Linda Hoye's Blog, page 191

A Challenge

By the time my memoir Two Hearts launched last year I was exhausted. I had spent the previous four years writing, revising, remembering, and compiling my story into something that, according to many readers, reads like a novel. The elation I felt the first time I held a proof copy of the book in my hands was a combination of a sense of accomplishment for having finished it and a kind of personal acceptance for finally owning my story and being willing to let go of the secrets.

As anyone who has published a book knows though, my work was far from done, there was still the work of promoting and marketing my story and, in many ways, that’s harder than writing the book. I haven’t done as much as I could in this area and I’m okay with that. The book continues to sell, I get royalty payments every month, and I’m respectfully contributing to the conversation about adoption in my way and my time.

I had a couple of ideas percolating even before Two Hearts launched about my next writing project. There were two specific projects I was toying with and I’ve dabbled with both of them one without making a firm commitment to either. I decided that I wouldn’t get serious about writing another book until I retired and had more time.

Over the past year I’ve written a blog post here at least once a week, written pieces for Adoption Voices Magazine and Midlife Bloggers, done a monthly piece for my writing group, written a couple of chapters for one book, and played with character studies for the other.

Recently, I’ve felt at loose ends not having a specific project to work on. I’ve been frustrated, when I do write, to find it harder to find the right words. I am coming to realize that my choice not to commit to a project until I retire may not have been the right one and so I’m changing my mind and diving in.

This morning as I scrolled through updates from my Facebook peeps I came across a post from Stuart McLean. Stuart, sometimes known as “Canada’s Storyteller”, is a best-selling author and host of my favourite radio program, The Vinyl Café. Underneath a photograph of him peering thoughtfully at the screen of his laptop were these words:

How to be a writer. Write 500 words a day. Every day.  Sometimes it comes fast. Sometimes it doesn’t. Eventually it adds up.

It’s simple. Anyone who professes to be a writer knows it to be true. But life sometimes has a way of intruding on goals we set for ourselves and before you know it a year has passed and you don’t have any good material to show for it.

So, I’ve decided to challenge myself to write 500 words a day.

The thing about a challenge, much like a New Year’s resolution, is that you can start out like gangbusters and quickly become overwhelmed and those best intentions fall by the wayside. For that reason, I’m limiting this challenge to every day for the next week and at the end of the week I’ll re-evaluate and set the next milestone.

Maybe I’ll ultimately end up choosing to write 500 words a day five days a week. Or maybe I’ll cut back to writing 250 words a day three days a week until I retire. The point is that I’m going to set a goal be deliberate about carving out time to write.

I’m inviting you to join me in setting a writing goal for the next week, month, season, year or whatever works for you. Grab a badge at the end of this post and use it to make your own writing commitment (a link back to this post would be gratefully appreciated). Let’s do this. Let’s be deliberate. Let’s commit to our writing goals.

[image error]

[image error]

[image error]

Taking Time For One’s Self

For the past few years I’ve worked a flex schedule that allows me to take every second Friday off. I hold those days sacred, “protect the flex” becomes my mantra when I look around at the work on my plate and wonder if I can afford a day away from the office. I know, having lost loved ones much too early, that life is fleeting and I want to make the most of the time I have been gifted with.

I spend my flex Fridays in solitude mostly, gardening, canning or otherwise preserving food, writing, reading, and most recently practicing what I’m learning about the art and craft of photography.

Last Friday morning I grabbed my wallet, phone, and camera bag and headed out by myself to take pictures. I had a couple of destinations in mind, but settled on a quiet park that Gerry and I had been to once on a sunny-but-cool afternoon earlier this spring. I guessed that by now it would be filled with flowers and plants that would make good subjects to take pictures of.

I wasn’t blessed with an innate sense of direction, so it was testimony to my sense of adventure that I headed out without either a map, or the address of the park I couldn’t remember the name of programmed into my navigation system, but the sun was shining, I had a general sense of where I was going, and that was enough.

It didn’t take long for me to get lost.

I drove up one road that seemed familiar and ended up at a dead end. I drove back, made a different turn, and ended up in an isolated residential area where I drew curious glances from a woman doing yard work who was likely not used to unfamiliar vehicles on the quiet street. I drove far enough to get just out of her line of sight and pulled over to the side of the rood where, thanks to the combined magic of Google and my smart phone, I found the name of the park and programmed it into the navigation app on my phone.

