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Self-Kindess: Resolution No.1 in 2020

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New Years Day.  Our designated date for making resolutions and self promises.  Generally, mine tend to involve some measure of self-flagellation for deeds done during the previous year.  Eat fewer carbs, lose weight, drink less wine, fix errant body parts, etc.

What about resolving to be kinder to our selves in the new year?  The New York Times published a story entitled, 8 Ways to Be Kinder to Yourself in 2020.  I typically avoid numbered lists.  They feel like a con.  “Just follow these simple 5,6,7,10 steps and you are guaranteed happiness”. But it doesn’t stop me from reading them.  Our bodies batteries are the focus of these forecasts.  Here are their tips:

Take more time for yourself.  One would think in our retirement or semi-retirement states, time would be a commodity we might have a great deal of.  But somehow we are busier than ever.  Choosing to spend time alone can benefit your social relationships, improve creativity and confidence, and help regulate our emotions.  Periodic solitude can go a long way in re-charging our body’s battery.

Take time to do nothing at all.  I posted a blog several months entitled “The Art of a Wasted Day”.  Running from place to place, checking off to-do lists…that really isn’t living well.  But it does make us feel important.  Idleness actually can be a productivity tool.  If we are burned out, we can’t be terribly productive.

Cultivate more casual, low stakes friendships.  This admonition seemed counter-intuitive.  I was of the opinion as we age deeper, more meaningful relationships are the goal.  Sociologist, Mark Granovetter labels these relationships “weak ties”.  These ties can include the barista at a local coffee shop or a spin class member and help us feel connected to a larger community.  I established some weak ties with my physical therapists following knee replacement surgery.  Even though I don’t socialize with Meagan of Justin, they became important people in my life during my rehab efforts.

Learn to enjoy things when they’re good.  Worrying about when and if the other shoe is going to drop robs from the present joy.  People misguidedly assume worry helps prevent bad things from happening.  We don’t want to be ambushed by negative stuff so incessant worrying allows us to keep up our guard.

Lean into your guilty pleasures (in moderation of course).  Mystery novels, Netflix binges, if we enjoy them, why feel guilty?  It’s called resting our bodies and our brains.  We are such productivity-a-holics and tend to believe we should be problem solving or “getting things done”.  Intense focus can be tiring.  Guilty pleasures offer an outlet.

Learn to accept a compliment.  (Even better if it comes from you)  Even small wins give your brain positive signals.  Research documents meaningful praise can boost motivation and performance and improve your brains’ ability to remember and repeat new skills.  This truly is the ultimate act of kindness to yourself.

Embrace the unexpected joy of repeat experiences.  We are pre-disposed to believe novel experiences are more rewarding than repeat experiences.  Often there are multiple layers to these experiences that we discover upon repeating them.  This tip should not, however, supplant the benefits of novel experiences. I think novelty is good for the brain too.

Turn your regrets into self-improvement. There is a fine line between dwelling on regrets and ignoring them.  There are physical and mental consequences to suppressing one’s misgivings.  Reframing the situation can be helpful.  What self-insight can be gained from that fight with your daughter?  What did the failed fund-raiser teach you?

I think Baby Boomer women are notoriously negligent about self-focus.  Taking time for our selves, being idle, living in the moment, even accepting compliments is more often than not a foreign concept. 

Faith, Hope, and Love

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I doubt if it has been noticeable by anyone other than me, but my blog posts have been few and far between.  One excuse is the fact I’m working on a book- Lose the Beige:  A “Coloring” Book for Living Outside the Lines.  More on that in another post.  My other excuse is creative and spiritual depletion. 

I’m beginning to wonder if there is some astrological configuration going on that is making my world and those of several friends a little crazier.  I actually saw on Facebook a reference to the fact that on October 3d Pluto will no longer be in a retrograde mode (which I think means going backwards) and therefore sanity will reign supreme again.   Considering this has been a dark summer for me, I looked up the meaning of this astrological phenomenon.  Apparently, Pluto in retrograde means coming face to face with deeper, sometimes darker, inner truths.   I thought the darkness was obscuring my truths not forcing me to face them.

