WordSisters

Category: Uncategorized

  • Ready, Set…Disconnect

    This fast, fun and friendly book, Austin Kleon’s third on creativity, kept me going this past year.

    In it, he offers exactly what the subtitle promises…and exactly what I needed to hear:

    • Take one day at a time.
    • Establish a daily routine.
    • Finish each day and be done with it.

    Over this past year, I took this and his other advice to heart, especially one directive that really resonated with me: “Disconnect from the world to connect with yourself.”

    This phrase became my daily mantra, helping me see my COVID-induced isolation not as a punishment but as a gift.

    That said, disconnecting was a challenge, especially early on. Like many others, I missed attending meetings, joining colleagues for coffee and going for walks with friends. I even missed shopping, a task I’ve never much enjoyed.

    So, I was delighted when first one friend and then another invited me to Zoom with them. However, it took just two friend calls plus a handful of work-related video calls for Zoom Fatigue to set in. Even the thought of joining my beloved book club online wasn’t enough to get me to log back on.  

    I stayed in touch in other ways. I called my 94-year-old aunt every odd-numbered day of the week and a friend or other family member every even-numbered day. Plus I mailed at least one letter and a handful of cards each week and sent numerous emails.

    But as I embraced Kleon’s advice to disconnect, my reaching out to others fell by the wayside. So did my posting on social media. Nobody seemed to notice.

    Until this week.

    On Tuesday, my friend and fellow writer Diane reached out to ask if I was okay as she hadn’t received a reply to an email and realized that my last Facebook post was on April 2 and my last tweet on April 5. Today, I received a similar email from Maery, also a friend and fellow writer.

    My friend Laurie also checked in, wondering how I was doing with what she referred to as “reverse pandemic whiplash.”

    The answer? I’m not sure.

    After a year of isolating from everyone who wasn’t family, I finally got vaccinated and ventured out to get a long overdue haircut and join my book group in person for the first time in more than a year. It was wonderful to be together, outdoors and face to face on a beautiful Saturday morning.

    However, getting together made me realize I’m still not ready to return to the out-and-about life I led pre-COVID.

    Instead, I am still eager to connect with myself and, as Kleon states, that means disconnecting—not because I’m afraid of the virus, but because I want to thoughtfully add back in only those people and activities that fit the person I am now, a person I don’t yet know very well.

    Am I the same go-go-go person I was or have I become more of an internal seeker rather than external doer? Are all my friendships ones I want to carry with me or are there some I am ready to let go of? What about my hopes and dreams? How have they changed?

    These are some of questions I’m striving to answer while I get to know myself and before I once again find myself caught up in the busyness of life.

    What about you? Have you disconnected from others to connect with yourself? If so, what have you learned along the way?

  • Growing Older: It’s Better than the Alternative

    Aging. I’ve been doing it my whole life, but it’s only since turning 60 that I’ve become mindful of it. I wish I’d started earlier.

    If I had paid attention, I’d have stayed out of the sun, stuck with yoga, journaled more consistently, spent more time in therapy and consumed less alcohol. I’d also have spent more time with family and friends and worked more diligently at developing resilience.

    For most of my adult life, I planned, in as much as one can, that I would live to at least 90 and die peacefully in my sleep, just the way the grandmother I adored did. (She’s pictured here just months shy of her 91st birthday.)

    But then, my parents died: my dad in 1997 after a year-long battle with lung cancer, and my mom in 2000 in an instant due to a stroke. They were both only 70. I was in my early 40s.

    That’s when I began to realize that I, too, could die at 70. Ever since, I’ve been reminding myself that if I do, I only have 25 … 20 … 15 … 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … years left. And if that wasn’t bad enough, along comes the pandemic, making my thoughts of death even more omnipresent.

    Even if I live longer than my parents, and I sure hope I do, life expectancy isn’t what it used to be. According to an article in the April AARP Bulletin, U.S. life expectancy “plunged” in the first half of 2020, primarily due to COVID-19. As a result, we Americans can expect to live a full year less now than we could have expected in 2019.[1]

    The numbers are worse for African Americans and expected to worsen for all Americans as the number of COVID-19 deaths continues to rise.

    But just because death is inevitable doesn’t mean that I (or any of us) should go gently into it.

    That’s why I started reading about aging, including a book a found both enlightening and engaging: Successful Aging: A Neuroscientist Explores the Power of and Potential of Our Lives by Daniel Levitin.

    Via it, I learned that a woman’s chances of getting Alzheimer’s disease now exceed her chances of getting breast cancer.[2] Also that two-thirds of overall risk of getting the disease is based on one’s genes, with the remaining one-third associated with environmental factors such as a history of depression or head injuries.

    While Alzheimer’s doesn’t run in my family and my only head injury was when I was knocked out by a football in my early 20s, I have already undergone a Mini-Cog test during which I was I asked to remember and repeat the names of three common objects, name the president of the US and draw a clock face showing the correct time as specified by the doctor who examined me. (This was harder than I thought it would be as it’s been years since I’ve used an analog clock.)

    Thankfully, my doctor had no concerns. But I do. Every time I can’t remember a person’s name or forget my coffee cup in the microwave, I wonder if it’s a sign of cognitive impairment.

    I hope not. But I also realize that I might be the last to know.

    Either way, the timeline of my life is getting shorter: today’s average life expectancy is 77.8 years.[3] And with the pandemic front and center, the possibility of an earlier-than-hoped-for death looms large. While I could let that depress me, instead, it’s motivating me to pay more attention to both my physical and mental health and to put family and friends ahead of work.

    How about you? What, if any, changes are you making in order to enjoy the years that lie ahead and increase your own chances of aging successfully?

    [1] AARP Bulletin, April 2021.

    [2] Successful Aging: A Neuroscientist Explores the Power of and Potential of Our Lives by Daniel Levitin.

    [3] AARP Bulletin, April 2021.

  • Cracking the Ice

    Cracking the lacy edge of iced snow with the heel of a boot or shoe is a simple springtime ritual that reminds me of childhood—my own, my children’s, my granddaughter’s. The sun has announced its return to longer days of warming concrete, pavement, earth. There will be lots of melting and all the snow that falls after that these melting days will have a shorter life.

    This morning I watched a small red squirrel struggling for traction on ice under a parked car and felt for its lack of progress. And I laughed, although staying upright while carrying groceries to the back door or garbage out to the trash cans is still a challenge. The universal human experiences of twisting an ankle, ripping pants or landing too hard on the tailbone while innocently walking from one spot to another, can happen in March. My most painful fall of the 2019 – 2020 winter season happened late in March. While untangling the dog’s leash after eleven at night my feet slipped out as I tilted sideways. The wet dog and soaking pjs were immediately fixed. A variety of body aches took longer to go away.

    Sharp claws, sturdy boots, favorite sneakers, clamp on treads don’t guarantee smooth moving on ice. Spring melt produces the fun cracking the edge of snow, but the sneaky clear path across a sidewalk might be wet, or might smack your back end down in seconds. It is a time of year that jetpacks would be helpful. Even if you are deeply isolated from COVID with groceries delivered and others doing your errands, at some point the garbage can has to dragged curbside. As long as the temps stay low and shade covers your steps, ice can take you down.

    For those suffering from what the pandemic brings, at least a moderate winter didn’t add more suffering. Eventually we will be able to stand in our yards, alleys, boulevards and talk to others. We’ll be able to minimize the isolation and exchange stories. In the meantime, there are people out here willing to lend a hand, even if it means a walk across spring ice. Give someone a call.