Author Archive
What’s Your Five Year Plan?
“What’s your five year plan,” the doctor asked Helen.
“What do you mean, my five year plan, I’m 80.”
“Everyone needs a five year plan. I think you need to start strength training.”
“WHAT! I’m 80!”
“No excuses–let’s find you a trainer.”
That’s how I came to do strength training with 80-year-old Helen. Helen had accepted that frailty, disease and disability were a natural part of the aging process, but Helen had a can-do attitude and was willing to give it a try. I came to love and admire Helen’s spirit. Helen and her husband traveled the world. She had gotten to the point that if there were stairs on a tour, she would sit on a bench and wait for the others and bypass the cathedral or whatever site was on the agenda. It was a shame she had to always be on the sidelines because of the limitations of her body.
Helen had also given up going places by herself because if there were stairs, she wasn’t able to manage them. As Helen became stronger, she lost her fear of going places by herself and became much more independent.
After strength training for two years, Helen slipped and fell and broke her hip. The doctors were amazed how much muscle she had in her hips and legs. In fact
, they said any other 82 year old would probably be dead from such a fall. But Helen was a warrior—when life knocked her down, she got right back up.
Helen called me one day very upset. “They kicked me out of therapy,” she said. “What do you mean–they kicked you out of therapy?” I replied. “The doctor approved me for twenty sessions and they kicked me out after only two sessions. They said I met all the criteria of activity for an average 82-year-old.” I had to laugh, “Well, Helen, they don’t understand that you’re not the average 82-year-old.”
When Helen was 84, she and I and two of my friends went and stayed at a villa in the south of France. There was no more sitting on the sidelines for Helen on this trip! She kept right up with the rest of us, even though we were all a good 30 years younger.
“Thank you,” Helen said at the end of our trip, “I never thought I could have so much fun again at my age.”
No, Helen, thank you. You proved that even at the age of 80, a warrior doesn’t give up.
At 85, the doctor once again asked, “OK, Helen, what’s your five year plan?”
Everyone needs a five year plan—what’s yours?
Golfing Ass Backwards
Did you ever have one of those dreams that when you woke up you weren’t sure if you had been dreaming or it was real? I recently woke up feeling frustrated at my inability to hit a golf ball. What was surprising is that I’m not really a golfer.
In my dream
, I couldn’t hit the golf ball at all. I then realized that I was using a left-handed club (I’m right-handed) and I was attempting to hit the ball with the back of the club. No wonder, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hit the golf ball. Everything was ass backwards.Dreams usually have something to say about real life, so what did this dream mean, I wondered. What in my life isn’t working because I’m using the wrong equipment the wrong way? What am I doing ass backwards?
What do I need to change to fulfill my dreams, ambitions and goals? What does the right equipment consist of–taking classes, making connections, attending events and networking? Maybe it’s asking for help when I need it and building a support group.
I’m not a golfer but I am a warrior. Life works much better when you choose the right equipment, use it the right way and stop trying to succeed at life playing ass backwards.
#f*ckoldage
New Construction
I have felt broken and shattered at times and have ofent been told that shattered pieces that are not whole and need to be put back together. Even mended, there is still the image that we are weaker and scarred. The pieces can be glued back together, even when arranged into a beautiful stained glass, we are still broken.
“I am making all things new.” Rev. 21:5
When a new construction is being built, you never hear that it is being made out of broken pieces although in reality it is. When an old construction is being demolished to make room for the new and the rubble is being cleared away, instead of lamenting the old debris, it is understood that the new construction will be stronger, beautiful and more useful than the old one.
The lumber used to build the new construction is not a whole tree but in reality, it is pieces of a broken tree. Lumber is not referred to as broken trees but new material to make a new, strong construction. The bricks or stones used to lay a new foundation are not considered broken, damaged goods.
The tiles used to make a beautiful floor or wall is never lamented for being broken pieces put together but rather admired for their beauty.
Although I’ve felt shattered and broken and lamented the pain it caused, there would have been no room for a new construction without clearing away the debris. I am not broken pieces glued back together or a pieced together stained glass
I have been rebuilt into a new construction; stronger, useful and beautiful. This new construction can be put to any use I decide. It can provide shelter, be a sanctuary, a place of worship, a place to conduct business and provided services to others;a retreat and place of solitude.
Whatever purpose I decide to use the rebuilt me for, it will be nothing like the old. Life has changed me and I now have the freedom to decide what the new construction of my life will look like and be used for.