Pluto in Retrograde

I egotistically assumed I was the Lone Ranger undergoing fits and starts of anxiety.  But then in a rare moment of emotional candor I blurted out to a friend I felt like I had lost my faith.  Our lunch was impromptu as was my outburst, and I actually wondered later if providence had interceded, guiding me to this admission.  “I feel the same way”, Cathleen confessed.  For the past year, she has assumed the post of interim director for a major non-profit undergoing a myriad of maladies.  “I’m 70 years old and, while I like the money coming in, I have absolutely no time for myself.  I’m surrounded by people and circumstances requiring my undivided attention.”

Not two days later a close friend asked me if I noticed how much weight she had lost.  Even at 72, Sharon has a hot body and always looks slender, so no, I hadn’t noticed.  “I can’t eat.  Even on the cruise we just took I had no appetite to speak of.  That never happens to me,” she wailed.  She admitted to anxiety about family members and accumulated stress from four years of post-career challenges faced by her husband.

Barely three days later, another long time friend, someone I ordinarily consider an optimist, confessed to bouts of depression.  The reason?  Disabling health issues interfering with travel and even daily routine activities. 

Is this an epidemic, I wondered.  I remember a line from the Big Chill, one of my favorite movies, “Where did Alex’s hope go?”  I’m really not overly religious but I do recall a line from Corinthians in the New Testament: “Three things will last forever…faith, hope, and love.”  I’m thinking all the loving we have been offering others is resulting in the dissipation of the faith and hope parts of ourselves. 

Bit by bit, drama upon drama, and need by need, everything I’ve ever done for self-nourishment has eroded.  For years I’ve carved out sacred time in my mornings, preserving it for reading, journal writing, or some other method of meditation.  Creativity, a long time outlet for stress has somehow disappeared from my radar.  Thus, I’ve not been writing and blogging, great coping techniques for stress and depression. 

Not two days after my lunch with Cathleen a book of daily meditations arrived on the wings of Amazon.  I’m committing to reading the pages of the day rather than defaulting to my Facebook app in the mornings.  I’m also happy to say my laptop is back where it is supposed to be (in my lap) writing this blog to the accompaniment of a fierce ocean and a 72 degree breeze wafting through the railings of the balcony where I sit in a lounge chair, feet perched on its sister ottoman. (The glass of wine next to me is also providing some therapy as well).  I also signed up for something called a “Succulent Pumpkin Centerpiece” workshop to learn how to make a fun Thanksgiving table decoration. I hesitated to even enroll in the class begrudging the time it would take away from other work activities, but now I’m excitedly searching for a “Cinderella a/k/a Fairytale” pumpkin to serve as the carriage for my succulent centerpiece.  

What about you?  Are you finding yourself stuck too?  Let me know or share your coping techniques. 

Aftermath of Succulent Pumpkin Centerpiece Workshop

Showing Up on Memorial Day Weekend

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This weekend I spent a good portion of my time at the beach sitting under a tent where my sightline took in four shades of blue on the horizon. 

Breezes from the shore made the 90 degree Florida temperatures palatable as long as the shelter of the shade protected me.  I was joined under the tent and our umbrella annex by somewhere between 9 and 11 people, the number and seating arrangements changing like people moving in and out of a fast motion time lapse video. 

It was the occasion of our annual (less annual in recent years) Memorial Day Weekend at the beach with my poker group.  Our fivesome (formerly sixsome) have been meeting once a month for twenty-five years to play what we loosely described as “poker”.  Now just because two of the women are doctors, two are lawyers, and one a stockbroker does not mean anyone really knew what beats what in this insipid game.  The constant query was, “now does five of a kind beat a royal straight flush?”  (this speaks volumes about the kind of game we played- the more wild cards the better).  Our monthly Minyan –while there are no men, everyone is Jewish (I was Jewish for eleven years so I’m grandmothered in) morphed into Mahjong (for about two seconds until we recognized our ineptitude) and finally a dominos game called Schmutz.  A lot of eating, talking, laughing, and more eating occurs on these nights.  (Alcohol was more present in our 30s, 40s, and 50s).