Unfortunately, not only am I navigationally challenged, I also struggle with programming the navigator app on my phone so, even though according to the map I was just eight minutes away from the park, it was over half an hour before I finally found it.

I found it. That’s all that matters.

I was surprised when I arrived to find cars parked everywhere. I had assumed it would be nearly empty the way it had been the first time I was there, but on this sunny May morning there was a plant sale going on. This might be fun, I thought, I might even do a bit of shopping while I’m here, so I strapped on my camera, threw my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my tripod, and headed out to explore.

I took my time, meandering on the paths leading toward where the people were congregated, taking photographs of Rhodys in bloom, feeling the peace that being in nature brings settle over me, as I made my way toward the plant sale.

“You’ve got your camera with you,” one especially-astute young woman at a booth selling lilac bushes remarked as I walked past her. Nothing escapes you does it, I was tempted to reply but instead I smiled and said what a beautiful day it was to take photographs.

Maybe it was my irritation over lilac-woman’s comment, or my disappointment at finding the park filled with people when I had expected to find solitude, but I felt impatient as I wandered past booths selling wind chimes and tables covered with plants. I couldn’t still myself enough to appreciate the venue, I was wasting my time, so I breezed through the area and headed out on the secluded pathways away from the crowd.

It was quiet outside of the fenced area where the sale was going on. I could almost forget that there were people nearby as I padded along pathways getting farther and farther away from the people, looking for interesting things to photograph, as the sun warmed my shoulders.

I sat down on the ground to get close-ups of little blue and white blossoms and suppressed a groan when I struggled to my feet. I photographed tall moss-covered pine trees, taking time to adjust the exposure compensation dial on my camera stop-by-stop, the way we had been taught at photography class a few days earlier. I looked up and took pictures of the sky framed by tall trees having a sense of my own smallness. I experimented with taking pictures of a covered bench from various angles as I made up stories in my mind about people who once sat there.

I must have spent an hour at the park, walking, observing, smelling, touching, taking photos, thinking about nothing in particular, just being there in that moment, and by the time I left I was at peace and grounded.

Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I would have felt compelled to be productive on a day off of work. I would have taken advantage of the time clean my house, do the weekly grocery shopping, run errands, and otherwise fill my time with “must do” and “should do” activities.

These days I apologetically take a day for myself whenever I can. I’ve learned that I need solitude to recharge; without it I become grumpy and ineffective. This time of year I find myself, again, with vacation days that must be used before the end of June or be lost forever, so I’ll be blessed to have extra days off in the coming weeks. I can think of few things as tragic as voluntarily forfeiting days that could be filled with whatever I want them to be filled with.

This post is part of a longer piece I wrote for my writing group in response to a writing prompt taken from The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing by Sharon Lippincott. I pose the same question to you: when was the last time you took time away from your obligations, just for yourself?

 

Menopause: The Gift That Keeps on Giving

The weather has been outstanding here in the Pacific Northwest over the past week or so. The sun has been shining and the temperature has been in the mid to high 70s and even reached over 80 on a few days. I’ve been in my element and spent as much time as possible outside soaking it up. Color me happy in capri pants, barefoot, and sipping iced tea on the patio!

Last Saturday I met a couple of friends for coffee at Starbucks and in honor of the great weather I ordered a Caramel Frappuccino. As I stood waiting for my drink I realized that it was the first cold Starbucks drink I’d enjoyed for quite some time because, over the course of the winter months, I switched my “go to” drink from a Frappuccino to a plain soy latte.

For the past few years I’ve taken solace in cool things: the big fan beside my bed, the fans in my offices, sleeveless tops, and cold coffee drinks, all in an attempt to counter relentless hot flashes and the warmer temperature I felt in general.

I pondered the fact that I no longer made it a habit to drink icy drinks; I realized that that my fans had been relatively silent in recent months, and I had even felt cold on occasion during the winter months.

Good news all of this!

With all the benefits menopause brought into my life a few years ago–and there have been many–it also heralded in some lesser known and talked about symptoms that I’m still learning about. I’ve read that after menopause, without the unpredictability of hormones affecting our moods, women become more like who they were at about eleven-years-old before hormones kicked in. I like the idea of returning to my self; the concept matches my experience.