Die Young–At a Very Old Age
My intention is to die young—at around 102. “How can you do that?” you may ask. I plan to stay active and engaged in life as long as possible. There have been numerous studies done on people who live active lives well past 100 from all over the world. What is their secret and what can we do to live young all our lives?
- Rebel
Defy what you’ve been taught about aging. Be a rebel who doesn’t go along with the beliefs on aging.
- Find your tribe
Find likeminded people to hang out with. Your friends have an impact on your health and longevity. Take stock of who your friends are. Don’t hang around “old people” (those old in attitude) but rather look for people who make it easy to be happy and healthy.
- Move
Stay physically active. Taking the stairs can decrease your chance of early death by 15%. Walk a mile or more a day at a good clip. Fast walkers have been shown to live longer than their couch potato counterparts.
- Laugh
A terrific sense of humor along with a strong survival instinct will help insulate you from negative emotions such as depression and anxiety. Stay optimistic and smile.
- Tea Time
Enjoy a daily pleasurable daily ritual like a glass of wine
, a cup of tea or a brownie.
- Have a Purpose
Know why you wake up in the morning. Have events and new challenges to look forward to. Live in the present and look forward to the future.
- Belong
A strong sense of family and community helps us stay connected whether through a church or other religious organization or your biological family or friends.
- Stay Slim
Maintain a healthy weight. Include plenty of nuts, fresh fruits and vegetables in your diet.
And my favorite
- Shop
One study found that frequent shoppers live longer. (And you don’t even have to buy anything to benefit.) AARP reported that shopping lowered the risk of death by 28 percent for men and 23 percent of women.
Age is just a number—don’t let it define or confine you.
#f*ckoldage
Stuck in the Middle
“When one door closes, another one opens.” Have you ever gone through security doors where the one behind you closes and locks before the one in front of you opens? The door behind clicks shut but there is no sign of the one in front of you opening. You trust the mechanics of the doors, the company that manufactured the door, its mechanisms and the people who maintain the door. There is no doubt that the door in front of you will open.
Too often, though, there seems to be doubt when one door in life closes that another, better door will open. You feel stuck in the middle, wondering what next? Going back is not an option; the door behind is closed and locked. You can only move forward even though door in front is not opening as quickly as you would like. If you can trust the mechanics of the door
The Trash Collector
The house had a beautiful facade—what the Realtors like to call “street presence”. The landscaping was immaculate and the flowers were in bloom.
Walking through the front door, the foyer was warm and inviting. “What is that strange odor?” Proceeding farther into the house I notice many closed doors. These rooms seem to be off limits. Approaching the rear of the house
Reaching the back door expecting to see a continuation of the lovely landscaping in the front, instead I find the lawn strewn with garbage. Piles and piles of garbage. “Why in the world would anyone pile up their garbage in the backyard instead of carrying it to the curb so the garbage man can haul it away?” I find the homeowner rummaging through the piles of garbage.
“Poor me,” she replies. “I have so much garbage that I just don’t know what to do with it.”
“But why are you going through it? Why not haul it to the curb so it can be hauled away?”
“That seems like an awful lot of work. Besides, I might need my garbage. Other people give me their garbage as well.”
“What are those rooms closed off in your house?”
“Those are full of the garbage I haven’t had time to deal with yet. I’ll get to it one of these days. In the meantime, I’ll just pretend it isn’t there. The garbage piled in the backyard is the garbage other people have dumped on me.
“Why have I allowed them to dump it on you?”
“It’s really not my fault. I’m the victim here. You should feel sorry for me. None of it is my responsibility.”
How ridiculous! Then I take a closer look at the homeowner and realized that she is me. I have a nice facade I show the world. I present the image of being happy and successful. I may invite you into certain rooms that feel warm and inviting but if you look beyond those, you will see the closed doors—the areas of my life I’m ashamed of, afraid to expose for fear you will judge me. Some are just too painful to look at.
There are the trash bags of the hurtful words, old resentments, guilt and fear. If I go back and open those bags once in awhile, I can justify feeling angry, hurt and resentful. I’m not responsible. It’s the fault of the garbage, what other people have dumped on me, expecting me to take on and fix for them.
The garbage weighs me down. It’s time to let it go, haul it to the curb and let the garbage truck haul it away. I don’t need it any longer.
The Bend in the Road
After unexpected setbacks, I’m finally back on track.
To celebrate, I’m offering “F*ck Old Age” at 1/2 price to kick-start my comeback
The book was written and published. Taking the leap, I was flying. Soaring, I felt free and light. I was on my way ready to run forward until I hit the bend in the road and got stopped in my tracks. The landing was rougher than I anticipated with bumps and setbacks I never imagined. I’ve always been healthy and I took my health for granted. Getting sick was the last thing I expected.
