CHANGE OF SEASONS

I am always curious about the confluence of external conditions with internal ones. I notice how the weather affects my mood. It’s raining today, allowing me to sleep later, forgo my morning walk, and begin this blog. It was delicious to be in bed, let sleep overtake me, and feel snug and comfortable. I savored the luxury of non-doing and feel very fortunate to be safe and protected, have shelter and food, no current crisis, and have people in my life I love. There continues to be too much pain in the world and too many people with insufficient food or shelter and fear dominating their lives. Loss, illness, and death will always exist, but I wonder about the delusion that takes hold in the face of its enormity that prevents us from acknowledging it. Must suffering always be with us? What’s the balance between doing and non-doing? Rest versus action? 

I just heard that a good friend of mine has a serious illness. Pain in me arises as I listen to her. I know what it is to get bad news. I know the importance of maintaining a wise heart and mind and not drowning in sorrow or being overwhelmed by fear. It’s not easy. An ongoing meditation practice helps, but love and support are also needed. Knowing one’s limits is also helpful. I have to limit my exposure to the news. I want to turn away from the scenes of violence and horror arising from prejudice and fear, but I also need to be informed. I ask, who are we? Is fear and anger needed to maintain power and experience success? As meditators, what can we do to influence society? These are big questions and no simple answer, but I am committed to facing what is true rather than deluding myself of its existence.

I’m becoming more aware of what I don’t see or want to feel—not only the spaces between breaths but a person holding a sign at an intersection asking for help, or stopping and waiting for a person to cross the street rather than rushing through with my car. Everyday kindness can be very meaningful. Little things can be big. My husband inspires me. He does hospice work, writes postcards to get out the vote, and buys diapers to give out to impoverished families. I continue meditating and leading others in free meditation sessions and do some teaching, but I wonder if this is enough.

Research shows that mindful meditation enhances one’s quality of life and decreases stress, but at the same time, it heightens sensitivity. I find myself tearing up more easily—especially when I experience goodness. My neighbor offered to dog-sit our pup, Maya. His thoughtfulness moved me and motivated me to reach out more to people in need. I don’t like feeling pain, mine or others. People in an MBSR class would often question why they should meditate. They discover pain in the body they had ignored or a habit that wasn’t helpful, like judgment or self-criticism. Some drop out, but others hang in and soften, knowing we are all part of the human community, and we are not alone. 

Life can be hard. Bad things happen. The practice of mindfulness is practical and cultivates clarity, joy, and wisdom. This leads to knowledge and greater choice and understanding, but also limitations. Facing ourselves is humbling. I discover parts of me I don’t like, like greed, wanting more of the good and less of the bad, be it food or news. As I age, I am more aware of my vulnerability, what supports vitality and growth, and those that deplete it. I ask, can I hold them both and remain steady and calm inside and out?

Every year, as the weather cools and days grow shorter, the leaves where I live change color and fall from the trees, leaving them bare. The weather is colder and more bitter, but the sun is often bright and has clarity. Snow falls, and it is beautiful, but if it lasts for a long time, it freezes and becomes hazardous. I used to equate this time of year with death. My mother died in October, and I remember praying for her to suffer less and live longer. In the past, I felt sad as summer dwindled and fall began resisting the change of season. Now I realize the trees are not dead but hibernating so they can be replenished and renewed as the earth warms and the sun moves higher into the sky.

I no longer ask how my meditation is going or question my worthiness. I ask whether I embody my practice. Are my actions in harmony with my principles? Am I being generous? Kind? Do I respond with thoughtfulness or reactivity to something disturbing? My wish is that my practice be of service to others and I maintain a steadiness of presence and continue cultivating kindness and generosity that will spill out into the world.

May there be love and understanding.

May there be peace.

Let’s come together and support each other in facing our challenges and finding peace and joy.

PLEASE NOTE, WE ARE MEETING ON WEDNESDAY IN OCTOBER.

Here’s the date:
Wednesday, October 2, 2024 at 11 AM, EST

You are welcome to invite friends, but please have them register on my website.

Who Knows?

I’ve been teaching stress reduction and practicing mindfulness for about forty years. It isn’t easy to comprehend as it is growing old. I hesitate to even use the word “old,” but that is what my age, 80, is considered to be. My mother died at 70, and I thought that was old. From my current perspective, that is young. Dad died when he was 80. He lived a whole life and didn’t want to go, yet he had pasted this quote on his bedroom wall: “You can’t reach the other side without leaving the shore.” He knew he’d be leaving this shore and felt the next one might reunite him with my mother. He saw life—and death as an adventure. Everything changes, and that includes our view of things. Our attitude does make a difference. Acceptance is core. Experiencing life as it is, free of bias and reactivity, requires maturity. After all these years, I still find it hard to face what it is like to be old. I find it hard to believe that I am old.

