Ageless

The yoga mantra I picked randomly from the stack today said, “I am at peace with my age.”

Depending on what day you ask me, I might or might not agree with that sentiment. On this beautiful, sunny and unseasonably warm day, for instance, I’d say I feel young at heart. But yesterday, after a long weekend of rain and gloom, my aches and pains made me feel like an old lady.

In ancient cultures, old age was to be welcomed. Elders were revered and looked to for leadership, wisdom, and counsel. Like a tree trunk with many rings, the wrinkles on a face were a road map to greater knowledge and understanding.

Nowadays, there are whole industries dedicated to maintaining or recapturing our youthfulness. People go to great expense and even risk to look younger – erase the wrinkles, plump the cheeks and lips, contour the sagging body parts. Some of my favorite celebrities have succumbed to the allure of eternal youth. To me, though, their faces look strange and immobile, a mask hiding all the life experiences they have collected over the years.

In a chapter of Dave Eggers’ memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, he describes a photo shoot of naked friends and acquaintances that is done for his fledgling magazine. When he looks at the proofs, which show only bodies (the heads being cropped out for privacy’s sake), he’s a bit horrified by the imperfections and homeliness of himself and his friends. When we are young, we like to think of ourselves as beautiful specimens, strong and sexy, desirable and uncorrupted.

But bodies should be imperfect. They do such hard work for us every day. And faces should show our laugh lines. They should move when we speak, reflecting our emotions and thoughts.

Last night, my daughter and I watched the last episode of the new Veronica Mars season. Many members of the original cast populate the series, which makes it nostalgic and fun to watch. Towards the very end, the character Parker appears briefly. A college friend of Veronica’s and former girlfriend of Veronica’s boyfriend Logan, Parker looks as lovely as ever. The actress, Julie Gonzalo, has appeared in other hit shows such as the reboot of Dallas. She has always had a small crooked scar that runs between her eyebrows. I admire this. In her line of work, it would be tempting to have plastic surgery to eliminate this flaw. But the flaw makes her more real – and does not diminish her beauty at all.

So it is with the signs of aging. I guess we fear these signs because we fear the end. I don’t know about you, but I want to live forever (or at least to 100!) Aging and death are inevitable parts of the circle of life. But there are parts of ourselves that remain ageless: our hopes, our beliefs, our ideals, our love. These are the parts of myself that I want to focus on in the upcoming decades.

I am at peace with my age.

Driving Me Crazy

I’m afflicted with road rage – well, maybe road annoyance. While driving, I don’t scream, turn red, and confront other drivers with my 45. But lately, I’ve found myself muttering “I hate people” as I navigate the streets of town. I mean at yoga I’m all “Namaste” and everything, but as soon as I get in the car to drive home, Mr. Hyde emerges.

There’s the guy running on a busy street when he has a perfectly good sidewalk he can use. There are the teenage kids prematurely crossing the street when I have the left turn arrow, forcing me to stop and miss my window of opportunity. And how about the crossing guard who thinks it’s his mission to hold up traffic until the kid halfway down the block makes it up to the crosswalk?

And that’s just the pedestrians!

Drivers have lots of annoying habits that just get to me. For instance, many people consider turn signals optional, my husband included. Suddenly they are veering left in front of me, and I have to slam on my brakes because I thought they were going straight. Cars sometimes whip out onto the street a few feet from my moving vehicle and then proceed to drive 10 mph in front of me. Why were you in such a hurry, buddy?

The other day I was driving on the highway and didn’t see a car in my blind spot as I went to make a lane change. I quickly swerved back into my lane (My bad!), but when the car passed me, the driver gave me the finger. Geez, mister, I wasn’t aiming for your car. It was an honest mistake.

In all seriousness, road rage is a modern problem that can be deadly. According to The Zebra, an online insurance reference, car accidents due to road rage increased from 80 in 2006 to 467 in 2015. Also, over a seven-year time period, more than 200 murders and 12,000 injuries were attributed to road rage. (“Road Rage Statistics,” thezebra.com, May 23, 2019)

Let’s face it. I will probably never completely rid myself of the need to say mean things about other drivers and pedestrians (And don’t get me started on bicyclists!) while behind the wheel of my car. Still, I will work to contain my “road resentment,” for the sake of myself and my unfortunate passengers.

Letting Go

On this day of the autumnal equinox, we welcome the season of fall. There was a bit of a chill in the air during outdoor yoga this morning as our instructor encouraged us to draw energy from the Earth on which we posed – and at the same time, emulate the autumn trees shedding their leaves by letting go.

I’ve seen this metaphor quite a bit this year, and it’s a lovely image. The trees let go of their leaves, returning them to the earth where they rejuvenate the soil and nourish the very tree itself. Likewise, our minds and hearts can practice letting go of all that is dead in us: thoughts, prejudices, worries, anxieties, anger and fear.