I was on the floor checked out. Waking up with the paramedics hovering over me, I had no idea what had happened. At the ER they could find nothing wrong so it was easy to ignore the warnings I was getting and pretend that everything was fine.
The second time it happened, it was in public at the farmer’s market. I got lightheaded and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. As people gathered around there was no longer any possibility of pretending everything was fine. It was obvious that I had a problem.
Another trip to the ER,and I was once again told they could not find any medical reason I had passed out even after multiple tests from a brain scan to a heart scan.
It was time to ask myself “what was so painful to face in my life that going unconscience seemed like the best option?” How much more of a wake-up call did I need? Lying in the CT machine, I heard a message loud and clear. “You’ve been knocked flat twice, what more is going to take for you to wake up and get your attention? This is your life. Live the life you are meant to live and fulfill your destiny.”
I couldn’t see what was ahead and had to slow down to take the curves in the road, rest, evaluate and find the lessons. “What would a warrior do,” I asked. A warrior knows setbacks are temporary. It is a time to breath, regroup and regain her strength, connect with her tribe and troops and plan a new strategy. A warrior will overcome her setback and I AM A WARRIOR! The bend in the road isn’t the end of the road.
F*CK OLD AGE
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Who Was Boudica
Boudica is the central character in “F*ck Old Age”. Who was she and what do we know about her? Boudica was queen of the Icini tribe in eastern Britain around 62 a.d.. There is not much known about her other then what Roman historians have to say.
The Romans were invading Britain and taxing people beyond their means and taking people as slaves if they couldn’t pay their taxes. When Boudica’s husband died
, to try to keep the peace with Rome, he left half of their kingdom to Rome and half to their two daughters. The Romans thought they could take it all by flogging Boudica within an inch of her life and raping her two daughters. Little did they know what a pissed off woman could do and Boudica was pissed off. Instead of slinking away the way the Romans thought she would, she gathered the tribes, rallied the troops and formed an army to take on the Roman army and won many battles against them.Rome, being a male dominated society didn’t know what to think of a woman warrior so they had to make her sound like a real bad ass.
“She was large in frame, terrifying of aspect, and with a harsh voice. A great mass of bright red hair fell to her knees. She wore a great twisted golden necklace and a tunic of many colors, over which was a thick mantle fastened by a brooch. Now she grasped a spear, to strike fear into all who watched her. In build she was very tall, in her demeanor most terrifying, in the glint of her eye most fierce.” Cassius Dio
Boudica is an example of a woman taking charge, becoming a warrior and making a difference.
Bundle of Rags
Last night I decided to stop in at my favorite Taqueria for a bite to eat. Sitting by the window, I observed an older, dirty, African-American homeless man in tattered clothes park his shopping cart and come into the restaurant. He had one of those box meals that you just add hot water to and asked the waitress if she would add water to it for him which she was kind enough to do. She asked him if he needed silverware but he had his own plastic cutlery.
When the waitress came to take my order, I had her ask him if he would like a meal and that I would buy it for him. He smiled and shook his head yes, looked over and me and said “thank you”.
When his food arrived, he started eating and once again looked at me, smiled and said “This is really good!”
Why did I buy his dinner? There are multiple homeless in the area but what I observed through the window before he came into the restaurant made him stand out. When he pushed his cart up to the window, he stopped and took a few minutes to straighten up the few belonging that he had in his shopping cart. The blankets were all neatly folded and things were placed in an orderly fashion.
Even though homeless, dirty and dressed in tattered clothes, he still had enough pride to take care the his few possessions.
As I left the restaurant he once again thanked me. By the few words we exchanged, he was articulate and sounded educated. What’s his story?
California has an overwhelming homeless problem. The warm weather draws people here. In San Francisco
, in many neighborhoods, you have to watch where you step or you may trip over the homeless sleeping on the street. There it is legal to live on public property, even sidewalks and in doorways.
It’s obvious that many are mentally ill and/or have addiction problems. As I walk down the street and look into the faces of these lost people, many with empty eyes, I find myself asking, “What’s their story?” Everyone has a story, came from somewhere and may even have family wondering where they are. How did they come to be living on the street?
In San Francisco, the Civic Center is a popular place for the homeless to gather. Walking by there one day, I saw a police officer on his knees with head bowed. In front of him was what appeared to be a bundle of rags. Upon closer observation, I realized that it was a homeless person who had died.
What was his story? How does a human being lose his humanity and end up dying alone on the street, little more than a bundle of rags?