I struggle with physical changes in the body and the mind. I visited the dentist today. My teeth are old, and I need an implant and more crowns. My eyes have changed. My cataract has ripened, so it will be removed. Hopefully, I’ll see better, but who knows? I know there is much I do not know. I do know I am not alone. I remind myself of the freedom that arises from letting go. Accept, I tell myself. Accept growing old. Accept change. Accept the workings of mind and body. Accept that I can’t always be in control, and the mind/body holds surprises. Accept that I struggle and the effect of struggling with what can not be changed changes how I relate to change itself.

          Breathe. 

Accept not liking struggle. Accept that the mind and body are not working the way they should. Accept what is and let it be. I hold on to things, and letting go is challenging. Accept that I am part of life, and it is constantly changing.

          Another breath. 

How fortunate I am to have a breath. I am grateful. It is a gift to be alive and have a mind that can remember how fortunate I am.

Some things are easy to accept, and I am calm. There is equanimity. I used to complain about the weather, but I’ve learned that the weather is constantly changing in New England. There are seasons. The winter brings cold and, with it, freezing rain and snow. There is also sunshine, and the air is fresh and crisp. I have a warm house and am fortunate enough to have the proper attire to be outside and withstand the cold. The trees are bare, but leaves will return, snow will melt, and spring will come, followed by summer and fall. How fortunate I am to be able to grow old, have teeth and crowns, and see with new eyes.

I am writing after teaching a mindfulness class that focuses on perception. In it, I showed a video of a selective attention test. The footage showed people dressed in white and black playing basketball. You are asked to count how many baskets are being made by the people dressed in white. Time is given for counting, the screen turns black, and the correct number is given. There is a pause, and the announcer asks, “But did you see the gorilla?” Most people shake their heads no. The video is then rewound; this time, expectations have altered, attention shifts, and is more inclusive. All see a person dressed in a gorilla suit enter the court between the players, pound its chest, and leave. In the first showing, many limit their focus to answering correctly and count only those in white. This limits awareness. 

I’ve seen the video before, so I now see the gorilla in the first showing, but I wonder what I do not know as I go through the day and my husband and I contemplate what makes sense as we age. What is wise? Where is my focus placed? I don’t want to be blind to beauty, love, or the joy of another day. I want to meet what will unfold with curiosity and wonder, even as I struggle with saying goodbyes and letting go. Who knows how long we’ll live, how well we will be? I do know where I place my attention makes a difference. I care for myself, exercise, eat right, appreciate my loved ones, and engage in what nourishes me. I do my best to practice kindness. I do know illness and death are part of life. Who knows when, what, or how? Right now, I am here…and I remember to be grateful.

Hope to see you at our next meeting. This month, I am teaching a mindfulness course that meets on Thursday morning, so we will gather later than usual but return to our usual time in April.   

Our next meeting is on March 7th at 1:00 PM EST

Please join me and explore this process of aging with wisdom. You can register by clicking here.

Warmly, Elana

Summer Reflections

As I write, the sound of falling rain predominates my awareness with a tapping sound that is dramatically percussive. Now, moments later, it has a softer patter. I sit on a sofa across from a large window which gives me a view of the sky, which is uniformly gray and heightens the vividness of the orange color of the trumpet flowers that live by the window. I sit here watching the flowers and the tops of the pine trees moving with the wind, and I get a comfy feeling. It invites me to close my eyes, take a snooze, and do nothing. Yet even here, on vacation, some "shoulds" emerge. There are books I brought to read, exercises I wrote down to stay in shape, art supplies waiting to be touched, and pictures to be painted or studios to visit. I let go. The thoughts pass. I am aware of the preciousness of time. A little over half our vacation is over. I read Mary Oliver's in Blackwater Woods this morning in the meditation group I lead every Monday and Friday morning.

...

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

The time has not yet come to let the vacation go, but I am aware of its ending. We walk the dog in the morning along a local beach and always stop and say hello and chat with the "regulars" like us. It's our social hour, and I hold it dear. It's not only a beautiful beach, but the people are interesting, and everyone is friendly. We meet people from far away and locals living on the island. Knowing our time on this beautiful beach is limited heightens how special it is to share the moments of exuberant dogs, water, sand and sky, and poop bags which we carry as we consciously monitor our pets to make sure everyone is safe, well behaved and the beach continues to be pristine. We've been taking a vacation here for many years; some children are now adults, and some of our adult friends are graying like us. Conversations have changed, but smiles and mutual pleasure connect us. This, too, shall pass—and we all know it.

I've been very aware of impermanence … and the wisdom of letting go while at the same time holding on to what is precious—the gift of time, a love of people, and especially the gift of having a partner to share the rhythm of the days. He's conscious of change too. Will we return next year? Can we still kayak, walk, swim, get groceries and go to the dump? Can we laugh when we get frustrated and appreciate each other? It is not to be taken for granted.

