"Look, we are not unspectacular things. We’ve come this far, survived this much. What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?”

— Ada Limón

 

This is the gift of living well into my 60’s. For today, I still have time. Time to give that young woman a chance to do some of those things she imagined. A chance to listen to her heart, placing her wants and needs up there with the people she loves.

Today I allow all that love along with those emotions, to live where they want. On the outside, loudly if need be to get my point across, or quietly, close to my heart.

Yes, we are all survivors and lovers… Let’s do both with gusto.

“…as I’ve aged, I have more time for tenderness, for the poems that are so earnest they melt your spine a little. I have decided that I’m here in this world to be moved by love and [to] let myself be moved by beauty.” - Ada Limón


our 24th poet laureate in an interview with Krista Tippett

When I came face to face with all the silence and aloneness of the pandemic, I found myself thinking a lot about my life choices and the paths I took. The older me spent time getting to know the younger me more throughly, often coming face to face with a clearer picture than I was able to see back then.

Old stories that have played in my head for years started shifting, and suddenly the main character (me) begin seeing the scenes differently. A new take on the characters, the actions, the arena, and the carry over. I saw there where times when I took paths that I really didn’t want to take, but did so to fit in or please someone else, because it was easier.

It was exhausting for a while; every single thought and emotion analyzed and critiqued, all while navigating life, along with the rest of the world, through uncharted territory. I see now what a mess I was.

"The road to enlightenment is long and difficult, and you should try not to forget snacks and magazines." 

— Anne Lamott (Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith)

I tuck the potted bulbs into the cart next to the lettuce and eggs. Their blooms are, for the most part, closed up tight, and the anticipation I feel about watching them unfold brings me joy. Once home I place them on the dining room table and take note every time I walk by. It does not take long for them to reveal their beauty. In a few days the blooms are so heavy I have to intervene with a chopstick to help them stay upright. Their scent surrounding me as I move the stems gently.

I wake today with a bit of nostalgia, along with remorse. A yearning within me that I really can’t put my finger on, yet feels so familiar. I don’t question these feelings or wonder what is wrong with me as I use to, but rather sit with them in kindness. Understanding that wishing for do-overs is unhealthy.

Instead I take my morning coffee to the dining room table and watch the light of the day unfold over the lake . . . surrounded by the fragrance of spring.

“To take photographs is to hold one's breath when all faculties converge in the face of fleeing reality. It is at that moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy. - Henri Cartier-Bresson

The feeder is a busy place these days. There is flirting going on in the trees, and new songs every day. The flickers are back, tapping their mating calls on our gutters, but they are tricky to catch at the feeder, so I have yet to capture one. I mess with my settings, practicing action shots, sitting with the door open to the cold. Some are a bit out of focus, but I love them anyway.

"Whether he is an artist or not, the photographer is a joyous sensualist, for the simple reason that the eye traffics in feelings, not in thoughts."
~ Walker Evans

If someone were to ask what it was about this tree that drew me in - I would tell them I was captivated by light, textures and lines, but that it was not until I moved in for a closer look, that the emotions flooded me. For this simple reason I take photos. Sometimes the emotions are difficult, bringing a memory to the surface, or uprooting something I have buried. But for the most part, these emotions spark curiosity, wonder and joy.

While it is February one can taste the full joys of anticipation. Spring stands at the gate with her finger on the latch.
- Patience Strong

The rays of the sun make their way through the trees as I turn my face towards them. The bark of the tree it like art, and later, after the photo is taken, I spend too much time online trying to identify it. Who cares what it is. Will identifying it make any more amazing? The smoothness of the trunk feels like silk, and the sun rays shower me with anticipation.

As I sit typing I can hear the song of new birds outside the window, and notice a pinkness to the sky as the sun rises over the lake. I find comfort in the repetitive cycles of the seasons, understanding that winter is not over, but, spring is lingering backstage, eagerly awaiting her turn.

“I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing.” 

― David Whyte

I once pulled into the parking lot of the park, but after reading the sign that no dogs were allowed, I turned around and left. And even though I pass the sign for the park almost every time I leave the house to go into town, I never turned into the lot again. After years of photo walks with our dogs, the time has come for me to venture out alone. And that is just what I did yesterday. I sat and watched the light as it moved through the trees, I listened to the birds, and I studied the sculptures from different angles. I left a good part of the park unseen, saving it for another trip. And when I got back in the car to head home, I brought with me an awareness that felt like a revival.

"I'm happy our grandson does not yet have sophisticated language or a working knowledge of personal finance, because if he took my hand and said, "Nana, can you sign your 401(k) over to me," I can imagine myself thinking, well, I don't really need a retirement fund, do I? 

- Anna Quindlen -Nanaville: Adventures in Grandparenting

He comes to play for a few hours. He and Grandpa play with play dough, and walk the house looking for deer. He wants nothing much to do with me. Suddenly he seems so big, running though the house giggling, and hiding, having full conversations with Grandpa. Then the next minutes, he is crawling up onto my lap, wrapping his arms around my neck whispering, “Gramma, I love you. “

I take in every moment.