Recently I read a post at Friend for the Ride: Encouraging Words for the Menopause and Midlife Roller Coaster that talked about how the skin on the soles of our feet thins after menopause causing some women to experience discomfort. The post referenced a Q&A with Dr Patricia Yarberry Allen in which the doctor says:

Aging results in loss of fat below the bottom of the foot, even as unwanted fat is gained in most other parts of the body. This fat once provided cushioning, and we now find ourselves walking on the foot bones and skin.

Sounds uncomfortable, even painful, doesn’t it? It definitely sounds like bad news for a barefoot girl like me.

A couple of years ago I gave up wearing shoes with heels due to an undiagnosed Morton’s neuroma that caused me, once too often, to remove my shoes in the parking lot as I walked toward my office and continue in bare feet. I was okay with that; I even welcomed a reason to go out and buy a few pair of cute flats at Aerosoles.

To mess with going barefoot just seems wrong though. What could be better than the feeling of bare feet buried in warm sand or walking across a velvety green lawn? What better way of pampering oneself than to go for a pedi and then go barefoot to show off the latest color? What says “freedom” more than going barefoot?

So yes, menopause has its benefits. This, I’m sad to say, isn’t one of them.

Nine Months Left On the Retirement Countdown Chain

For the past few years Gerry and I have been talking about taking up photography together as a retirement hobby. He has a background in the craft that goes back to his original 35mm camera, actual film, and developing his own photos. Me, I cut my early photography teeth on my mom’s Kodak Instamatic.

Recently, as part of our early retirement planning, we both purchased new high-end Canon DSLRs and now we’re taking a photography class together–two classes actually–one on the technical aspect of the craft (shutter speeds, apertures, ISO settings etc.) and the other on the art of photography.

The other evening as we sat in the technical class looking at examples on the big screen and learning about the best settings to use for portrait photography I found myself becoming frustrated with all the talk about 1/60 being the minimum shutter speed when using the camera without a tripod, and the difference between F8 and F11 aperture.

I’m a word person not a number person! I lamented to Gerry on the way home, feeling like I should be put in a remedial photography class as I struggled to internalize the concepts. I’m used to being one of the best students not the one who just doesn’t get it, I whined.

He just smiled, offered encouraging words, and promised to be my personal tutor on the lessons I felt like I was rapidly falling behind in. I appreciated his willingness to help, but now it’s personal and I’m determined to figure this stuff out on my own. (Stubborn? Who me?)

The art of photography class threatened to be my undoing last week as I struggled with the assignment we were given: abstract. Abstract? What in the world is an abstract photograph? What are the rules around taking a good photograph of something in the abstract? I’ve since learned that there are no rules in abstract photography–that’s why it’s called abstract–but I’m the kind of person who needs rules.

I Googled it, I tried various things, and as the date drew nearer for when we were supposed to send our photographs to the instructor I grew more anxious with every day I failed to produce a photograph I’d feel comfortable sending to the instructor.

Here’s the thing. We weren’t just sending him our photographs for a private critique. Oh no. Our photographs would be displayed on a screen in front of the entire class and we’d discuss them. No pressure there, right?

I laid awake at night trying to come up with ideas; I snapped some interesting images from within my shower;  I crawled around on my hands and knees outside; I pulled objects out of cupboards and arranged and rearranged them; I went outside barefoot on my pajamas to catch the first morning light; I took photo after photo trying to come up with something I could use.

Gerry, on the other hand, had his homework done the next day.

Finally, in desperation and just wanting the whole thing to be over, I settled on two abstract photographs to share with the class.

 

I survived last night’s class, it went pretty well actually. I enjoyed seeing the creative things people came up with relating to their assigned topics and both Gerry and I received good feedback on our photographs–just enough encouragement to allow me to feel a measure of anticipation about the subjects I chose in a random drawing for this week.

Tires. And honey.

And I thought I was going to have less stress in retirement.

Sharpening Our Saw

A number of years ago I read Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and subsequently had the opportunity to take a 7 Habits Workshop. The lessons I learned from this material have stayed with me, they’ve become integrated into who I am; I believe they’ve made me a better person.

The habits, in case you haven’t heard of them are as follows. (You can read more detail about each habit on Covey’s website.)

Be proactive
Begin with the end in mind
Put first things first
Think win-win
Seek first to understand, then to be understood
Synergize
Sharpen the saw

This week, as I’ve struggled with a personal issue, I was reminded of the wisdom of every one of the habits. I’ve tried to focus on those things that I have control over and let go of the rest: what Covey referred to as the Circle of Control vs the Circle of Influence.