Every day as I walk the beach, I see changes in the shoreline and the creek's path as it runs off into the sea. I now walk the beach with my walking poles and go for shorter, less frequent swims. My husband carries our elderly dog in and out of the car and walks slowly down the path to the beach. These days we're both slower, and…we keep on going, but…just today, my husband David said that we should look into continuing care in our community. I am not ready to admit frailty. Some changes are easier to accept than others, but…so be it.

As you read this blog, I will be at home and beach days, and choosing freshly caught fish to cook for supper or dripping ice cream cones will not predominate my awareness. Still, I hope to continue loving what is here and, when it is time be able to let it go ...with gratitude for what has been and is now here.

Colors of the Leaf

It’s raining outside today and I’m sitting at my nephew’s kitchen table in Brooklyn debating whether to try out my new waterproof jacket and explore the neighborhood. I grew up in a suburb outside the city and spent my twenties in NYC but Brooklyn is like a foreign country to me. I love exploring new places and am curious about the wonders that this area offers, but the rain is coming down hard and I am less inclined to venture out into inclement weather. My mind has been active but my body is sending signals to rest. It was only a four hour car ride to get here but with all the excitement of travel and an unfamiliar bed I didn’t sleep well last night and I am tired. My mind has been contemplating what it means to embody mindfulness as I age. The emphasis is on this body of mine and acknowledging its changes and the need to be accepting and let go of what used to be. I sigh as I say this and write about it. I am mindful of thoughts and feelings but I am aware of my struggle with acceptance.

Vitality is important to me. I don’t want to be dead before my time and this is independent of wrinkles or sagging skin but it is related to changing capabilities. My body seems to need rest more than in the past and I parcel out energy more judiciously. I can’t go, go, go like I used to do. What I anticipate doing doesn’t always match what is wise and possible to do. My internal self hasn’t quite caught up with the external reality. My minds, says “yes, go or do” and my body indicates caution. I walk daily and exercise and appreciate the ability I have to do this—now--and it changes depending on my hip, the weather and the time of day. When I did finally go outside here in Brooklyn it was fascinating and I found myself noting rest stops. I look at myself in the mirror and what do I see? Who is this “me”? My looks have changed and my mind is not as retentive as it used to be. I now need to write down telephone numbers and passwords to make sure I will remember them. This I know is wise. I have always been absent minded often forgetting where I placed my glasses or my Iphone. Fortunately, this is habit and I always find these items but at my nephews I “lost” my sneakers. When I looked by the door where I had left them they were not there. I didn’t recognize any of the ones lined up neatly by the door. No one had moved them, they weren’t in my room or visible. It was a mystery. Kindly, everyone in the household went looking for them and they were not to be found. Just as Gregory, my nephew was going to run up the stairs-again- I examined the shoes by the door a second time. This time I saw my sneakers and yelled, “STOP!. My sneakers are here.” Only they were just not the ones I had described. They were my other sneakers, the ones that gave a spring to my walk. Last minute I had switched them and forgot I had done so. I sighed—only later could I laugh.

I am lucky. There are many things I am able to do and I do my best to appreciate this. I maintain a zest for life but…I am less nimble and more cautious. The tub at my nephews is very high and after my morning shower I had trouble lifting one of my legs over the side of the tub. My balance is precarious, and I had to hold the towel rack tightly to slowly maneuver the leg onto the floor. I feared falling. I abhor fear but fear of losing my balance is realistic. I am forced to embody mindfulness and recognize the truth of the situation and my imbalance in order to be balanced and to stay safe. I can forget which shoes I brought with me on my trip but I can’t forget to acknowledge the consequences of ignoring changes in body/mind. I don’t want to fall.

Recognizing the truth of change, seeing and feeling it clearly and letting this knowledge inform my actions is mindfulness in action NOW. I ask, can I acknowledge my physical and mental limitations with acceptance? What is wise to do and not to do? The rain doesn’t really present a problem but how I meet the moment can be. My energy level and fear of illness is present. I now find myself asking “Is it worth an expenditure of energy? How will it affect the rest of my day? I’m not worrying about catching a cold from walking in the rain but I do consider the big picture and ask myself how important it is and what would it’s effect be? I love going mask free now that Covid has abated but I continue to be judicious in wearing my mask and evaluating the number of people and their closeness of contact. I enjoy the freedom of going out to eat again and traveling. It’s a risk I am willing to take.

I am now home finishing this blog after the Monday meditation I lead through the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion. My computer is by the window and I gaze out at trees and sky. I note the changing color of the leaves to the group and mentioned how the leaves have changed from the chartreuse of a baby leaf to a deeper green of maturity and fullness. One of the members had mentioned that every leaf contained many colors and their true colors become evident when fall comes as the sunlight and warmth diminishes. “It’s a metaphor,” said a wise member of the group. Yes, thank you. How wonderful to remember, aging brings fullness and depth and let’s our true colors emerge. The cycle of life is rich. May our true colors continue to be known. This I will remember, and along with you my friends, it will help me mindfully embrace change and all that it entails.

