HAPPY & THANKFUL

I'm happy.  It's an odd feeling.

It occurs to me, not for the first time, that my default to depression, anxiety, and worrywart overwhelm is exhausting.  But it's sort of what I've come to expect. Any respite into actual happiness seemed transitory.  Most could not tell this about me and have expressed surprise when I'd talk about it.  I've spent 68 years putting on a happy public face even when I was anything but happy.  And no, I'm not constantly in a state of mental health crisis of epic proportions, but I've lived with the low-level hum of worry and pessimism playing in the background on and off most of my life.

This year has been particularly challenging.  Right out of the January gate it became clear that Hub and I had not been communicating and connecting as well as we might.  Disagreements, frustrations, building resentments, and anger mingled more often than usual with the ease, contentment, and routine of a long, close marriage.  On the surface all was well to the casual observer.  We appeared to sail along on calm seas -- even we convinced ourselves skies were mostly sunny.  Under the surface, however, the nuclear reactors on our separate submarines were about to melt down.  Hello August. (aka Hell Month).

No, you don't get to hear the details of our running aground. (Is my metaphor getting lost?  Subs don't run aground do they?  Let's pretend we are back on the sailboat and find ourselves stranded at low tide.)

Suffice to say, even a relationship of over 50 years (counting dating before marrying), even when the partners are emotionally literate and talk about most everything ad nauseum, even when decades of individual and joint personal growth work have been accomplished, a crisis point can occur when one realizes there is apparently more work to do: more talking, more emoting, more uncovering. There is more to learn about ourselves and each other at this age and stage of life. There is a marriage to tend, with care and compassion.  We've been focused on gratefully, intentionally, tending it for the past few months.

So, I find myself unnaturally happy, optimistic, and even joyful, not only about my marriage but also about, well, me.  These are not states of being that have come naturally for me.  I looked at myself in the mirror a couple of weeks ago and smiled, genuinely loving the person looking back.  I think that was a first.

Why the shift?  I took some emotional risks in the past several months that never in a million years did I think I could.  I learned that anger is warranted at times and does not need to be squelched for the 'greater good' and the world doesn't fall apart when it's expressed.  I learned that compassion can live alongside anger and be the balm that calms.  I learned that it takes Herculean effort to set clear boundaries and be ready to hold them, along with learning that the strength it takes to choose complete vulnerability can be terrifying and exhilarating.

I learned that both Hub and I are willing to look at our choices and decisions, habits and default behaviors with tenderness, strength, and compassion for ourselves and each other, even when it's most difficult, even when the urge is to retreat in hurt or defensiveness.

I learned that the personal and relationship work we've done in the past has supported and sustained us through this storm.  I've learned it's good to ask for help.  I've learned, again, that both of us being open, honest, vulnerable, and willing to change is painful and challenging -- and essential to a committed relationship.

I've learned that grace shows up when we open to it, creating a path to re-discovering our essential selves and to recommitting to a marriage that still stands the test of time.  I've learned (dare I say it?) to be happy.

This is a very personal post and I hesitate to hit "publish".  I actually wrote it in early October, but held back.  Thanksgiving seems to be a right time to share it, with deep gratitude for where I/we are today.

My writing, always, is to create connection and to offer "you're not alone" reassurance to others who live a human life of challenge and joy.  We're all in this together.  Let's hold each other tenderly.

At least, that's the view from here...©

TAKING UP THE MANTLE

Today I'm thinking about time....passing.  I have no turkey in waiting, no bread to prepare for the stuffing, no 'fridge full of holiday foods to assemble, no list of what gets made when; no "good dishes" set out, nor cloth napkins ironed, nor fancy candles to light; nor extra chairs at the table; nor anticipation of the family arriving tomorrow from 'over the river and through the woods (or at least from across town and up I-5) to grandmother's house they go'.

This year the torch is passed.  Son One and his family moved into their beautiful new home 6 weeks ago and they are excited to christen it with the joy of family gathered for Thanksgiving.  For all my grousing at times about a holiday centered around one meal and how much work it is to pull off and clean up after (I'm not a cook), I admit to shedding a tear or two about this transition.