The past few weeks have been hectic: a trip to Cleveland to present at the American Adoption Congress conference, a trip to Canada to visit the grands, late nights due to photography classes Gerry and I are taking, not eating properly (due to the hectic pace and not enough time to shop or cook), all topped off with a lack of rest and sleep.

I’m realizing that I’m not able to keep the same pace as I could when I was younger; nor do I want to. One good thing about being at this midlife stage of life is that you kind of have permission to slow down when you need to; you can play the “I’m not as young as I used to be” card sometimes.

If we’re wise enough to listen to the messages our mind and bodies give us, we’re okay with saying no sometimes. We understand the value of maintaining balance in the physical, social, mental, and spiritual areas of our life. We know that what works for someone else may not work for us. We usually know what it is that we need, we’re willing to ask for and actively pursue it.

Many of us have only to look at our desks or read our email to be reminded of all that clamors for our attention. We’ve got “must do”, “should do”, “shouldn’t do”, and “want to do” items all over the place. It’s too easy to forget what’s important.

One of my favorite Covey quotes is:

You have to decide what your highest priorities are and have the courage–pleasantly, smilingly, nonapologetically, to say “no” to other things. And the way to do that is by having a bigger “yes” burning inside. The enemy of the “best” is often the “good.”

Sometimes we need to return to the seventh habit, to “sharpen the saw” as Covey says, to take time to rebuild our physical, mental, and emotional reserves so we can be ready for all that is ahead of us–the good and the not-so-good.

Sometimes we need to take time for quiet and reflection. Sometimes we need to play; to dance, laugh, twirl, and appreciate all that is right in our world. Sometimes we just need to take a nap and eat some protein.

In that quiet place inside we know what it is we need to sharpen our own saws at any given time. The challenge, sometimes, is just to do it.

MIA

Well, I’m not really missing in action but I’ve fallen off of my regular posting schedule due to two things: my trip to Cleveland to present at the American Adoption Congress conference and, after being home only two days, a trip to the happiest place on earth for me, to visit my grandchildren. I’ll resume my regular posting schedule next week when we are back home.

Meantime, I’ll leave you with a couple of grand photos taken yesterday. Life is oh-so-good in the grandmahood!

Guest Post – Barbara Techel

Today I’m delighted to introduce you to Barbara Techel. Barbara’s recently released book, Through Frankie’s Eyes, is the touching story of how a sweet little dachshund named Frankie, helped her find a sense of purpose and significance. I had the honor of reading this tender story a few weeks ago and I highly recommend it. Please join me in welcoming Barbara!

Trust the Writing Process–Trust Your Writing Process

I can’t tell you how often I’ve sat staring at the cursor on my computer. Blink. Blink. Blink. The words, “just write something” or “just start” bounce around in my brain.  I’m a writer. Why does the process seem so hard at times, I wonder?

The days I find it hard to find the words to begin a story, a blog post, or a chapter can feel daunting and make me question if I am truly a writer. As frustrated as I can get about this, there is one thing I do know. This is part of the process. This is normal.

Just like anything in life we must take a first step. We must begin. And so it was with my latest book, Through Frankie’s Eyes: One woman’s journey to her authentic self and the dog on wheels who led the way.

I began the process of formulating the idea for this book in 2005. I wanted to write about the human-animal bond connection.  I was learning some amazing life lessons from my chocolate Lab, Cassie and my miniature Dachshund, Frankie. The lessons I was especially learning from Cassie had stopped me in my tracks, and I was searching to do something more meaningful with my life.

This led me to becoming a writer at the age of 41 and writing a monthly column for our local paper. My column was called “For the Love of Animals.” Little did I know then, but this was the beginning of my process in working up to where I am today as a writer.

The idea for my book about the bond between me and my dogs was still fermenting in my mind as I practiced writing articles for the paper.  I had to build up the courage and confidence in myself as a writer. I kept the ideas swirling in my mind about writing my book someday.

Nine months after I began writing for the paper my life took a sharp left on the path I had laid out for myself. My Dachshund Frankie became paralyzed and was diagnosed with Intervertebral Disc Disease (IVDD). I continued writing my stories for the paper as Frankie healed from her surgery.  But my hopes were dashed thinking I’d never write the book I wanted to write.