You are invited to join me this Thursday, May 4th at 11 AM Eastern time for my Aging with Wisdom group. We meet via Zoom. This month we will explore some of the changes we are experiencing in our mind/body and acknowledge the colors of our life.

Change

Many times, as I sit down to write this blog I wonder what to write about. Fortunately, there is nothing BIG happening in my life. Each day I continue to feel grateful—and a little nervous about what could happen. As a psychotherapist and mindfulness teacher, I’ve spent time helping worriers worry less and focus on what is present rather than an imagined future or a past that is no longer here. I am not accustomed to the anxiety that sometimes pops into my awareness that centers on change. I like the fact winter is now becoming spring and I see the crocuses popping up in the neighborhood. I can accept changes in the weather but--me? I forget I am older but then I feel an ache in the body or notice the wrinkles on my face or the fact I have to reach up on my toes to take a dish down from the cupboard because I’ve shrunk a bit. I find it heavenly to go to bed early or have a nap. I appreciate my ability to ambulate and take care of myself even though it takes longer to put on my socks. So why the anxiety? Is it my way of recognizing impermanence and how difficult I find it to contemplate the inevitability of loss?

Change can keep things interesting. It tests assumptions (that what is here now will be around tomorrow). I find I worry, not about myself, but about loved ones. I’ve been recognizing how much my husband means to me and how many things he does for me and the degree to which I depend on him. We’ll have been married 37 years but it still feels fresh, like yesterday, when we took our vows. I remember moving from a small apartment in Cambridge MA to a house in Worcester, MA, and how strange it felt. I remember looking at the other houses on the block and feeling I didn’t belong there. Teaching mindfulness has been continuous but even that has changed. It was beyond my imagination to know that I’d be teaching virtually rather than in person. I even remember the first computer I got, a desktop, and my colleague and I didn’t know how to turn it on. It has always been satisfying to teach mindfulness and combine it with psychotherapy and see how a person’s view of life could change in only eight weeks. But me? I had no idea how mindfulness would infiltrate my view of the world. That I could and would actually be happier and more satisfied with my lot in life—even when illness and death appeared. That meditation and its principles were practical rather than conceptual. Yes, we are ALL subject to aging, illness, loss, death, and the consequences of our actions…and you don’t have to suffer—even me. That is an ongoing challenge, thank goodness. It means I am alive. Staying awake and aware keeps me on my toes and connects me to others, people, trees, sky, earth, and our dog. Daffodils are now popping up and each day I see how they are growing among leaves and snow.

Worry and anxiety remind me of the need to let go, be accepting, SURRENDER to aging, and remember what is important. So last week we ordered a new sofa that’s firmer than our old one and easier to get up from. I wonder how long we’ll be using it and able to stay in our home but I truly enjoy living here. I love our yard and it continues to need care. We trimmed some branches off trees this week. This provides more air and space for the tree to expand and for new branches to grow. I have always wanted a vegetable garden and I’m planning on creating a bed for one and planting some lettuce, kale, tomatoes, and flowers. I’ve never done this before, and I’m excited.

Thank goodness for laughter. Thank goodness for love. Thank goodness everything changes-mind, body, thoughts, and feelings. I see my worry when it arises, do my best to let it be and it does pass. I realize it also serves a purpose and ask myself, what is needed now? What is wise to do to ease these later years? Should we put a handrail in the shower so we won’t fall? Plan a trip while we still can walk? Learn about the resources in our community to age in place? Write this blog and enjoy the reflection it brings and share some of my thoughts and questions with you?

What is changing in your life? Can you acknowledge anxiety and worry and listen to its message but not be submerged by it? Can you experience your aliveness whether you are in a slow-moving line at the grocery store and you are in a rush or you are observing the blooming of a daffodil? What helps you stay afloat and savor the moment as it is, whatever it is, and be all right?

NEXT SESSION: THURSDAY APRIL 6th at 11 AM EST Please register (if you have not already) to receive the Zoom link.

We will continue to meet on the first Thursday of the month at 11 AM EDT on May 4th and June 1st then we will break for summer. There will be no meetings in July and August.

Don't Know Mind

I’m writing today from my brother’s home in Sacramento. His daughter’s birthday is today, and her daughter’s birthday party is tomorrow. We live 3000 miles away but want the children to know us and celebrate with them. More and more, I realize the importance of acknowledging connection and sharing love. Appreciating time together and sharing joy and love is precious. It is a great gift. It was a spontaneous decision to come for this celebration and we weren’t sure we’d get there. Travel has been hazardous and blizzards were moving throughout the country canceling flights and closing airports.

We debated, should we or should we not go. We planned only a long weekend and didn’t have the luxury of rescheduling for a later date. The decision to come was made on a beautiful day in Worcester and spring-like weather in Sacramento. I am all too familiar with impermanence — we are born, we die, and a lot happens in between, not only to us but to the world around us. My mother used to say, “Man plans and God laughs.” I say, expect the unexpected, and …who knows what will be…there is much to discover.

