknowledge that the future could be just one day ahead—am I prepared to make the most of it? Or more likely, my future, at the age of 76, might last two years or five years or 15 years. Neither of my parents made it out of their 80s, but I have a lot of things going for me that may contribute to my longevity: eating right (most of the time), exercising, and using my brain to read and write.
But it’s an interesting question to contemplate: knowing I have “limited” time on this planet, would I want to do anything differently? I’m aware that my world has become more contemplative and internal. I have few people I would call close friends. I find my writing deeply satisfying, although isolating. But all of these represent mostly internal processes.
Over the last few years, I’ve experienced a kind of deepening, a curiosity for learning even more, a desire to experience G-d even more in my life. More than ever I have an appreciation of many small things: blossoms on my orchids, laughter with a friend, the turning of my hair to a deeper silver, the gift of an unexpected expression of gratitude, laughter from my husband. Life is rich with small gifts, and I’ve found I see them more than ever.
I don’t think I want to change anything, although life may invite me to do just that. But I have no bucket list, and never did. I think I’ve probably experienced more extraordinary experiences than most people, for which I will be eternally grateful. My life has been blessed.
So the time ahead of me may be “short,” but whatever amount it turns out to be, I just want to be sure that I’ve made the most of it.
For those of you who identify with this post, please share your thoughts.
Discussion (27)
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This is true for me too...
Last week our choir sang at a couple of aged care homes. The audiences were terribly patient and quiet until we started to sing when suddenly they came to life, singing along, smiling and dancing. At the second "venue" half of the audience ended up dancing in a circle.
I would like to spend my remaining life singing and dancing, actively participating in my own and other people's lives.
Now I have to go play with the dogs...
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I wrestle with this. I have long felt that happiness, at least for me, requires having something to look forward to. But why must this be so? Why should daydreams of possible future events be preferable to memories of past events that actually happened? As I get older, I feel more and more that this is something I must resolve, since every day I have less future and more past.
But I suspect that is the wrong way to think of it. More than thirty years ago, when I was just starting my career, my first officemate sent me a list of quotations she thought I might appreciate. I dutifully read through them, and one of them -- from Buddhist writer Alan Watts -- stuck with me:
I've continued to think about that passage over the years (eventually I even read Watts's book The Way of Zen, from which that quote is taken, in part because I wanted the full context). What I take from it is that it is important to have goals and aspirations, because they give your life direction; it's also important to have memories, because they make us who we are. But it is not healthy to focus on either one. If your mind is only on goals you haven't reached yet, you'll be unhappy because you're grasping for things you don't have. And if your mind is only on your past, you can become unhappy as you dwell on things you have lost.
Maybe that's not the answer for everyone, but I think it's probably the answer for me. Rather than trying to figure out how I can derive happiness from either the future or the past, I should learn to focus on the present. If I find daydreams of the future, or memories of the past, more attractive, that probably means something in my present is lacking.
It's easy to say. I've been struggling for decades to live that way, though.
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Mike, how wonderful for your choir to do that! Music can be so motivating for folks as they get older. I'm glad you "get" what I'm talking about.
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Watts was brilliant, but I disagreed with him on one issue: he eventually came to think meditation wasn't a big deal. He was wrong. A reason you may have difficulty focusing on the present is that your mind isn't trained to do it. Lots of people think that meditation is about calming one's self, but it's also training the mind--to live in the present moment. I try to meditate every day, only 20 minutes these days. Some people start out with 5-10 minutes. But I think it's vital to a person to do it, if they want to appreciate the present moment. Have you and I talked about this before, BXO?
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BTW, I don't want anyone to get the impression that I live a carefree, blissful life--not! But I can say I'm at peace more times than I'm not.
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