In Celebration Of Contentment

I just celebrated my 72nd birthday over the weekend. That number might not seem like a milestone number to some, but every since I turned 70, every birthday is a milestone to me. It means I survived one more year, and a particularly challenging and scary year at that, but came out on the other side a year wiser, at least I hope so. 

Every year I get myself a gift for my birthday. It's not like I don't get lots of gifts from my family and friends, far from it. What I usually get for myself is something that no one else would think to give me because it's not always in the form of a material object or place. One year I adopted a wolf for a wildlife program sponsored by National Geographic that was working on re-homing wolves where they would be safe from hunters and could be studied. Another year I donated money to have a tree planted in my name in an area that had been devastated by lumber companies that over-cut an area and then left it to die. Sometimes my gifts don't require money, though. This year's gift was like that. This year I gave myself the gift of contentment.

Contentment is defined as: "a state of happiness and satisfaction." I refer to it as "peaceful joy." This year, especially, was one that had folks taking a long, hard look at their lives and coming to terms with what really brought them joy and what was important versus what they mistakenly believed "should" do the trick. I agree with the late Louise Hay, the Queen of Affirmations, who said that the word "should" needed to be dropped from our vocabulary because it always made you feel like you were wrong for not doing something. In fact the whole idea of having to always be productive was what came to mind this year as I contemplated my life. I realized that over the years I had already been gifted with lots of examples of what contentment looked like and felt like, but just as with so many other people, I was too busy looking ahead to see what was right in front of me all the time. So I thought I would try and think back to what those lessons were. As always, the most important lessons in my life came from nature, from the natural world around me. Mother Nature is and always will be, hands down, the best teacher around. So here are some of the examples she gave me of what contentment looked and felt like:

• Getting up at dawn and weeding the garden while everything was still covered with dew, while my animal neighbors, like the rabbits and birds, came out to greet the day with me. Now I greet the day every day instead of just rolling out of bed and heading for the coffee pot.
• Watching the blue heron who stood silently in the early morning and at dusk, in the shallows of the river outside the window of my former home, not moving and not making a sound. I learned that it's okay to do that because you can actually feel a perfect moment if you just stop rushing long enough.
• Sitting by the window on a rainy day and watching the world outside being washed clean. I learned that even in nature, no storm lasts forever and what comes out of it is new and fresh.
• Watching my beloved eagles sitting on their nest of eggs. I learned that endless patience is worth it in return for the rewards at the end.
• Sitting under a tree and just listening. I learned that the birds, the squirrels, the insects, and even the trees themselves are busy leading their own lives with no agendas other than to live, to love, and to survive just like everyone else. They are content with that.

I am a great believer that what we call aging is just a number, and that "third agers," as I call folks over 60, can lead full and rewarding lives, but I also believe that one of those rewards is the gift of contentment. It is the time to be able to finally enjoy each moment, each breath, as the gift that it is without worrying about what needs to get done. I am healthier for having stopped to pet my cat and listen to her purr than for rushing to get the laundry folded or the dinner cooked. The dishes will still be there later.  This perfect, contented moment with my sweet girl is for right here, right now. Who knows if it will be there tomorrow? Happy Birthday to me!

And so it is.

My Greatest Teacher

I've been blessed with many wonderful teachers that have had an enormous impact on my life, starting with those from my elementary and high school days (thank you, Mr. Zimmler and Mrs. Rothoultz), to all-time greats like Louise Hay, Wayne Dyer, Deepak Chopra, Julia Cameron, Natalie Goldberg, and others. By far, however, my greatest teacher, the one that has had the biggest impact on my life, has been the one, the only, Mother Nature herself.

It wasn't until I took up gardening all those years ago that I learned some of my most important lessons. I learned that there is no competition in nature. One flower doesn't try to out-do another. A red rose isn't any more valuable than a pink or yellow one. A pine tree doesn't gloat over the fact that it keeps its greenery over the winter while other trees go bare, nor do the trees that put on such a magnificent show in the autumn feel superior to the pines and evergreens (who, by the way, get their moments of glory at Christmas). Everybody just "is." 

