Saying goodbye to winter

This winter has been unsettling for me. Each year, my attempts to brave the snow and ice that come with the holiday season are met with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around me and a steaming mug of tea. While my hot flashes have settled down for the foreseeable future, the new need for warmth was even more significant this year with the bitter sting of personal loss: Loss of friends, loss of family, and the absence of things I thought I’d have or hold by now. However, as the days are short and the darkness prevails this time of year, I find myself feeling lost in the chill of winter – as though something on my journey through midlife had been left unfinished. I had successfully cleared the shelves of my belongings, shared my stories with loved ones, and unburdened my soul of emotional anchors to my past. I had focused on what was within my control, but I remained restless and unsettled, and I could not understand why.

Thus far, my journey into midlife had been about loving and letting go of so many things: the hope and expectations I once held for myself and others, the role of sacrificing mother and wife, as well as listening to my heart in the perspective of age and beauty. Over the years, I have done the work necessary to move on. It was only until the loss experienced by a close friend that it came to me. In letting go of what I was leaving behind, I had forgotten to say goodbye.

Living a mindful life involves acknowledging each step on one’s journey. The value of each moment can only truly be savored by the attentive traveler. Unfortunately, so many of us focus on the road ahead that we forget to turn around, survey the distance we had covered, and embrace the experience that brought us to where we are today. I had lived a life with meaning. Letting go of my past, I still needed to say goodbye to my former self, and all that I had accomplished.

So, as I do most every New Year’s Eve, I took quiet account of my prior year. I reluctantly accepted the evolution of friendships that ended. My heart recognized the slow disappearance of family traditions as the ties that bound us all together were breaking. I wept, feeling the frosty cloak of intolerance of a country whose diversity and richness was disappearing. I wrote down my thoughts, my commitments for the coming year, and said farewell. Sending my wishes into the unsettled world, I committed to move forward, following my new course that lied somewhere between that which I could control and that which I could not.

No matter what, I begin the new year with an open heart. I will say goodbye to this winter of my discontent and keep an eye toward adventure. And I say hello the woman I am ready to become.

40 Shades of Green

My husband and I recently returned from a long awaited vacation to the British Isles. It was time to take a break from our jobs, our family stress, and we left the heat and humidity of a midwestern summer behind to discover places like Ireland, and its breathtaking green hills and rolling landscape. It was just the two of us this trip, cruising our way to a new port of call each day, content with letting others take us on adventures to castles, misty overlooks, and an occasional pub. It was good to get away from the obligation of regular life, and the day-to-day rut in which we’d found ourselves at home. While serving as our vacation photographer, I captured every nook and cranny of palace walls, gardens, and local “color”. I wondered what life would be like living amongst the sheep, the gardens, and felt a little jealous of what seemed a simpler life. Everything was different than home. Somehow, back home was no longer the haven I needed it to be – and I felt a longing for the change the “greener” grass could provide.

Life sneaks up on you when you aren’t looking. Growing older is something for which you’re never truly prepared. I sought the emotional contentment that mindfulness could provide me as I transitioned from working full-time mom and wife, to working empty nester. My search for a new “norm” led my friends and I to ponder, “Is this all there is?” Why does the grass always seem greener on the other side of midlife? Where was the freedom and fulfillment I sought at the end of the proverbial rainbow?

The older I get, the more I long for the days when I was younger, in better physical shape, and more tolerant of change. I hadn’t expected the breathtaking view of green pastures to push me into such uncomfortable emotional territory. Looking at my family, my marriage, and my life driven by my societal obligations, I used to ask myself, “Am I enough?” But now, amongst sheep and dairy cows, I found myself asking, “Is this enough?”

After a day abundantly filled with Irish splendor, our tour group returned to the bus. As if our day had come full circle, we sat back in the same seat as when we set out, ready for our tour to be done. On our drive back, we were told a story of an American on vacation in Ireland. Overcome by the beauty of the lush green and the variations of shade with every turn, this man took to his guitar to write a love song. It’s hard to say if Johnny Cash felt more for what he discovered but left behind or the future that lied ahead.