What a graceful release it can be to let go. In child’s pose, we curl ourselves toward the ground. With every breath we surrender control of our bodies, and in doing so give them renewed energy and peace as we sink into Mother Earth.

It can be liberating to let go. So much of our lives is spent with clenched teeth and held breath. We worry about our children, our health, our finances, the weary world. But as Jesus teaches in Matthew 6:27, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

I once heard the mantra, “Let go and let God.” That simple advice has run through my head many times in days of stress and heartache. If you believe that there is a force greater than yourself, a force for good, you will be able to surrender to that force and stop trying to control everything around you.

I know. Easier said than done. Yet I’m confident that if we can let go of our burdens as the trees let go of their leaves this fall, we will be able to move forward with great joy.

Politics and the Power of Words

During the 2016 presidential race, Hillary Clinton described Trump supporters as “deplorables,” and from the moment she uttered that word, I knew it would become a missile in the hands of Republican strategists. Sure enough, Trump supporters started posting proud photos of themselves as so-called “deplorables.” Pundits decried the elitism of the Democratic nominee and used her own unfortunate choice of words to indict her as the ultimate Washington insider.

Similarly, early in the Trump Administration, Senator Mitch McConnell explained why he had shut down Sen. Elizabeth Warren’s objections to the nomination of Jeff Sessions to the Attorney General post: “Senator Warren was giving a lengthy speech. She had appeared to violate the rule. She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.” Those final three words became a rallying cry for liberals and especially feminists against the predominantly white male presence in Washington and the resiliency of Warren and other women who speak out. T-shirts and hats started sporting the quip, and it took on a life of its own.

When it comes to politics, candidates, government officials, and strategists need to mind their words. Words are powerful and effective means of getting one’s point across. But words can also be used against us.

During the 2012 election, Pres. Barack Obama’s 2008 campaign slogan about “hope and change” became the source of mockery from vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin. During a speech to Republican supporters, she mocked, “How’s that hopey, changey stuff working out?”

More recently, Pres. Trump’s campaign slogan, “Make America Great Again” (MAGA), has been endlessly parodied into such expressions as “Make America White Again” and “Make America Smart Again.”

As the presidential election of 2020 comes ever nearer, we will be hearing a lot (too much?) from candidates and their supporters. Pres. Trump is no doubt polishing off his dismissive nicknames in preparation for the face-off against his eventual Democratic challenger. Liberals, for their part, are blowing up their “Trump Baby” balloons and preparing to portray the Republican incumbent as idiotic and venal.

It will be interesting to see how language is used both to inspire and tear down in this next election. No doubt t-shirt makers are at the ready to capitalize on the words and slogans that go viral.

Pink pussy hats, anyone?

Savasana Among the Trees

I have practiced yoga in nature before. Sunrise yoga on the beach was a wonderfully relaxing and fun part of a few past vacations. But today I got to practice my asanas under the trees.

My local arboretum holds outdoor yoga classes, so I decided to sign up. The morning was overcast and humid but not exceptionally hot. I found the location, a patio facing an expanse of grass ringed by trees, and put down my mat. Our instructor, Natalie, was young and sweet-voiced, and she encouraged us to take an affirmation card from a pile of them she’d provided. I selected one at random. It said, “Everything I touch becomes a success.” I smiled.

Natalie took us through the poses, all the while encouraging us and reminding us that it’s okay to fall, to not be perfect. The trees presided over our movements, and when I closed my eyes, I could hear the birds chirping. It was one of the most enjoyable yoga classes I’ve ever taken, and I have to believe it was due to the fact that we were communing with nature.

Every yoga class ends with savasana, or “corpse pose.” The complete and total surrender it entails makes savasana my favorite part of the hour. Afterwards, my mind, body, and soul felt rested, yet invigorated. I slowly gathered my things and started heading toward the parking lot.

On the way, I found a fragrance garden with a bubbling fountain. I sat on a bench and enjoyed the quiet gurgling of the fountain, the flowers and plants, and the emergence of sun from behind the clouds.

Like anyone else, I have my share of worries. My mother-in-law is undergoing a surgical procedure as I write this. My senior in high school is immersed in college applications and trying to figure out who she is and what she wants to become. My other children are living their lives in far flung cities across the U.S. But yoga among the trees has given me an inner peace that helps me know all will be well.

After all, everything I touch becomes a success.

Smoking Gun

A handful of people have died from vaping, and President Trump immediately instituted a ban on certain flavored e-cigarettes. Three times that many people were killed in a Walmart in El Paso, Texas, and hand-wringing was the only action anyone took.

I’m not a fan of e-cigarettes, and I have no issue with regulating them more strictly in light of the mysterious recent deaths and the fact that vaping has caught on with a young, vulnerable population. Indeed, the government’s role is to provide regulations to help keep Americans safe. But when it comes to guns, there is a glaring inconsistency.