Thursday afternoon when the plane was slated to leave it was sleeting and the roads to Logan airport were icy but the airport was open and the flight hadn’t been canceled. We checked weather reports for later in the day, decided it was worth a try, told the dog sitter we were going and left for the airport. Our flight was supposed to leave on time but, who knew, would it leave or not, and if so when. With a credit card that gave airline lounge access handy and a lot of reading material, we notified my brother and family that we were going for it. When we arrived at the airport the parking lot was full but the attendants asked when we’d be back, gave us a placard to put on the car, and directed us to a spot reserved for overflow. Almost immediately, a second car came and parked behind us, blocking our exit. With assurances from the attendant that the cars blocking us would be gone by evening and hoping for the best we took out our suitcase, rolled it through the airport, through security, and to the Delta Club lounge. The club was crowded but we found a spot, had lunch there and boarded the plane on time. Whew. Then we waited…and waited. The plane was de-iced, then went towards the runway and stopped. The pilot then announced we had used too much fuel waiting to take off so we had to go back to the gate to refuel and get de-iced again. With apologies from the captain three hours later the plane took off. Who knows? Would we land safely? Would we make our connection or miss it? The plane was slated to arrive about 10 minutes after our connecting flight was slated to leave. David and I began looking at other options but then settled in. I watched two movies. The stewards brought snacks and gave instructions for those of us who would miss connections but also suggested that our connecting flight might be delayed too. We wouldn’t know for sure until we landed.

We landed safely, de-planed, and discovered that our connecting flight was still on the ground. We walked to its gate, found a lounge nearby, settled in, and again waited. I read more and looked at the flight board to see if there were any changes in the schedule. I called my brother to update him and tell him that we were slated to arrive in Sacramento after midnight and he didn’t have to pick us up as we could take an Uber. “No,” he said, just text us when you get here.

Two and a half hours later the flight left. We landed safely and I texted my brother and his wife we had arrived. It was sleeting and hail had fallen during the day in Sacramento but they had followed the flight on their app and were waiting for us by the curb outside the airport. With gratitude and relief, we entered their car. My brother said that he hadn’t been up past midnight in years. My sister-in-law asked if I had worried. I was almost too tired to answer but I replied, “No. I just got through it”. Don’t know mind: No problem. How wonderful we are safe and here.

When we meet this Thursday, March 2nd let’s examine Don’t Know Mind.

Hope to see you on zoom, wherever we are.

The Last Chapter

At a recent meeting of mindfulness-based teachers that I attended one of the teachers asked for advice. The teacher had been talking to one of the people who had enrolled in an MBSR (Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction) course and asked whether her mother, now ill, could attend with her. My colleague wasn’t sure whether this was advisable or not because the daughter had implied that her Mom was in the last chapter of her life. We all agreed that this question required further inquiry. What was the mother’s condition? Did she have the energy to participate? Was she interested in mindfulness and in taking the course or was it primarily the daughter who wanted this for her? If you are very ill and on a lot of medicine that clouds your mind and makes it hard to be awake or concentrate it might not be wise to sign up for an eight-week, two-and-a-half hour class that requires daily 45 minutes of home practice. Taking the time to stop, do nothing but observe the workings of mind and body can be very challenging.

The teacher did speak to the Mother and decided it was appropriate for her to take the course. He reported in our next meeting that she had attended the class and he was delighted to have her there. She was in a rehab facility but was able to be attentive and fully participate in class. In fact, he said, “she was a rock star”.  I wasn’t surprised to hear this. In my experience the more we are challenged, whether in pain or living with a life-threatening illness the more motivated a person is to keep attention to the here and now and appreciate the concreteness of the present moment—whatever it is, like it or not because it signifies our aliveness. Who knows what will be in the future but this moment is ours. I learned this from my bouts with cancer and from my father who lived with me at the end of his life. He wrote on an index card that he tacked to the wall, “You can’t stop the bird of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent it from nesting in your hair.”

I am the oldest person attending the teacher meetings and I sometimes feel my age there. Hearing “the last chapter” named Is what really stopped me at the meeting.  “I’m in my last chapter.” I piped out, “What does that mean? I don’t usually think in terms of last chapter. As I approach eighty, I realize I have lived the majority of my life, but my story is still unfolding.  The ending is yet to be determined. When I’m reading a book there is a beginning and an ending, but the author has control and there is a planned order to it. The last chapter usually ties things up. There is a resolution. No more pages to turn. If it is a mystery or a thriller, the kind I’ve been enjoying lately, the villain is caught and the hero continues on miraculously whole, strong, and vital.