That said, I also admit to the tear-fest being exceedingly brief.  I saw immediately the perks of going elsewhere.  With the youngers taking on the food planning, shopping, and prep, finding enough chairs, setting the table, and cleaning up afterward, all I need do is show up with yams and brussels sprouts at the appointed hour.  With sons and daughters-in-law who love to shop, organize, and cook this is actually a dream come true.  And, in spite of the fact that in my family of origin the women hosted until they were no longer "able", I can let go of that outdated tradition and enjoy, while still perfectly able, NOT doing the day at my house.

So yes, my home seems a bit bare today and uncharacteristically quiet with no kitchen hubbub of preparations.  It is also peaceful, and I feel a sense of relief, as I look around at all my autumn decorations, sipping my coffee, feeling gratitude for my family and their not just willingness, but eagerness, to take up the mantle and continue the tradition of sitting down to a holiday meal together in celebration of thankfulness.

At least, that's the view from here...©

PALETTES AND PATTERNS

The time change last weekend means it is dark here at 5:00.  In a few weeks it will be mostly dark by 4:30 (and barely light in the morning by 8!)  I just ordered two new Peter Pauper Press - Studio Series ("for colorists of all ages") coloring books, which sort of elevates the whole "coloring" idea in my judgement.  I also have a new set of my favorite brush tip watercolor markers.  I'm ready.  I alternate between coloring and crocheting this time of year while I watch TV in the long winter evenings.  And that, my friends, is how I can tell I have become my mother.  The adult coloring book craze didn't exist then, but she did knit or crochet at night and I thought "What a boring life! I'll never waste my time like that!"  Hmmm....

I've come to realize that any creative outlet that is enjoyable and relaxing is not a waste of time -- or of a life.   She sewed, knitted, crocheted, embroidered, painted landscapes, wrote family histories and short stories, drew the plans for the building of my teenager years home (her dream house in 1966), went to school and opened her own business -- a beauty shop in our home -- at age 43, and did all the traditional "housewife" stuff that a woman did in her adult life in the 1940's, 50's, 60's, 70's, and beyond.  She took great pride in "keeping house" while caring for our family.

If I possessed half her creative talents and had half her energy, I'd be happy.  My life is more of the contemplative, personal growth, activist, and spiritual quest variety.  My nod to traditional creative pursuits lies only in writing, crocheting (only blankets and scarves -- nothing that has to actually fit anyone!) and coloring (within the lines someone else has drawn, in low light conditions, maybe without my reading glasses.)  I've painted a few little watercolors that I like and many more that ended in the recycling bin.  I like to take photographs but don't like the technical aspects of "real" photography.  I keep thinking "maybe someday I'll do something with all those photos".  Maybe.  Someday.

As I settle in to the dark season my thoughts turn to settling into the Autumn of my life as well.  I like to tell my doctors I fully expect to live another 30 or more years.  Yet I know that would be beating the odds a bit.  My plan is to do all I can within my power to keep myself healthy, but there is so much that is out of our control that my other plan is to make peace with whatever comes that I will never foresee.

And I know that 30 years is not that long.  I've already seen projections of projects and plans around various political aspirations and community planning ideas that are that far out and more.  I realize these are plans for others, not for me.  I won't be here to see them come to fruition.  I've reached that stage in life when I both mourn that reality and pray for all these wonderful things to become manifest for my children and their children.  All I can do is do what I can now to help further those goals for future generations.  I find some peace in that.

I don't mean to sound maudlin here.  I'm not really.  I'm just finding myself in a place of contemplation and acceptance.  I don't mind a bit slowing my pace, sorting out priorities, making a meaningful life in connection with others, prioritizing home and family and contentment.

I'll still take to the streets and bug my representatives and practice yoga and hang out with my grandkids and travel a bit....

But I'll also leave ample time for color books and crochet projects -- choosing palettes and patterns that speak to me, that a provide a fleeting bright spot of beauty as darkness engulfs for a time, before the return of the light and the cycle begins anew.

At least, that's the view from here....©