Again I want to see and do
The things we’ve done and seen
Where the breeze is sweet as Shalimar
And there’s forty shades of green

It may take me a while to decide how felt about Ireland. However, knowing that forty shades of “what could have been” will continue to remind me that each day is filled with possibility I cannot ignore. And for that, I am grateful.

Midlife in the rearview mirror

I recently celebrated my 60^th birthday. It was bittersweet, as up until now, I considered myself middle-aged. Not too young, not too old…just right. But as the clock ticked toward this milestone, I was slowly reassessing my midlife momentum into the inevitability of growing “old”.

People say that you are only as old as you feel. These days, however, I’m not feeling the same as I used to feel. I look in the mirror at the aging visage of my soul, which has been changing with each passing day. When did my freckled dots align with the creases of my smile to become a weathered roadmap to growing older? It felt like I was headed straight past the midlife point of no return without a witty comeback. With a heavy dose of snark and sass, I was speeding down the road to “older but wiser”. No chance to turn around, I was following the wrinkled path across my face that was most certainly leading to midlife destruction.

I am proud to say that during these past several years, I’ve worked hard to clear out the baggage of my younger days, which served no purpose other than to block the path to my next adventure. I’d also spent a lot of time wiping down the cobwebs that had covered the windows to my soul. Once cleared, I could finally gaze into the light of the mindful, meaningful woman I’d become. I can now proceed unencumbered, carrying the knowledge I’d curated from my middle years like a GPS to my next destination. But who was I going to be when I got there?

With the odometer marking my journey into the wisdom of my age, I am headed down a new road. I am shifting my lessons in mindfulness from maternal angst into something bold. Am I guided by the lines in my face and the curves in my road? Most definitely. I can’t get to where I need to be without them. And it’s time I put this car in drive.

A last goodbye

Someone close to me died recently. She had filled her life with love and fun and upheaval and all the things that create one’s personal story. She fought valiantly to hold on to the life she’d made, and when she said her last goodbye, we mourned the empty space in our lives that was filled with this person and all she was. While the circle of life continued, we paused to reflect on our own.

When you’re young, life seems to be a race with the prize at the end of it, promising the feeling of success and gratitude. The walking stick we carry as we journey could be our faith, or simply our plan, and it helps us pace our effort, steady us in troubled times, or measure out our achievements in all we set out for ourselves. However, by the time midlife approaches, we seem to look ahead with less intensity and look back more to what we’ve ezperienced along the way. The well-paying job is no longer the proud accomplishment of a young professional but a means to an end to support family and friends in need. The lean and fit body achieved at the gym is no longer a testament to devotion to one’s health as it is more the promise given to loved ones. The value of being present for years to come is worth more than the immediate satisfaction of the weekend party. The young are writing their story, but at what point did I shift from looking forward to all I had yet to do, to looking back to all that I had not done?

Death can come at any time, and regret is a terrible thing – a constant reminder of the road not taken. However, it is the people in your life who eventually become the measure of one’s success, the chapters in your story. The pictures at the memorial service shared a life filled with challenge, fun times, and love. Our recent family loss made me wonder how I would be remembered by others, and how my story would be told. I wept, understanding that the loss I felt was being shared by so many others.

This journey to mindfulness has been instrumental to me, allowing me to release many of the earlier expectations I had placed for myself. In midlife – I love differently, trying to accept more of what is and letting go of what may never be. I shift my personal perspective from one of overachiever to one of memory maker. Finally embracing the story I’d written until now, I love myself more. This self-acceptance will allow me to fail less and accomplish more.

Death and inevitability is not easy. Learning that while moments in life may be a constant, how you look at them can change. At some point I too will say my last goodbye, and hope that my history will have been written into the hearts of those who are left behind.