I recently spent a weekend with two very dear friends. We had not been physically together since Covid so it was a joy to share bread, laughter, and companionship. All three of us are now in “our last chapter” and we spent our time together adding to our stories and being fully alive and awake. We were filled with questions and the not knowing what was coming next but appreciating the joint exploration. What arose again and again, was gratitude. We also talked about endings, of people we love who have died and how it might be for us. For now, however, we had nourishing meals, thoughtful conversation, and shared love and community. It was what was called for now.

A Smile

Every year my husband and I look forward to the blossoming of the magnolias. They are beautiful, lush, and delicate. A few years ago we planted a magnolia tree in our garden and it has recently begun to flower. To honor its emergence, savor it, and keep it fresh in my memory I took a photo of it and used it as a virtual background in my meditation session. One of the participants asked how I created the background. She had just returned from a trip with her daughters to the Amalfi Coast and wanted to use it as her background for Zoom. She was glowing with happiness as she spoke of the trip and the time with her daughters. I felt her joy radiating through my body. Warmth filled my chest and even teared me up a bit. How lovely it was to experience the generosity of her sharing. Her happiness was contagious. It was just there filling the moment with joy. This feeling of lightness and joy didn’t end when the formal sitting did. I carried it with me. As I saw my husband at the computer I bent down and spontaneously gave him a kiss. The world seemed brighter, the budding trees spectacular and the daffodils bright and cheery. The earth bursting with new growth was visible all around me, outside and inside.

It’s not always easy to take in another person’s joy but I find that it’s a gift to share and an act of generosity. Your joy is my joy. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we all could do this? It is expansive and it creates connection. Thich Nhat Hahn, the Vietnamese monk who helped bring mindfulness to the West had endured a great deal of suffering and he emphasized the need to smile. He talked about smiling, smiling when you greet a person, and smiling into pain. The smile helps maintain perspective. Pain is also contagious. I find myself very carefully choosing the material I read and what I watch on TV. There is so much violence and cynicism. My father was a paint salesman and was known as “smiling Jack Rosenbaum”. He loved people and his love expressed itself in his smile. He was genuinely happy to be with you. At the time we didn’t always appreciate his stopping to chat with a person on the street, a shopkeeper, waiter, or person we didn’t know. He found everyone interesting. We, my mother, brother, and I often grew impatient and wanted to move on. Yet, unconsciously I took in his ability to smile and see the best of people. It could be infuriating to wait for him and hard to understand his interest in a stranger or something in a store window or on the street but as we grew older, as did he, my appreciation for this ability to find joy in the mundane grew. I now recommend stopping and taking in the wonder all around us that is so easy to miss. “Smiling Jack” has influenced my ability to see the good in others and helped me bear the pain of disappointment and loss. I savor the boosts of joy that come from being with people who are generous and caring. I find meditation can bring out the best in us—as long as we can REALLY ride the waves of emotion, remember everything changes and be open to what is supportive. This can be effortless but does take remembering. A smile helps.

Mindfulness in Pali literally means to remember. I practice remembering. I remember to say thank you. I remember that change is a part of life. I remember everything passes and I don’t have to like everything or always say, “yes” to a demand. I remember that what I do, think, and feel has an effect and I have choices. I remember love supports me and hate drags me down. Physiologically we are wired to remember what is harmful. This is a protective mechanism and practical, but can we also remember to savor the experience that is neutral or positive? Can we recognize the ordinary as extraordinary or do we need to lose something to appreciate its wonder. Are the buds on the trees so spectacular because the trees were bare all winter? Must we get sick to appreciate being well or can we say, thank you now? As a little girl, I remember being in kindergarten and saying a prayer before our cartons of milk were placed on our desks to drink (Yes, this is politically incorrect and would not happen now in a public school). The prayer was:

"Thank you, God, for the food I eat.

Thank you, God, for the birds that sing.

Thank you, God, for everything.”

I will be away for the second Thursday in May so our next Aging with Wisdom group will be next Thursday, May 5th at 11 AM, Eastern Time. I invite you to join us and share the journey of awakening - and a smile.

Winter Light

We are approaching the solstice and morning light arrives later and evening darkness sooner. Normally I dislike the increased darkness and cold but since I’ve joined my husband walking our dog I have a new perspective. I appreciate how the cold wakes me up, its crispness bringing clarity to the day. I zip up my new light down jacket, put on my hat and gloves and meet the day prepared... and appreciate that I have warm clothes and am mobile. When the wind blows I raise my hood, draw it tight around my hat and trundle along feeling warm and toasty. The cold engages all my senses, the feel of the body moving, eyes purveying changes in the landscape, the trees now bare showing off their shape and silhouetted against the sky, the ground, colors changing from green to brown, workmen blowing the last of the leaves away, our dog finding something interesting to sniff and the wreathes decorating some of the houses we pass. Our walk is more brisk but the friendliness of neighbors we meet continues to be warm.