I learned that a weed is just a plant growing somewhere you don't want it to grow. It doesn't set out to ruin your perfectly planted garden. Out in the wild it would just be considered another plant. It isn't purposely aggressive, nor is it something to be treated as a lesser living thing. Anyone with knowledge of natural medicines and cooking can tell you about all the benefits of dandelions, the enemy of gardeners and lawn enthusiasts. Just because you're different, doesn't mean you should be treated badly.

I learned that if you prepare the soil, plant the seed, water and nurture it, and make sure it gets enough light, you can grow just about anything (well, I've never been successful at growing roses, but that's for another blog post). It's the same thing with life: lay the foundation, plant the seed, nurture it, and you can  accomplish anything.

I learned that nothing is forever. Plants die. Trees come down in storms or from disease. We are born, we live, hopefully we flourish, and then we move on to our next adventure. Sounds a bit depressing? It doesn't have to be. For every plant that dies, another flowers. For every tree that comes down, another is planted. For every life that is lived, another is born. "To everything there is a season ..." 

So what does it all mean? That I don't have to compete with anyone. That I don't have to "achieve" greatness, I just have to be me, the best me I can be. No one is any worse or better than me. We are all equal and we all have a right to be here and to live our best lives. We all get to bask in the sunlight, refresh ourselves in the rain, hibernate in the winter, and thrive in the spring. And every morning, if we are truly blessed, we get to say: Today, I begin again.

And so it is. 

The Art of Porch Sitting

The picture above brings back many memories for me from the summers of my childhood. Many afternoons or evenings would find family members relaxing on the front porch after dinner, visiting with neighbors who came by, playing card games, or board games, or sitting on the front steps waiting for it to get dark enough for the lightening bugs to come out. This picture is especially precious to me because it reminds me of the chess championship some of us kids had going on my block one summer. While I never got to be a chess wiz, I credit those lazy afternoons and evenings with teaching me the finer points of focus, seeing the whole picture, and learning to take life one step, one move, at a time.

One of the things that touched my heart during these last 18 months when COVID drove us all inside was how so many people took advantage of their front porches and balconies to stay connected to life and to find ways to interact with each other. Some people shared their musical talents with their neighbors. Some made signs or just waved hello to people. For so many it was a safe place to break out of the confines of our homes and connect with the rest of the world. The sad part of this is that it took a pandemic to get us out there.

Technology is wonderful and it has given us many great gifts, but sometimes I ask myself how many things it has taken away as well. Long before the pandemic we were closeted up in our homes with our faces glued to our devices. Facebook, Twitter, streaming and online shopping kept us away from fresh air, sunshine, and each other. I fear a future world where our children and grandchildren grow up suffering from eye problems from staring at those screens day and night, hearing problems from hours plugged in to ear buds, and no people skills to help them interact with each other face-to-face. While I am grateful that Zoom kept our kids in school in many cases as well as kept people at their jobs, might we start thinking about drawing a line between necessity and addiction? After so much time stuck in front of a screen, wouldn't it be nice now that restrictions are being lifted to move outside to feel the sun, hear the birds, and see each other without a screen separating us? 

So, what better place to start than revisiting our front porches? If you don't have one, get together with someone who does and start a new trend! Make a pitcher of lemonade or sweet tea and invite folks to come up and sit a spell, quenching their thirst for more than a cold drink ... quenching their thirst for togetherness and neighborhood building again. 

And so it is.

Gung Ho

Quite a few years ago I was part of a team-building workshop put on by the company I was working for at the time. The workshop was based on a book by Ken Blanchard called, "Gung Ho! Turn On The People In Any Organization." The premise of the book was that by learning to work as a team, supporting each other and playing to each other's strengths, we could accomplish anything. Oddly enough, all of the examples of these ideas came not from the desks of experts, but from Mother Nature herself and her non-human children.

For example, we normally hear a flock of geese going by overhead before we see them. That's because of all the ruckus they make. Bird experts tell us that the reason for all the noise is because the geese are encouraging each other to keep going - after all, it's a heck of a long trip from Canada and the frigid northeast of the US to warmer climates for the winter and then back again. Looking at their V-formation, there is always one goose leading the flock. When that one gets tired, they fall back and another will move up to take its place. If one has to land because it is sick, tired, or injured, one or more will land with it and stay by its side until it can resume the trip. In essence, they encourage each other to keep moving forward and support them when they can't.