In the latest mass shooting, the gunman had obtained his weapon from a private sale, thus skirting a background check that would have marked him as ineligible to have a gun. There are numerous loopholes to our system of background checks that, if closed, could prevent violence.

There are also ways of getting around strict gun laws in one state; get a gun from a neighboring state. Once again, a nationally consistent set of laws governing the sale of guns would help keep them out of the hands of criminals and people with a violent history or history of mental illness.

Alas, I’m beating a dead horse here. The difference between the vaping crisis and the gun one is simple: money. E-cigarette manufacturers and vape shops simply don’t have the lobbying clout of the NRA.

What makes it even more frustrating to me is that in the case of vaping, I am in charge of whether or not I use a product that is increasingly being shown to have serious health risks. I can simply refuse to partake. But in the case of guns, lax laws could mean that in the course of going around minding my own business, I could still be shot and killed. Guns are a lethal weapon against which I expect the government to protect me.

There is not a single right enshrined in the Constitution that does not have some curbs attached to it. You can’t perpetrate violence in the name of your religion, for instance. Hate speech and inciting people to violence are not allowed. The right to bear arms must also be controlled in some fashion.

Ironically, President Trump cited his own 13-year-old son in his remarks about banning e-cigarettes. It’s laudable that he would want to protect his young son from danger. But don’t guns pose an even bigger risk to the son of the president? Secret Service protection notwithstanding, doesn’t Pres. Trump see that his child would be safer in a world with fewer guns in the wrong hands?

We’re not seeing the forest for the trees when it comes to guns. Unfortunately, there’s a raging forest fire, and no one is moving to extinguish it.

Our Own Worst Enemy

There has been a rash of car thefts in my neighborhood lately. I’d be a bit more concerned about the safety of my area if I didn’t know that in almost every case, the stolen car had been left outside unlocked and with the keys inside. These car owners are practically inviting a car thief to help himself to their vehicles!

In so many ways, human beings are their own worst enemies. We willfully do things we know to be unhealthy or dangerous – to the point that the state has to pass laws protecting us from ourselves. Seatbelt laws and newer ones banning cell phone use and texting are evidence that we just don’t know what is good for us.

Another thing I see a lot of is people pumping gas with a cell phone to their ear. Have they not heard of static sparks igniting a fire. And speaking of igniting things, how can anyone in this day and age take up the habit of smoking? I truly feel for older adults who became hooked on nicotine before we knew the dangers inherent in smoking. Nowadays, though, when I see a teenager smoking, I just shake my head in wonder. Are their heads in the sand? Did they not see the diseased lungs during their D.A.R.E. lessons?

To top it off, vaping has become a craze among teens. Flavored substances make vaping attractive to kids, despite the fact that they are still getting hits of nicotine (and sometimes other substances). Recent illnesses and deaths due to vaping have made using the product even more scary. But do you think a photo of a teenaged kid on a ventilator due to a vaping-related illness will stop anyone from picking up a Juul? Fat chance.

What is it about human nature that makes us our own worst enemies? Is it our pleasure-seeking id that seeks only its own gratification? Do we have a sense that we’re immortal until it’s proven to use dramatically that we’re not?

I myself am not immune from the tendency to act against my own interests. Despite mounting evidence that sugar is a cause of many modern health problems, I can’t seem to quit the stuff. The problem is that if I eat a sugary, fatty donut, I don’t immediately keel over with a heart attack. Those smokers and vapers and gas-pumping cell phone users have performed those actions numerous times without dropping dead or setting themselves aflame.

I guess we’re our own worst enemies because danger seems abstract when it is not right in our faces. The chances of a thief selecting my car out of all the other cars in town to steal seems remote. Still, I won’t take any chances. I’ll choose to learn from the mistakes of others and lock it up tight.

 

Bailing on the Bucket List

Every year in late summer, the fall color sighting guides come out in my local paper. Each year I save these articles, fully intending that this will be the year I go on an expedition to see the glorious changing of leaves in a nature preserve near my home. Better yet, I’ll take that fall color trip to New England that has been on my bucket list for the last 30 years.

I’d never heard of the term “bucket list” until a movie of the same name came out. It was a comedy about a couple of older gentlemen who meet in the hospital and decide there’s no time like the present to do all those things they’d wanted to do over the years. Soon people were talking about their own bucket lists and announcing that they’d checked one off after a certain trip or experience.

Most of us have ideas of things we’d like to do and places we’d like to visit someday. The problem is the generalized nature of that “someday.” We never get around to these dream activities. For me, fall color treks, bird watching, maple syrup tapping exhibitions, museum visits, and the glass pumpkin event at a local arboretum sit forlornly on my bucket list, waiting to be accomplished.