It surprises me that I am welcoming winter. I experience it now as a time to go within, reflect and burrow down. Rather than see the trees as barren and dead, I now trust they are resting and saving their energy and will burst forth again when conditions favor growth. My body/mind/heart takes note of the trees and the cycle of life. My pace is slower but I like to think I am appreciating more. Moments of quiet are to savor. I take less for granted. I appreciate the gift of body that is still able to walk uphill and down, our 13 year old dog wagging his tail and begging for a treat –and able to eat it. I savor walking with my spouse and am more appreciative of his companionship. A close friend lost her partner, another has a husband with terminal cancer. All of us are subject to aging, illness, loss and death. Now that I am in my eighth decade there is a new immediacy to endings and beginnings and how to use the time that is here.

There are practical considerations. This means facing the truth of changing bodies and minds. How to prepare for the winter of our lives is a puzzle with many pieces big and small. Much is unknown and there are no guaranteed solutions but the questions must be recognized. I don’t run up and down the stairs like I used to. I make sure to hold on to the railing. Do we stay in our house that I love which has stairs and requires attention? Should we downsize, move to a continuing care facility? Do this now, later? What is this moment telling us? I am honoring the questions and the many different answers my mind produces none perfect or for sure. Most involve letting go and letting be—acceptance.

What do I know? This moment really is a precious one-the only one. Relationships are treasures. Health a gift. This Thursday, December 9 at 11 AM, EST we are meeting again to explore what it means to age with wisdom. Bring your questions. I promise no answers but a deep respect for our joint questioning—what gives meaning and is important to keep close - and to let go.

IN BLACKWATER WOODS by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees

Are turning

Their own bodies

Into pillars

Of light,

Are giving off the rich

Fragrance of cinnamon

And fulfillment,

The long tapers

Of cattails

Are bursting and floating away over

The blue shoulders

Of the ponds,

And every pond,

No matter what its

Name is

Nameless now.

Every year

Everything I have ever learned

In my lifetime

Leads back to this: the fires

And the black river of loss

Whose other side

Is salvation,

Whose meaning

None of us will ever know.

To live in this world

You must be able

To do three things:

To love what is mortal;

To hold it

Against your bones knowing

Your own life depends on it;

And, when the time comes to let it go,

To let it go.

Vacation

It is the beginning of August and it’s been our tradition to go to the beach for vacation. Over the years we’ve extended the time to vacate and surrender to hedonism— for seniors. We have the good fortune to spend the entire month near surf, sand, ice cream stores and farmer’s markets. I supply up on good fiction and treat myself to fresh fish, lobster and clams, newly baked bread and delectable desserts. Calories be damned.  We rent a house that we have been inhabiting for about twenty-five years so it is familiar and stress free. As I write it’s morning and my husband has gone for our habitual grocery shopping. This year he is the shopper and I am sitting in the shade by the house in the back yard the dog resting nearby. My husband believes it is too high a risk for me to meander through the narrow isles looking for goodies.  I don’t like acknowledging that he is right, age and extended chemotherapy has probably compromised my immune system. I feel healthy so it is hard to admit that I have to be careful. So much of meditation is about balance and being with things as they are. What are the risk factors in going shopping or just doing what used to be normal like gathering with friends or going out to eat? What is worth the risk, what is not? Excellent contemplation...and ongoing. At the heart of mindfulness is impermanence. Nothing ever stays the same. Holding on to what used to be and craving it be different than it is causes suffering. Being human means there is both craving and suffering. It is also an opportunity to see how connected we all are. Your wearing a mask means I am less afraid to be in public. My wearing a mask means I care about your well being too. 

We almost cancelled our vacation. I’ve been appreciating the neighborhood where I live and taking walks in it. Our house has been cool and it’s been pleasant to be inside. My husband and I have gotten into a rhythm and we are getting along. Perhaps this was the year to stay at home. What’s the risk factor in leaving, what are the down sides to staying home? Am I being greedy to once more go away, feel my toes in the sand and swim in cold Atlantic waters?  I do love the beach and being more in nature than our neighborhood in Worcester, MA. After getting information from friends who live and visit Martha’s Vineyard where we were heading we decided it would be possible to stay safe and enjoy sea and sky there. Yesterday our first day we arrived at the ferry early and there were fewer cars than we were accustomed to seeing. We got onto an early ferry, everyone was masked and we were requested to stay in the car. Good.

When we drove off the ferry into town it was early so the streets were not crowded and everyone we saw, young and old, were wearing masks. Good. It was too early to go to our rental house so we had time to kill. Our car was overloaded with dog, dog items, suitcases of clothes, food and sports gear. There were bicycles in the back of the car and our two Kayaks on the roof and it was hot. Paradise was uncomfortable and we were not luxuriating in sea, surf or even land. What to do? 

I’ve been meditating on equanimity and I was feeling hungry, irritable and impatient to leave the car and get into vacation mode. I know that every moment is precious. I often quote Thich Nhat Hahn when I lead a meditation, 

 “Breathing in I calm.

Breathing out I smile. 