The idea of writing a children’s book had been presented to me during a session I had taken with a life coach a year before this. It didn’t really appeal to me at the time. Besides I didn’t feel “qualified” as I didn’t have children of my own. I also felt out of my league having never written a children’s book before, so I dismissed the idea quickly.

But I kept writing and sharing my love of animals with my small town audience. I had some adoring fans who loved my stories. This encouraged me during the times I sat staring at my computer wondering what to write for the next column.

My process was to just keep at it. Keep going. My passion for animals is deep, so once I had an idea, I could run with it, and then the process was so enjoyable.

Eleven months after Frankie’s diagnoses of IVDD and ultimately being custom-fitted for a dog wheelchair, I attended a weekend writing retreat an hour from my hometown. I went with the intent to pursue writing the book that had been in my mind for two years now.

I left the retreat Sunday afternoon truly excited to begin the process of starting this book that had been in my head for all this time. The following morning I awoke and out of the blue I said “I’m going to write a children’s book and it’s going to be about Frankie.” I was stunned and couldn’t believe I said that. I didn’t know where it came from.

I was nervous about writing a children’s book and hadn’t a clue where to begin. But that is exactly what I did. I just began. I followed my heart and let it lead me to the page to share the words I hoped would encourage children to be positive in the face of their own challenges.

This then led me to writing yet another children’s book in the Frankie the Walk ‘N Roll Dog series a year later. When I wrote these books I set aside time each week that was strictly devoted to writing the story followed by the editing process. I didn’t let anything get in the way of those writing days. They were sacred to me. For me, it was my heart that kept leading the way on days I felt stuck. I began to understand that this was all part of my process.

Five years later after two children’s books written and over 400 appearances I did with Frankie sharing her story, the book I wanted to write in 2005 begin begging for my attention. It was time. The process needed to continue, but in a new way.

I realized as I began setting time aside to write Through Frankie’s Eyes which is part memoir and inspirational, that I was exactly in the right space and time for this book. It was not ready to be written before this. Divine timing and the process of all the stories, articles, and children’s books I had written prior to this, led me to the book I’ve now completed.

What I’ve learned along the way is to trust the process-to trust my process- to know that when a story is ready to be written, it will. But to come to the page often- to show up- to continue to practice- to continue to write. To begin with the first word each and every time I come to the page. To have complete faith and trust that the words will form the story- that the story will then make its way into the world at just the right time it was meant to be born.

Ten Months Left on the Retirement Countdown Chain

I’ve been dealing with back pain for the past few weeks and some nights it keeps me from sleeping well. Now I’m no stranger to physical pain; I’ve dealt with chronic pain for a good part of my adult life so I know what it’s like to get up in the morning feeling like a truck ran over me during the night and still have to head off to work and put in a full day. It’s just that I’m growing weary of it.

One morning earlier this week, I sat at my desk with my heating pad on my back and considered how nice it will be when I’m retired and I can set my own pace on days when I’m hurting. I’ve pushed myself, sometimes to my detriment, for many years. It will be a new experience to be able to listen, and adjust accordingly, to the messages my body is giving me.

Even when I’m not dealing with pain, like many of us, there are some nights when I find myself wide awake hour after hour fretting about the fact that I’ll have to get up in a few hours for work. I try not to watch the clock, sometimes I even read for a while (Thank you Kindle Paperwhite for allowing me to read without having to turn on the light.), but I can’t help but think about how hard it’s going to be to get going when morning comes.

How glorious it will be not to have to worry when I can’t sleep at night! How wonderful to know that the activities I’ve planned for the day ahead are, for the most part, of my own choosing and that I can change the schedule if I want to. Heck, I will even be able to take a nap if I’m so inclined. (Doubtful, but I’m sure I’ll like knowing the option is there.)

As I move closer to retirement what I’m looking forward to the most (aside from spending time with my family) is being able to set my own schedule that works with my own rhythms.

I’m already imagining myself getting up early–perhaps not as early as I do these days, but still early–for a few uninterrupted hours of writing when my mind is freshest. I’m thinking about staying up past 8:30 at night without feeling like I’m falling asleep on my feet because I’ve had an extra hour of sleep. I’m contemplating early morning walks with my hubby, my dogs, and my camera. I’m pondering warm, clear, late, summer nights when we head out past city limits where it’s dark and we can set up the telescope and do some stargazing.

I’m thinking about those mornings after a night like last night when I can take it slow, perhaps enjoy a cup of coffee with Gerry in the hot tub to ease my aches, and get moving when my body is ready.

