60: (September 2023)
So many people I know have siblings or spouses—or very elderly parents—who are gravely ill. I suppose that’s what happens when you hit a certain age; your life becomes encompassed by a lot of illness and confrontations with mortality. All the more reason to savor the moments and celebrate whenever you can.
My husband and I recently went to a love fest, where two of our friends threw themselves a joint 70th birthday and 40th wedding anniversary party. It was a beautiful afternoon and evening of live music, woodland walks, an original art installation, a high-spirited drum circle amidst the trees, and a sumptuous feast under a tent on the lawn with 135 of the couple’s family and friends. A large part of the meal was made from vegetables picked from the earth on their organic farm, a new adventure that they embarked on just a few years ago.
During dinner, the wife stood up and eloquently thanked the tables of family and friends for being part of their life’s journey, expressing how the party was in celebration of all those present. The husband’s remarks included that he lost his best friend to a tragic accident when they were both 27 years old, and how that loss made him appreciate life more acutely from an early age. Since then, he made a conscious decision to live out of a mindset of abundance, living each day to the fullest. A happy by-product of that choice is that I know this couple has touched many lives, and will continue to do so, by living out of that mentality.
That’s it, isn’t it? To live life fully, at any and all ages. To live life with zest and joy, keeping fear at bay by approaching each day with a mindset of abundance. Of course, as with most things, there are two sides to every coin. One could go through life chiefly concerned with one’s own well-being, or one could seek ways to share one’s talents and good fortune, whatever they may be. If life is grounded in gratitude, generosity and compassion will flow freely, as it does with the couple we celebrated.
Life is short. Let the celebrations continue and life’s moments be cherished.
40: (September 2003)
I had an interesting experience with trust a few weeks ago while in the hospital for an operation to remove a cyst from my throat. As the anesthesiologist inserted an IV into my arm, three other people fluttered around my bed with clipboards. “Am I going to fall asleep right away?” I asked. “Oh, no,” one of the nurses remarked. “The IV will just help you to relax.” I remember thinking how odd it was that I trusted these complete strangers with my life. The next thing I knew, someone was rousing me, reporting that the surgery was over and that everything went well.
I had met very briefly with the surgeon one month before the operation and had never before met with the anesthesiologist or the various nursing professionals by my bedside. Yet I had trusted these people. In part, I felt I had no choice. After all, I needed the operation. In those moments before I had drifted off, I felt a little bit scared, but I was mostly taken by a sense of curiosity at how the whole thing felt so peculiar.
It was surprisingly easy for me to let go in this situation—to let go of my perceived hold on life and allow the doctor to cut my throat open. I think it boiled down to a trust in fate that it would all work out; I believed that whatever happened would be as it was supposed to be. Perhaps trusting in each other is essentially trusting in the divine to work through us, helping our lives to unfold exactly as designed.
When I went for my follow-up appointment with the surgeon two weeks later, he checked my bandage and explained what to expect regarding the recovery process. Within ten minutes I was walking out the door. I thanked him, shook hands, and departed, thinking how strange it was that this man’s hands were actually in my throat 14 days earlier. I had handed over my physical life to him, he held it for a time, and then he returned it to me. And we didn’t even know each other.
I have often seen people treat doctors as if they were gods. Maybe it is because by placing our physical lives in their hands, albeit temporarily, it’s easier to notice the divine working through us in the everyday, in the humble human experiences of dealing with the flesh and blood of our bodies. And when we realize that the really big things are out of our control, we have two choices—to fear or to trust. The fear just makes us feel bad. Trust pushes us off a cliff, forcing a leap of faith. In the end, the outcome may be the same, but jumping off the cliff sure adds dimension to the experience and can give you something to ponder while you’re eating your Jell-O.
60-40:
Going through a health scare—no matter what the age—certainly puts life into perspective. It took a split second back then for me to come to the conclusion that the people I love are everything; that’s all that matters. The trick is to live out of that reality, to demonstrate that love, unconditionally. It hardly needs saying that to be human is to try and fail at that over and over again.
Ideally, unconditional love for the people in one’s life naturally spills over to the larger community and the planet. We are all of the same tapestry, so every action, every intention, ultimately effects the people you love. If your loved ones are to live in the best, healthiest, most loving world possible, it means you have to stay in the game—engage with the world and make an effort to bring light to dark places.
It’s all a big circle, isn’t it? Meanwhile, celebrate the moments.
60-40 