Our vision of a minyan was to gather together regularly and to “be there for one another”. We have shared two marriages, seven births, a conversion from Catholicism to Judaism and Straight to Gay, seven Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, graduations from high schools and colleges, a Ph.D. or two, three grandchildren, and countless surgeries, health scares, and emotional meltdowns.  We kvetch and kvell (complain and brag) about our partners, kids, and each other.   And we love each other in a way that only belongs to families who have weathered many climate changes. 

I was awash with memories of the last 25 years this weekend as I sat next to bearded, buff men I once saw in basinets not so many years ago. I called my kids in route to my Orlando home to share the latest news and meander through memories. 

The longevity of our group has made us somewhat notorious (fun at 65 to be notorious).  I catch murmurings of “oh, she’s in the poker group.  Other friends have commented, “someone will have to die before anyone else can get into the poker group”.  That makes me feel special. 

“How have you stayed together all these years”, I’ve been asked.  “We show up”, I reply.  It takes organizational skill to coordinate six schedules, twelve times a year plus special occasions.  Maybe we have missed a few months over 25 years, but I can’t really think of when.  I know Memorial Day is about honoring the men and women who have risked their lives protecting our way of life, for which I am truly grateful.  But this weekend I’m also honoring these relationships which have helped sustain and nurture my quality of life all these many years.  #deeprelationshipsarepriceless.

The Paradox of Parenthood

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I spent seven February days in Chicago caring for my newly born granddaughter.  Did I mention the February in Chicago part? winter cold The -14 degrees part?  It was a fabulous week filled with so much love and delight.  Such a point of connection for my son and me.

My daughter flew in as well.  Scrambling eggs one morning, accompanied by David’s music playlist, I beheld my daughter cooing with baby Maya as her brother and sister-in-law perused family baby photos of yesteryear.  This is why we have kids– for these moments of utter contentment and completeness.

children and grandchildren

Now, did you hear the “moments” part of the above sentence?  Let’s be honest, to achieve those moments requires hours of energy expenditure, a/k/a work.  Now, much of that work is joyful work.  Feeling useful is so satisfying and contributes to one’s sense of well-being and happiness.  Ok, all the benefits of hard work and self sacrifice aside, the work part is exhausting.  I was assigned the early morning baby caring shift.  That meant arising at 5:30 and trudging two blocks in the snow and -14 degree weather to fulfill my motherly/grandmotherly duties.  Once in the warmth of the apartment, heaven awaited in the form of my baby girl.  That intoxicating baby fragrance; the feel of her head tucked beneath my chin; to know I’ve not lost the ability to soothe a baby back to sleep.  Priceless moments.

But there was also

  • taking the dog out for exercise and elimination;
  • climbing basement stairs on wounded knee with mounds of laundry;
  • grocery shopping (organic only);
  • car pooling;
  • Starbuck’s drive-throughs;
  • even hosting an Oscar night party.

Did I mention I’m 61?

I had coffee recently with a Lady Boomer friend.  Her 92 year old father had recently passed away.  While his passing was not a surprise given his age, the significance of the loss was profound.  But she has not really been afforded the opportunity to sit with her grief.  She is being pulled by so many sources and obligations.  Her adult children and even her husband are making a lot of demands on her time and emotional resources.  All these demands leave little space and stamina for one’s own needs and wants.

Even, or especially, being in our 60s, we still have dreams we want to pursue.  I know when I returned from Chicago, I had little to no physical and psychic energy left for my own creative aspirations.  I gave my friend a prescription, one I so hope I follow.  Carve out 2-4 hours in the coming week for yourself.  Seems simple, right?  Not so much.  You have to commit to the promise and build in accountability.  Use the time to…

(1) meditate, (2) write in a journal, (3) take a walk or a bike ride, (4) wander through a museum or gallery, whatever you do, do it alone.  You need to carve out time to hear your own thoughts and needs.  Who knows, by creating this space, you might actually implement some of the things you hear from yourself.