Your conversation with God
Your communion with All That Is
The hopes and dreams of humanity
The reality of all that is transient
The peace that comes upon you
As you express the inner thoughts
Knowing there is more than this
Where peace always abounds
You’re not the biggest flower in the group
But big enough to make a beautiful contribution to the whole
Your connection holds others
So they may bloom their truth
So many layers, delicate yet strong
Supported by those layers
As you open, you give courage to others
You are the example
A living example full of life
Keep drawing in the water and keep
Connected to those attached to you
Admire the beauty you are occasionally
And those you help to blossom
Be a light fragrance
When it’s time to move from my home, I think leaving my trees behind may be the hardest part. I don’t get too attached to things but they seem different. Many are living memorials to family, friends, and neighbors who in some way touched my life but who are no longer physically with me.
Although I consciously choose trees that remind me of the person or that I think they may have liked, they do seem to end up reflecting their personalities. My trees have names and I refer to them by name. “Look, Ray has finally taken hold. Frank survived his first winter. Dorothy was in perfect shape and beautiful but didn’t like her environment. Fred is out of control and needs trimmed again! Tom is blossoming.”
This is a picture of Frank, my Alaskan Weeping Cypress taken in the spring. It’s named for Frank, who by reputation was a brilliant surgeon. I didn’t get to meet Frank until his later years when dementia had already taken hold. He was the husband of a client and friend. I wished I had met him earlier, but twice a month I got to spend a little time with him. His intellect and experience impressed me and I could still hear the caring and compassion that motivated him. I wanted to hear more about his expertise and his working travels after retirement from the hospital. So many changes had taken place during his near ninety years. I wanted his opinion on my field and his and on some clear days I did hear them. It was sad to watch the progression of the disease and his frustration with his physical and mental state.
I planted Frank near the road to greet those who come in my drive. Like his namesake he’s been low maintenance, stately but approachable, impressive yet reserved.
I think it’s important to let yourself be a beginner no matter what your age. I’m okay with it. At the beginning I always feel like there’s no place to go but up from here. I started running at age forty so sixteen years later I don’t consider myself a beginner. Yet each spring is a new beginning with the start of what I consider my consistent running season.
There have been benefits to starting later. My children who have were competitive runners in school suffered injuries that still plague them. I had the choice of taking as much recovery time as needed. Some that started young peaked early and are seeing their times decline. I am getting faster and have yet to peak.
Age gives perspective. When a man in his eighties beat my first 5K time I might have felt defeated. Instead I was inspired. When I won in my age category at age fifty it gave me confidence that I could break the age barriers that barrage us in all areas of life. The need to compete is still there but mainly it’s a competition with myself.
I love the physical benefits but more I love the meditative practice it has become. Today I wore my fitbit. It’s nice to know my time and heart rate to gauge where I am in comparison to where I’d like to end up but mostly I run free from technology. Without distraction I’m free to notice the pink of flowering trees, the chartreuse of new leaves, feel the warm sun and cool breeze. I see the small snake keeping pace along the grasses on the edge of the trail. I notice the patterns of wildflowers that always make me want to take those darn Zentangle classes.
I am elated to start this season of new runs embracing the feeling of a new beginning on an evolving journey.
My sister received a text she thought wasn’t intended for her. I told her to send back the ‘see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’ emoji.
“I don’t think I have those,” she replied.
“Do you have a smiley by your message?” I asked. “Tap on it.”
“Wow!” she texted. “You just opened up a whole new world for me.”
“You learn something new everyday,” I said.
But that got me thinking. Do we? As we age what changes? When do we start believing that we’re too old to try something new. What makes something unworthy of our time? What makes us have questions but no longer pursue answers, lose our curiosity, or just quit playing? If it doesn’t make money or if we don’t feel we have enough time to become accomplished, is it not worth the effort? When did measured results become more important than the journey itself?
I think the answer to that is as individual as we are. I see clients of all ages but those who are doing the best in advanced age are those who are still curious, still interested, and pursuing new activities. It’s the 86 year old who is teaching himself to read music to improve his harmonica performances and the disabled middle-age woman who is using this recovery time to learn bridge and is now going to a tournament. It is the woman in her late 70’s building a new home, continuing to garden and pursue new healthy eating trends, and sharing wonderful recipes with me. It’s the 70 and 80 somethings attending yoga classes for the first time and enjoying the benefits.
As I encourage and give advice to others I do try to live what I speak so it got me thinking. Why am I not pursuing more of my interests? Why are some activities less time worthy than others in my life? So I make this quiet resolve to seek the answer to my questions, actively learn something new, pursue my interests, and hopefully become a more interesting person in the process because I was just thinking…