Here I am — at 70 — and that probably means nothing to you.
But here I am anyway. So read on or stop. For some my words will resonate. For others, they won’t. It’s OK. Really.
Life continues to teach me acceptance. Joe often warned me that my expectations got me in trouble. He was so right, wise soul that he was. If he were still alive, we would celebrate today with roses and dinner, wine and laughter.
But he’s not.
So life has taught me this as well. It’s brief. Always say I love you. Always.
Life has tempered me, humbled me, bowled me over with joy and grief, and continues to challenge me with poet Mary Oliver’s question:
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
A thoughtful question. And guess what? I still have no definitive answer.
Yes, at 70, I’m still searching. Some in our society might consider that sad. I mean at this point in life, shouldn’t I have it all figured out, be living out my divine, creative purpose and meaning, find expression for my gifts and talents?
For many reasons, known and unknown, I never took life’s traditional path.
A therapist once told me: I really don’t see you living in a house with a white picket fence. She went on: I hear you saying you want roots, but I want to give you wings.
Those wings have taken me to many places in this country where I didn’t know a soul, took a job, met new and fascinating people. Then moved on.
Here are a few gems I’ve garnered from wise souls I’ve met and journeyed with:
— There are no guarantees in life. Ever. We can make plans for our life and have them detour or shatter in an instant. Loss of a job. A health challenge. I’ve met many women who thought they would have a life partner forever and then through divorce or death, found themselves alone.
— Which leads to strength. These women — and men — dug deep to find the resources within. And yes, they, like myself, often felt lonely and alone. But they found space within themselves to allow acceptance and gratitude for what is.
— Life is not fair. It wasn’t meant to be. It’s meant to be experienced and savored in all its many guises, from supreme bliss to overwhelming sorrow and all shades in between. Like James Taylor sang so aptly, we’ve all seen fire and rain.
— But I always thought I’d see you again. I thought I’d see Joe one more time, but I didn’t. Again, always say I love you. Always.
Back to my original question about what I plan to do with this one wild and precious life. I haven’t a clue. And although that’s as scary as hell as I approach the end of the life continuum, I’m learning to be at peace with it. How?
By staying in the moment — a supreme act of trust.
In the end, maybe my life and yours isn’t meant to be some great achievement, such as helping AIDS orphans in Africa or the hungry in this country. Or writing that best-selling novel. Or climbing Mt. Everest.
Or maybe it is. But in the day-to-day humdrum of most of our lives, I think our greatest achievement in life is taking a breath, a pause, and being thankful for what we do have. I’m thankful for 70 years of breath and life on this planet, for loving friends and family, for too much to name here.
Even more difficult is to be thankful for our challenges — being alone, a financial or physical problem, a strained relationship, death of a loved one.
We can be grateful for these because they are our teachers if we are open to being taught. Not easy, take it from one who knows. But grow or wither, our choice always.
In the moment, then, I can look around me and be aware of choices I do have, how I might want to be more kind, toward others and toward myself. It’s taken me decades, but I’m learning to be more gentle with myself — warts, weight, wisdom and all — as I enter my 70s.
And if I’m being radically honest here, I have no wisdom or answers. I can only share from my heart what small treasures and mercies I’ve gathered along the journey.
So, I share these words. This moment. Me in process at 70. Still becoming and growing into that one wild and precious life.
As you are. As we all are. No matter our age.
And in that process — I love you.