Larry and I at the Cache Creek Winery Concert
(Amy and Jim in the background)
The adventure of life is to learn.
The purpose of life is to grow.
The nature of life is to change.
The challenge of life is to overcome.
The essence of life is to care.
The opportunity of like is to serve.
The secret of life is to dare.
The spice of life is to befriend.
The beauty of life is to give.
― William Arthur Ward
Am I the only one who wakes up this morning, gauges the time of day by the light coming in through the windows, slips her legs out from under the warm covers, and slowly stands up because she can no longer just jump out of bed without a short deferment?
There is a stabilizing issue as if my body needs time to catch up with my intentions. After grabbing my glasses and phone off the nightstand, I tip-toed out of the room and quietly closed the door.
It's 5:47 am.
The first thing I do is set the coffee maker into motion, even before using the bathroom or running a brush through my hair. Then I ease into the double-wide recliner in the corner of the room facing the lake and sip my coffee.
A blissful silence surrounds me, along with this palpable calm, and I am enormously grateful for this moment of solitude. Silence is holy, in my opinion. I know, I know, I'm such an introvert, and I realize moments like this are as rare as a copy of Codex Leicester by Leonardo da Vinci. I think Bill Gates bought the only known edition. For me, it's the lack of noise vying for my attention that is immeasurably invaluable. Sitting silently and watching the world around me unfurl has taken a lifetime to learn.
Or, I could have been a cat in a previous life.
Eventually, I reach for my computer, stashed on the floor beside my chair, and open a new page. It's blank. After a few more sips of coffee, it becomes clear to me that everything at this moment is merely a projection.
You know what I mean?
I value time alone, but to make that happen, I had to get out of bed when it was still dark and make my own coffee. I know, sacrifices. Waking up at my age is not a given, but as the years pass, I realize how truly miraculous it is just to be here, to wake up beside the same man every morning, with the same pillow cradling my head and the same light pushing through the darkness.
All morning, I sat in my chair doing the thing I love most—writing. It could have been one of those days when the demands of living a full-bodied life outweighed my ability to create words, delete them, and try again. But it wasn't, and I recognize the privilege of unmitigated time—to do my own thing. Whatever it is.
When Larry woke up an hour later, he made me a pancake just the way I like—crispy on the outside, soft inside, and slathered with butter. And for reasons I can't fathom, I seem to be emotionally tethered this morning to things that give me comfort. Okay, I did consider this might be aftershocks from all those post-menopausal afflictions (now a faint memory), like hot flashes, mood swings, and melancholy, but this feels different.
Matt Haig says, "It's okay to be the teacup with a chip in it. That's the one with a story."
After whittling away most of the day, Larry and I boated over to Amy and Jim's for dinner, dragging two damaged screens, a bottle of wine, and some sushi with us. Their dear friends, Alex and Lisa, were staying with them at the lake, so the six of us would be dining together.
Jim noticed our torn screens languishing on the dining room doors last week and set up his handyman to be here tonight so he could repair the damage. They turned out beautifully. If not for Jim, we would have gone an entire summer with huge holes around the handles, allowing thousands of rice flies to enter the house at dusk. This is so much better.
Tonight's menu included laughter, random musings, and shared stories, which we passed around the table as if a platter of anecdotes. I suppose this is how humans have drawn closer to each other since the beginning of time. There is really no other way, although candles and a bold red wine help.
Amy is a superb cook. She moves around the kitchen with the confidence of a maestro conducting an orchestra—tapping the spoon against the side of the bowl, pushing a pan back into the oven, and closing the door as if on demand. Then, she adds some spice to a dish and tastes it with a finger while simultaneously stirring the pot on the stove. Suddenly, everything is ready, all at the same time. How does she do it?
We fill our plates, our hearts, our stomachs.
I remember a funny thing Jim said in between bits of succulent steak, potato salad, corn, and artichoke hearts. He said, "My grandfather always told me, 'Don't wiggle it. It will fall into place.'" For the life of me, I can't remember what we were talking about or what this was in reference to but I opened the notes page on my phone and wrote it down.
I said, "That's going in the blog."
For me, this little witticism that Jim's grandfather passed down to him seems applicable to so many things in life. It's as much about relationships and zippers as it is about our need to control everything, trying to manipulate the outcome instead of allowing things to fall into their natural place.
What if we didn't wiggle it so much?
After dinner, the guys retire to the deck while the ladies mill around the kitchen, wrapping up leftovers, sipping wine, and washing the dishes. I mentioned I was in a mood earlier. It must have lingered because Amy spontaneously slipped her arm around me and gave me a gentle hug (she's the touchy-feely type) as if she knew I needed it. My eyes well up, and I'm confused by the unexpected emotion.
She notices and says, "What's up?"
I have no clear answers, but I did notice that sometimes a simple, unexpected show of affection—no expectations, no baggage, or ulterior motives—just a safe, warm hug can dismantle a day's worth of armor that I did not even know I was carrying. The thing is, when you feel safe and comfortable, you let down your guard.
Larry and I boat home. It's late. We're tired and didn't even carry the screens up to the house.
The next night, we attended the Eagles concert at Cache Creek Winery. It was a cool, clear, and delightful evening. Just about every song dragged me back in time, and there we were, Larry and I shaking it up at a high school dance, driving around town with the radio blaring, or parking at Dover Elementary School so we could make out―The Eagles always playing in the background. We stayed for the oncore. I thought they might go all night.
Driving home was a struggle. I may have dozed in my seat.
Slipping into my pajamas, I slide between the soft sheets next to the same partner who has been lying down with me for 40 years. I hear his breath soften, becoming deep and rhythmic, and I settle into my pillow, allowing the darkness to calm me and the quiet to lull me to sleep.
But I'm restless. I had my cat nap on the way home, and now I can't seem to harness my thoughts.
You know me. I like to study life with a magnifying glass. I have always believed we are a reflection of our thoughts, but we live our lives forward, and mirrors don't reflect the future. So this must mean we have an incredible opportunity every single day to project a different future by simply changing our thoughts (and yes, that means following them with our actions).
Right?
Our time is limited. Let's not waste this one opportunity to live the life we were meant to project by ignoring our potential to grow, evolve, and improve no matter where we are and what is happening. The thing is, we'll never know what we're capable of unless we're willing to get uncomfortable and leave behind the person languishing in the mirror. The one we've outgrown. It takes courage to extend ourselves beyond the known, to listen to our own voice, and to follow the path that only our hearts seem to know. Remember, silence is holy. Everything else is just noise.
Dancing to the Eagles
Thank you for joining me as I explore the joys and frustrations of living a bold life. I'd love to know what you are thinking, looking forward to wrangling with you in the comments. xxoo
Speaking of growing -Grow Damn It...available on Amazon. I think you'll love it!
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