Turning the page

While in the throws of cleaning out my home library of books, I lost an afternoon wandering through the pages of my past. Although a house fire years ago robbed me of much of my literary collection, I was able to bring the paper survivors with me into my midlife. I found so many good memories of my times as an avid reader. My shelves had become a home to all the parts of my past including my academic required reading, including Advanced French text and beginning Russian – complete with little floppy records reminiscent of those 1970s cereal boxes that affixed the promotional pop hit on the back. My early sci-fi reading adventures of Arthur C. Clarke, Roger Zelazny, Orson Scott Card and others filled out the empty spaces, along with other childhood favorites like Anne of Green Gables. With each page I perused, I was taken back to yesteryear. I relished those days when I found a quiet spot to read on the backyard patio, or when I remained tucked into bed staying up past midnight because I JUST couldn’t put that book down. I often found myself jetting to some foreign land on some historical adventure. I was a literary explorer and these books, like family photographs, represented treasured pieces of my life I could not release from their place in my home and in my heart.

I had developed my life around being a reader and the books I collected. Like the Nancy Drew series I cherished as a child, my books were a testament to the adventures I’d lived. As a college student, I often frequented the used book stores for wartime paper back novels like Ellery Queen, Mike Shayne, and Agatha Christie. Perusing one shelved book, I found a hidden a note made by a store manager…”Save for Lauren”. My life as a reader evolved to not just reading but collecting these treasurers, hoping that one day my future generations would cherish these as much as I did as they discovered the world beyond their backyards. But alas, as my children grew to leave the nest, and their children grew…the world would change so much that my paper adventures had been replaced by digital voyages. I wanted my love of books and these stories to be just as special for my family as it was for me. But it had not come to pass. I paused to wallow in a bit of grief, seeing the meaning behind these books slowly fade.

What was I to do? I knew I had to make room for midlife on these shelves. There was no more need for things to collect dust and crumble into disrepair. However, between these pages were memories to share about me, my life, and where I wanted to go next. But, I had to ask myself, what was it about these books that I dearly wanted to share? Did I care if my grandchildren would want to read about nuclear war? Or 1940s war-time detective stories? Or meditation tips from the Dalai Lama? Rather, would these be the memories I transformed into my so-called life as the mother and grandmother I wanted to be for my future generations? After much reflection, I needed to lift the burden I carried of being the memory-keeper for my family and live the midlife I was meant to enjoy. Filled with fun and the very adventure my young reader days had built.

I finally took a dust rag and wiped down an emptied shelf. Saying goodbye to family was hard, but turning the page to my next mid-life adventure was what I was meant to do. Was my library empty? No. I just said goodbye to one shelf for now. I’m making room for the next edition of my midlife.

The ‘I’ in Team

I finally opened the boxed up desk items from my former employer. It was pretty sparce, as I’d been working virtually through COVID and my workspace was pretty bare bones. But as if to accentuate the cruelty of my jobless condition, I emptied the few items from these boxes on my dining room table to determine what to do with them. I found the achievement awards, the vinyl bound certificates of my tenure, and my logoed mug an ironic joke – all attesting to the wonderous things I’d done for my employer, only for these items to follow me home to sit in a file somewhere.

Without my job, who am I now? I’ve had lots of time to read about generational perspectives on employment – how baby boomers are different than Gen Xers who are different from millennials, etc. Each generation has its own take on how to finding meaning and belonging in the workplace. Whether it’s the enticement of flex time, a coffee bar in the lobby, or company-funded ice cream treat on a hot afternoon, organizations are trying to find the right tools to develop the culture that will bring everyone to the professional table. The goal: a culture of excellence and family all rolled into one. Unfortunately, this family can cut you off when it’s time to make a change. No longer part of the team, you are now an ‘I’.

What I am slowly learning is that without a job, I am still a symphony of experience. My own work of art, my life has not been about a singular career path, but the portfolio of accomplishments that got me where I am today. By striking that balance between personal growth and professional responsibility, I have been able to serve as mother, colleague, motivator, and so much more. What my former employer had forgotten that although a part of the team, I was unique in how I could make a difference. I brought my best to work each day and when I departed, the team would still be there but it would not be the same. I would not be the same.