Ever watch some beavers build a home? I was blessed to be able to do just that when I first moved to the town of Marathon in upstate New York almost 30 years ago. What I witnessed was exactly what I would read later on in the book. Each beaver has a job to do. Some collect the wood and branches, some slap on and work the mud to hold things together, some are the engineers and builders. Together they get the job done. Each one has their particular talent and no one covets the job of another. Gee, bet that would play out well in the human world.

Ever watch ants carrying things ten times their size in order to get it to their nest? Talk about your team work. When everyone pitches in, we can do anything.

Sometimes when I look at how divided we humans are, and how competitive we are, it's a miracle that we've survived at all or accomplished so much. Yet there are places in the story of humanity that are still sorely lacking. Perhaps if we stopped arguing and pushing, and took some time to see what has been going on successfully for centuries all around us, we just might learn something the animal kingdom has known all along: when you work together instead of against each other, you can do anything. Gung Ho, everybody!

And so it is. 

To Market, To Market

On Saturday I got to do something I've been dying to do for over a year ... took a trip to our local farmer's market! Between recovering from surgeries and being stuck indoors due to COVID, I have been suffering a serious case of farmer's market withdrawal. I was so happy to be back there this weekend that it was right up there with Christmas!

The first thing I noticed when we got there, which was right around the time that they opened, was that the parking lot was already packed with cars. I guess other people were as happy be there as I was. Then I remembered that this market had their 5th anniversary celebration on Friday which was shown on the local news, so perhaps more people were interested in checking it out. Once I started walking around, however, I noticed a few things that caught my attention. First, absolutely everything that was for sale was organic or made from organic ingredients, from the beautiful, big squash and luscious looking strawberries to the health and beauty products like soaps make from goat's milk and herbal tinctures. The baked goods, my personal favorites, were fresh and contained no preservatives or GMO's. The meat was pasture raised, and there were more plants for sale, especially vegetable and herbs, than I remembered. The other thing I noticed was the crowd itself. I listened to folks talking with each other about how the pandemic had given them an opportunity to delve into the world of healthier eating, growing their own food, and learning about natural alternatives to health care products. I am certainly not one to put labels on folks, but you could tell the dyed-in-the-wool, old-time naturalists from the newbies! I felt encouraged as I watched and listened to people experiencing the fruits of nature for the first time and saw them embrace the idea that they really did have a choice in how they wanted to live their lives.

Another thing I noticed was that the crop of early vegetables looked beyond healthy for so early in the growing season. That's when I found out that some vendors and farmers had spent the time in isolation using green houses and other indoor gardening options to grow their produce while waiting for the start of the outdoor growing season up here which is usually a little behind our neighbors to the south and west. What a joy to know that we can now have fresh produce all year long and it will all be organic and as close to nature as possible. 

Every so often something good comes out of something bad. A fire can encourage new growth in a forest, and a pandemic can grow a new crop of people who want to take charge of their lives and change the way we think of food and health in this country. I am not suggesting that this horrible virus and the sorrow it has caused thousands of people was a good thing, but, thank heaven, some good things have come out of it. Perhaps we will finally start looking at how we live our lives a bit more closely, and start taking control of what we eat and where it comes from. This could be the start of a less consumer-oriented world and one that is founded on living our very best, and healthiest, lives.

And so it is.  

Window On The World

Happy Summer Solstice! As we celebrate the first official full day of summer, I decided to get up just as the sun was coming up this morning to see how Mother Nature and all of her children would greet this day. So I got myself a cup of coffee, pulled back the curtains, and looked out of my window to find the small, often unnoticed morning rituals of my non-human neighbors. So, when I looked out of my window this morning, I saw:

• ... what looked like a dozen tiny insect bodies suspended in mid-air until I looked more closely. As the morning light illuminated the space, I saw a beautifully intricate spider web, so thin and transparent that I couldn't see it even though it was right up against the window pane. Looking at the perfection of this web, I could well understand how the Native American weavers I met told me that Grandmother Spider taught them how to weave their beautiful textiles. 
• ... a terribly confused bumble bee who kept hovering right outside the window as he tried to figure out how to get to the plants that were behind the glass on my window sill. I have to applaud his tenacity as he tried every nook, cranny, and seam in the window but finally had to admit defeat and take off to find easier plants to pollinate.
• ... a stunning male cardinal in brilliant red plumage sitting in the little tree out front and calling out endlessly into the air trying to find his beloved mate. After several minutes of this romantic love song, there in the distance a similar cry floated out to him from the other side of the yard. Our colorful Romeo took off in a flurry of feathers!
• ...  small wisps of left-over morning fog that had settled in the small valleys among the trees on the distant hillside. It looked like someone had put them there deliberately to decorate for Christmas.
• ... a very small squirrel who found a way to outsmart the gang of grackles that were always after him by hiding in the row of small trees that act as a hedge between the properties. He finally darted  out and up the pine tree when they couldn't find him and went off to terrorize some other animal (who knew there was so much drama at dawn?).
• ... a beautiful bird that I've never seen before, something like a dove or pigeon, that was all snow white except for some black markings scattered on its back like splattered ink. It came to rest on the rooftop of a house nearby and sat patiently until it's partner showed up. Then they took off in what looked like a sweeping, soaring air ballet.
• ... and, or course, the light, the beautiful morning light, as it moved up and across the sky touching each tree, plant and animal as if with a magic wand to birth a brand new day.

How much we miss when we don't take the time to greet the day. How wonderful it feels to be a part of Mother Nature's plan each morning and allow ourselves to be included in this wonderful, light-filled symphony we call a new day. If nothing else, it serves to remind us of how lucky we are just to be alive!

And so it is. 

A Country State Of Mind

When I was a kid growing up in New York City, all I could think about was how neat it would be to live in the country. I'm not saying that there weren't some definite benefits to living in the Big Apple, far from it. When other kids took school field trips to the dairy, or to watch them make apple cider, I was taking school trips to museums, planetariums, Shakespeare in the Park, The Statue of Liberty and the top of the Empire State Building. Broadway matinees were my reward for making it into the Honors English classes and getting A's. Still .... 

... still, every year I would count the days until summer vacation because that meant I could go and spend a week at my cousins' home out on Long Island. Back then parts of Long Island were still being developed so it was no stretch of the imagination to see a housing development going up within view of a potato or dairy farm. My cousins' Dad loved to garden. In the days when you could carry plants home on a plane from other countries, he would make visits to is family in Italy and come home with cuttings to put in his own garden. There is nothing like the taste of a fresh fig just picked and still warm, or popping a strawberry in your mouth for every one you picked! I got to visit nearby farms where they bought fresh produce and eggs. Every morning I would wake up just as the sun was coming up and sit by the window watching the birds and the animals greet the day. All I could think of was how wonderful it would be to live there forever. Back home all I had was a small yard with a few trees and rose bushes to pretend in. This was the real thing. It spoke to my soul. It wrapped itself around my heart. It felt like home.

Fast forward 30 years or so. The longing never left me even though I had to live where there was work to be had and a living to be made as I raised two beautiful daughters pretty much on my own. Now the nest was empty and my younger sister, who had moved to the country with her family, was enticing me to join her there. What could I do but say yes? Who says dreams don't come true. It's been 28 years and I've never regretted one minute of it.

I truly believe that the desire to live in the country is something we're born with. It's in our blood. It calls to us. Even as a little kid playing in our small city yard, nature called to me. The trees whispered their secrets, the squirrels taught me how to save for a rainy day, and the ants instilled in me the importance of being a team player. The plants taught me how to embrace each season, and the when I touched the ground between the blades of grass, I "felt the heartbeat of God," to borrow a line from the poem "Renascence" by Edna St Vincent Millay. Now I wake to a chorus of birdsong I could not hear in the city above the noise. I experience the seasons up close and personal. I smell the scents of pine trees outside my window, and watch the antics of the baby squirrels each spring as they try to find their footing in the world. I cheer the geese each year as they honk their way across the sky on their way home after spending the winter in warmer climates, and marvel at magnificent sunsets that are hidden behind skyscrapers in the city. This old "child of the 60's rock and roller" even loves country music!

So here is a piece of advice from someone who waited almost 40 years to follow her dream: life is too short to wait that long. Follow your heart. Listen to what calls to you and don't wait to answer. If it's in your heart, then it's where you are meant to be.

And so it is.