Sounds lovely to me.

Choosing Gratitude

Okay, this is going to be a controversial post so if you’re at all afraid of controversy just close your browser and walk away.

That was the first sentence of the post I had prepared for today. I heard something on the radio this morning that annoyed me so much that I drafted a five hundred word blog post about it and titled it “Stupid Is As Stupid Does”.

I had some things to do first thing this morning so I left the house early, the blog post drafted and ready to be polished and posted.

I went to the dentist for a routine cleaning and heard stories about new babies, families, grandparents, and Easter plans. I felt sad that I won’t be seeing the grands this weekend but I’m happy knowing that soon we’ll live closer and will be able to see them often.

Then, I saw my doctor. I’ve been dealing with back pain–not unexpected for someone with scoliosis who’s had a rod in her back for the past thirty-eight years. It’s improved over the past two weeks but I’m told I can expect to deal with these flare-ups for the rest of my life. Not the best news, but I’m still thankful for having had thirty-eight pain-free years.

I headed for my favorite Starbucks to grab a soy latte next. There’s just something about the ambiance at Starbucks that makes me happy, not to mention that first delicious sip of coffee, that puts me in a good mood.

Grocery shopping was next on my list and I made a spur of the moment decision to cook a turkey this weekend. I walked past baskets of fragrant Easter lilies, colorful tulips, and bright daffodils and by the time I came out of the store the sun was shining.

The forecast is for warm sunny days from now through the weekend. Yesterday after work, Gerry and I sat on the patio for the first time this year. This weekend we plan to put out the rest of the patio furniture.

Now, as I sit at my desk, there’s barely a cloud in the sky and I’m getting ready to head out to the garden where my peas are already up. Life is good; I am blessed.

That thing I heard on the radio this morning? Yes, it still irritates me, as does most of what I hear on the news these days, but I’m choosing not to give voice to the issue.

I’m heading outside into nature where rebirth is evidenced everywhere, I’m going to celebrate Easter, and I’m going to choose to be thankful.

Stress, and Lessons Learned

Recently I tuned in to CBC  radio and listened to a program called Ideas. I like this program. It usually presents me with information that causes me to see life in a different way and this time was no exception.

They were talking about a research project where the brains of younger people and older people were examined while the each group experienced similar circumstances.

One part of the study involved having the subjects play a game with monetary stakes. Researchers observed that the brains of individuals who were winning looked similar regardless of their age, but when it appeared they were losing, the brain waves of the younger people indicated stress whereas the brain waves of the older people remained stable. Somehow, they also measured the brain activity in subjects who were experiencing real loss and found that they were similar regardless of the demographic.

Researchers found that the older group was less likely to feel stress over possible negative outcomes.

Here’s the conclusion they drew: When we’re young, hopefully before we’ve lived through any measure of real tragedy in our lives, we don’t understand how we would cope if we were faced with it. We’re afraid. By the time we are older, after we’ve experienced our share of sorrow we know we’re strong enough to withstand grief, loss, and hardship. As mature adults we know grief will come–it’s a part of life–but we don’t spend as much time fretting about it. We accept the fact that sorrow is inevitable, we grieve when it comes, and learn to appreciate the good times.

As the time we have left in our life gets shorter we experience more gratitude for those things we already have and our attitude of appreciation takes precedence over concern for things that may or may not happen.

I’ve had my share of sleepless nights due to worry, sometimes about situations in life that warranted concern, but more than a few times due to my own projecting “what if” outcomes. For the most part, I’ve adopted a come-what-may, trust-in-God, stance but I can still get caught up in a cycle of worry. It happened recently, in fact.

It seems different now, though.

I find myself looking for something positive in the what-if imaginings. I pray, make lists, plans, and take concrete steps to avoid imagined calamity, adjust my course if necessary, and I remember the past.

I remember prior times of God’s faithfulness in my life.

I recall times of feeling like I was being overcome with waves of grief and that I couldn’t possibly continue to feel that sort of pain and remain alive. But I did.

I remember laying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, overtaken with worry about something that might happen. But it didn’t.

And I remember walking blissfully through my life and being blindsided by some tragedy that changed everything in a moment. And I survived.

So maybe the researchers are on to something after all. Perhaps this resilience is yet another benefit of growing older. I’m willing to consider that possibility. How about you?