Now, I have a new home. For my new team, I will bring my professional portfolio with me. Wearing hats like those of student, manager, problem solver, writer, and mother, I will do wonderous things for my new employer. As I drink my coffee out of my new logoed mug, I will have succeeded in putting the ‘I’ back in ‘Team’. And it tastes pretty darn good.

The choices I made

I lost my job today. I arrived at my office to find that a choice had been made for me and that I no longer had a place within our organizational mission. The goal, to help people have a healthy life, inspired us all. Now, I leave behind a life filled with growth and fulfillment to embark on a scary journey to find something new. I feel lost. I invested so much of myself into what I had become. I worked hard to be the master of my own fate. Now I am in shock. I struggle to find the voice I had before this happened. I feel powerless and without purpose.

How does one remain mindful in the throws of midlife upheaval? Haven’t I worked hard transforming into a butterfly from the caterpillar I once was? Hadn’t my moments of mindfulness prepared me for whatever lied ahead? I had learned the importance of being able to pivot as life placed new obstacles in front of me, but being gainfully employed always gave me a choice. Losing my steady ability to walk with a purpose has forced me to stop and survey the road on which I have journeyed. Like the old saying of being barefoot and pregnant, I feel bound to my circumstances and am uncertain of what is next. Someone made a choice that shook me off my foundation, and I don’t like having my options challenged.

Where I go in my life lately has been as a woman in midlife, silver hair and all. But for those who are new to this journey, I am scared for you too. Whether I lived my motherhood or mastered my professional destiny or both, my focus has been on my living my life – my body – and my choice.

It is still unclear how deeply I feel this loss or where I feel it the most. I understand that not everyone is able to choose where and when they make a difference in this world. I am grateful for what I have and I hope it is thankfully expressed with each step I take. But how will I provide for myself and my family? When the time comes to decide my next step, will I be ready? Will I have a choice?

I am struggling to not become a victim of circumstance. However, there are still others who may not be able to pivot to walk a different path. For those who follow: I refuse to let go of my power and the choices I made to become the woman I am now. I will forge ahead to find a new place in which I can prosper. I will find like-minded women who need a friend. And maybe, I can help others become stronger by supporting their ability to choose as well.

Finding the silver lining in my cloud

Being a middle-aged mother in the professional landscape of millennials and Gen Z women can be daunting, especially in the face of pandemic and economic uncertainty. The new normal introduced professional appreciation of better work/life balance, as well as clear communication and trusted relationships across the digital frontier. Working virtually during the pandemic highlighted the impact good lighting, more makeup and great hair can make on any conference call. Don’t get me wrong, a job well done is not about looking good in our Webex meetings. Rather, I have spent time considering the importance of a good visual – and how the impression you make can be key in any virtual engagement. How I presented myself was worth a little investment, right?

But I have returned to the office. Gone are the 100% virtual work weeks. No longer will good lighting, caffeinated confidence, and extra make-up filter my midlife uncertainty. This is real life, and all my midlife tricks of the trade are in plain view. How could I escape looking and feeling as old as I feel? My struggle against time was firmly rooting itself within my workplace, and I was unsure how to respond. All the while, plying myself with age-defying creams and following Pinterest fashion advice for women over 50, I bolstered my self-confidence with L’Oreal Semi-Permanent Dark Blonde #7 – as many of us do. Knowing that my hair was still a youthful shade allowed me to accept the mantle of team aunt – but team mom? No way. But in the losing battle against my gray hair, I admitted defeat and have surrendered the flag of blonde and brown to the victor, agreeing to finally don my silver halo.