Dwelling in the present moment.

It is a precious moment.”

I exhaled. I reminded myself to keep my mouth shut and stop saying, “Let’s go to the house. Maybe the previous renter has left.” We did go, her car was there, we left. My mood did not. Ah, challenge. We went to the farmer’s market and people were in line and kept social distance and wore masks. Good. We got corn, bread, vegetables and cheese. Good. Back in the car, hot. Still not time to go back to the house. 

Every moment is a precious moment.

We drove around the island, saw the cliffs at Aquinnah, formerly called Gay Head, went back to the house and a neighbor I had previously met was there cleaning. We both looked at each other.

“You were supposed to call.” She said. “The house won’t be ready until 1:00 PM.” 

“Really?”    (It was about 11:15)

Both of us felt annoyed. I explained our circumstance.

"We got on the ferry earlier than we expected and arrived on the Island before 8 AM and have been driving around. I’m sorry, I’m hot, irritable.”

She softened, I came to my senses and calmed. Crisis over. We got permission to refrigerate perishables and calm surfaced.

Vacation has begun...and we even got to go to the beach late afternoon. Everything changes!

FUNK

I’ve been in a funk lately. It is winter here in New England. We haven’t had much snow and the days have been warmer than usual, often in the 30’s rather than single digits but it’s been gray. I am a person who likes color, sunshine and beaches. Instead the trees are bare, the grass is brown and I step carefully on the sidewalk and watch out for black ice. I remind myself that every thing passes and remember every moment is precious including this one. I tell people, you must acknowledge what is true—even if you don’t like it—and I don’t like feeling the heavy stickiness of funk. I don’t like that I’ve had a cold and it is lingering. I am wearing three layers of clothing and have unearthed my sun lamp from the closet. I turn it on. It’s called a “happy light”. I am glad I remembered that I have it and it can be cheering. When my mood matches the weather I have to put extra effort into remembering how blessed I am and really take it in so the words are felt in my body. It’s too easy to ignore what is truly important: being healthy and having a warm house to live in, food to eat, and a loving husband and friends.

The word mindfulness is derived from a Pali word, “sati”, that connotes wisdom and includes remembering. Remembering perspective, remembering compassion, remembering all thoughts and feelings pass. Remembering that as I write the funk is changing and I can’t talk myself out of what I am feeling but I can be kind to myself and not perseverate about it. How wonderful when the mood passes. I remember mindfulness cultivates patience and a willingness to let be and let go. I can’t push the mood away but when my husband returned home and said, “Do you want to go out for some dinner or call it in?” I was interested and focused on where to go and what to eat. We are home now and it’s time for bed. My pajamas are comfortable. My bed is welcoming and my belly full. Funk dissipated. Ah.

A Gift

It snowed today. It began early and continued throughout the morning commute. Normally this doesn’t affect me but today was the last day of a three-day workshop that I was leading and I feared the roads would be impassable. The workshop was being streamed so people could click in and attend virtually but participation is an important element of the curriculum and there was no mechanism in place for interaction which is core to the material being presented, the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program and its application to clinical care. The program is very relational and inquiry and discussion are central to learning. Mindfulness cultivates equanimity and the ability to be present to pleasant and unpleasant events alike. It also brings awareness to our default position. In my case, at this time, it was pessimistic believing only myself, the video person and one or two people who had stayed at the hotel would be present.

I entered the room and immediately saw three people.

"You made it,' I said, ‘Wonderful! This may be an intimate group today.”

“Oh I am sure most will come,” said one of the women.

“How many do you think will be here?” I asked.

“Oh, 20."

There were 28 in the group. I was dubious. “Maybe 8,” I said.

“Oh, I think more,” another participant chimed in. “The roads weren’t too bad.”

“Let’s see,” I said, still doubting and went to set up my PowerPoint.

People began dribbling in. Twenty arrived and I gave a high five to Gloria who had named that number. More arrived and all but three were present in person and the others had signed in electronically.

A wave of gratitude overtook me. No one had to come. They could have attended electronically and gotten their CEU’s. They wanted to be present. There was a feeling of community, warmth and caring. This touched my heart. It took an effort to be present and be mindful. Mindfulness is not easy. It means we have to face ourselves, who we are, what we are, and all the factors that impact our lives and how we meet them. Community and the support it gives is vital-and sadly often not there.

It is the holiday season as I write this. Decorations and holiday music and “cheer” abound. It is a time of giving and receiving. It can also be a time of sadness and isolation, expectations and disappointments.

I feel I was given a gift on this cold snowy day. A gift of love and intimacy among people who had not met before and now we're laughing together, sharing thoughts and feelings as they practiced opening hearts and minds in silence and speech. How fortunate I am I thought to be able to do the work of mindfulness and be able to experience the warmth of community and behold the human spirit.

Happy Holidays to you and yours. May we all appreciate each other and be able to give, to receive and enjoy this season.