One of the reasons I’ve had for never getting around to these activities is time, or the lack thereof. As my children grew, I had the best of intentions to make time for these ambitions, but I always seemed to be busy with the kids. Invariably, the weekend of an event I’d always wanted to attend coincided with an important athletic event or recital for one of my kids. Even taking piano lessons had to wait until I could find an hour of time within my day free from childcare responsibilities.

Another thing that has happened as I’ve gotten older is that I no longer have the energy or physical stamina to accomplish some of the items on my bucket list. For instance, I’ve always thought it would be fun to take an extended biking trip in Europe. I used to think a Windjammer Barefoot sailing cruise sounded like an exciting idea. But who am I kidding? I’m lucky if I get myself to take an hour-long walk around the neighborhood these days. Some bucket list items are for the young, or at least the young at heart.

I also can’t handle crowds anymore. My favorite thing to do when I was young was to go to the free festivals on the lakefront in Chicago: Taste of Chicago, Jazz Fest, Printers Row Litfest. I always intended to take my kids downtown for the Christmas tree lighting ceremony on Michigan Ave. and the Fourth of July fireworks on Navy Pier. But the thought of traffic, parking hassles, and especially the hordes of people at these events discouraged me from my best intentions.

Some of my bucket list items have simply faded in importance over time. I’m no longer enamored of the idea of spending a week at a boozy all-inclusive resort in Jamaica or the Bahamas. (Plus, I’m married and don’t look good in a bikini anymore.) I’m not really interested in getting a Masters degree, becoming a gourmet cook, or opening a cafe/bookstore at this stage of my life.

As I’ve aged, I’ve realized that if something is really important to me, I’ll find a way to fit it into my life. A good example of this is an annual event in Chicago called the Carl Sandburg Literary Awards dinner, which features local authors as well as some renowned nationally-known writers such as Margaret Atwood, Salman Rushdie, and the late great Toni Morrison. The event is a fundraiser for the Chicago Public Library system, and friends of ours, knowing my love of literature, invite us to attend it every year. No matter what else is going on in my life, I make a point to be available that evening for the dinner. I’ve even attended without my husband when he was unable to make it.

Another example is taking my children downtown to see the light show at Buckingham Fountain. Buckingham Fountain is a majestic creation that sits overlooking mighty Lake Michigan. In the summer, the fountain is turned on, and there are nightly light shows with music that enhance the majesty of the beaux arts sculpture. Visiting Buckingham Fountain is a fond memory from my childhood, and I was determined that my children experience its magic.

Whatever the items on our bucket list, it’s okay if we don’t accomplish all of them. Respecting our ever-evolving priorities and making the effort to do what is truly important to us can be a fulfilling way to live a life.

 

Making It Count

At my nephew’s wedding last night, his brother made a remark during his toast that got a  laugh out of the mostly Catholic crowd. He commented that the wedding Mass was really nice but reminded us that it didn’t “count” for Sunday Mass obligation purposes.

The obligation to attend Mass each Sunday is both a burden and privilege for Catholics. I remember when I was young, my mom would sometimes say we should go to 5 pm Saturday Mass “to get it over with.” Now, my mom is one of the most faith-filled Catholics I know. But that idea of “getting it over with” is something many Catholics experience when it comes to Mass. I know I do.

Being Catholic is not an easy road. There are many such rules and strictures in our church to which we feel bound. Fasting before Holy Communion, making a good confession, abstaining from meat on Fridays during Lent. There is a host (pun intended) of obligatory behaviors that mark someone as a faithful Catholic.

But no obligation looms so largely, nor so regularly, as the necessity of attending Sunday Mass. This can have a dampening effect on our faith at times. Feeling obliged, we trudge into church on a Sunday morning, still half asleep and wishing we could have slept in on our rare day off. The prayers and rituals are so rote that we could practically recite them in our sleep. In fact, I have noticed parishioners occasionally nodding off during Mass. It’s easy to take for granted what the Mass means to us Catholics, especially the Eucharist, wherein we partake of the very person of Christ.

Yet I see the Sunday Mass obligation as more of a blessing than a curse. I’ve noticed that most of my Protestant friends rarely attend Sunday services or any religious events at all. Without the constraint of Sunday Mass attendance, most of us would naturally minimize our involvement with our faith. The discipline of going to church each Sunday keeps me tethered to my relationship with God in a meaningful way.

The key to preventing Sunday Mass attendance from becoming too routine is to see it as a privilege, not a burden. A communion with God is something to be sought, not just on Sunday, but regularly throughout our days. The readings, prayers, and sermons of Sunday Mass remind us of this communion. It’s up to us to be fully present each time we participate in the Mass, to see it as a new opportunity to get closer to God. That’s the way to make it really count.