In the spirit of the brave women before me (who posted their TikTok videos defying the years with their beautiful silver strands), I told my hairstylist I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but I was willing. I had considered long and hard what this would mean to me, including changing my palette of makeup, understanding what to highlight, what to minimize, and how to make a statement with jewelry, clothing, or something other than bold hair color or makeup. I had to reframe what I was willing to see in myself. I needed to focus not on what I was losing, but what I was gaining. This personal challenge forced me to dig deep in what made me unique – and step away from the competition I felt obliged to endure with other women. I choose now to find the calm before the storm, and hold tight to that silver lining in the cloud of my undoing.

So wish me luck. And for those of you who are struggling to find your new look, don’t worry. We are in this together. We can fix each other’s crown without letting the world know that it’s crooked. And my crown just happens to be silver.

Coloring outside the lines

It’s funny how as you grow older, the things you notice about your life are different than when you were young. The moments that give you peace come from a different place, and it’s little things that take on huge meaning. As I take each day through this pandemic, not only do I notice the isolation, but the inconvenience of all the handwashing, and how I’ve stopped wearing lipstick behind my mask. While old habits die hard, my new norm has focused my attention on the strange aches and pains, the coughing and wheezing that isn’t prompted by pollen, and just plain getting older. My new norm now includes supporting my midlife mentality with the grace of aging. I have tried to embrace the process, but it has been difficult. Nevertheless, my experience is showing more on my visage these days than I’d like.

I take great pride in knowing I don’t fall into making any fashion mistakes mentioned in the latest “Five Fashion Faux Pas after Fifty” TikTok videos and am learning to abide by the expectations we all have of women of a certain age. But the fine lines in my smile, on my hands, and in my daydreams are here to stay. These lines are connecting my dots – and my spots – and charting a course through my midlife in ways that dampen my spirit. How can I remain young at heart while living old in my skin?

So recently, I finally reached down deep to find the little girl who dreamt of that 64-color crayon box complete with sharpener. I needed that imagination to start boldly coloring outside of my lines to make something even more beautiful and alive and ready to set my midlife world ablaze. I’m fighting to hang onto her as she argues for the need to make that zebra with purple stripes and not listen to what is appropriate for a zebra in the world today. You tell them, little girl. Paint the sky red and that zebra with purple stripes. Those dots and lines don’t need to define us…define me. Aging like a fine line should only guide us to color outside those lines to paint our world with who we are, not show the world who they think we must become. You tell them.

A wrinkle in my twinkle

My life has not always been easy. Ups and downs and things that scared me to my core took me to places that forever affected me. Now, I laugh more. I smile more. Less bothers me because I know that it wastes precious energy to sweat the small stuff. However, it has recently come to my attention that in my efforts to remain youthful in both spirit and smile, I am starting to wrinkle. Not in the cute creases of my twinkling eyes, but in the sag of my sagacity.

As a mom of former teenagers, I’ve often taken a discerning view of what life puts in my path. I trust, but am not always trusting. I am happy, but not always joy-filled. The direction I’ve taken in my life comes with qualification – with details, and with explanation. I’ve learned to take the good with the not-so-great. While I believe that life is what you make it, it is never perfect. Lessons one learns often come with a price. If you’re lucky, the wisdom that comes with experience shapes you in ways you’re proud of. Every crease, every fold, every dip into the unknown takes you to a new place. Being mindful of my steps, I focus on where I’m going. I measure my effort. I breathe in the gratitude of knowing that while each day is a gift, I am making the most out of my walks through this life. I couldn’t always say this but I appreciate that I can now.

Looking in the mirror, I see my life shaping my face, my physique, and my joy. I feel I must look past the wrinkle in my twinkle and relish the passion that has put it there. I must work hard to continue my walk down the path of mindfulness. Remaining in the present and not trying to plan my way out of midlife has been difficult. I don’t want to be stuck, but the mirror reminds me that there is balance to every choice I make.

I’m enjoying my midlife journey, and trying not to focus to hard on the lines and turns that shape my midlife. As long as I am guided to a clear path, and sunshine lights my way, a little wrinkle in my twinkle reminds me this trip has been worth it.