I have a long-term friend whose husband died a few years ago. When she pictures him she feels sadness and loss. When I picture him I feel his warmth, energy, and enthusiasm. I wonder what picture he would like us to have?
The Invisible Walk-Ins
They say it’s not what walks in life’s door, but what you do with it — a visit to the store, the death of a spouse, or retirement. I think we see very little of what life brings to our door. The steady stream of gifts goes largely unnoticed, doesn’t catch our attention, or is too fuzzy to identify.
If we do notice life’s presents, we transform them to reflect who we are and how we’re feeling. After all, life has no meaning except what we choose to give it. Are we a glass half full or glass half empty kind of person? Are we conservative or liberal? Do we see change as an opportunity or threat? Are we living our life, or playing out someone else’s hopes and dreams? Are we doing what we want, or mostly what we think we “should”?
Getting Up From The Floor
I’ve read that life begins on the other side of despair. My widowed friend hasn’t yet stepped over to that other side. Though despair is different for everyone, I felt it when my second wife died, taking with her our relationship and hopes. I hope my friend soon moves across to that other side.
Now, 10 years later, I’m over the shock and disorientation, but still trying to make sense of my life, still asking how I can make the most of these remaining years. Currently, I’m spending more time being a cow.
Cows
Cows enjoy chewing their cud. My cud is my memories. When I go to the gym in the morning, many members wear earbuds, some even when swimming. I assume they are being productive, multitasking by listening to music or a podcast. They must enjoy it.
To me the earbuds signal, ”I don’t want to talk.“ I’m sometimes okay with that, sometimes disappointed, as I always enjoy a conversation. But I also pack a set of earbuds. Mine are built-in, invisible, and tuned to my personal channel. Being alone at the gym is a wonderful opportunity to enjoy my inner voice.
Tuning In
To hear me, I simply stop thinking, stop chatting to myself — just wait and listen. Guaranteed, drifting up from somewhere inside, comes a memory. It’s often about a long-forgotten event. I roll it around, looking for attachments (there are always many) and wonder why that particular event popped up now.
I assume the recalled memory has some meaning, some relevance to my current life. If not, why would it drop by to say “Hello”? The relevance isn’t always obvious and might take gentle probing. That process is often terribly foggy, non-logical, sometimes metaphorical — more dream-like.
I wish I was not alone in these ruminations. Gary Larson’s cows always get back to eating when a car comes. But between cars, I’d enjoy discussing this end of life with an intimate, interested companion.
Please jot down any of your comments or suggestions. I’m always keen to hear from you.
Thank you,
Barry
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