I see you…

One of the commitments I made to myself as I became an empty nester was to find a place to contribute, outside of work. I wanted to be intentional, appreciating the moment and supporting my desire living mindfully. I have always believed that small things can make a big difference, and after having become better at maintaining personal boundaries around my time, I felt it was something to help me grow within my community. As with many people these days, I’m guided by recommendations from friends or information I review in the media. So when I found grassroots organization whose goal was to inspire others to “pay it forward”, I leapt at the chance to see what I could do. My life had been filled with doing for others, whether it was family or friends, but now I wanted to see how I could make a difference simply my inspiring random acts of kindness connected with my midlife spirit. It was not about what money I could give, or blocks of time to dedicate, but how what small thing I did could make a difference to someone else.

I found Kansas City Heroes by chance, but my connection with them was intentional. As the movie quote goes, “I can tell you I don’t have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career…” I felt I could help not by becoming another set of hands in something big, but trying to do something with what I did best – understanding the process and helping make good things better. While I was confident in what I could offer, what I didn’t expect was that it would change how I looked at my community.

A big part of how Kansas City Heroes inspires others is by finding pockets of population where need is great, and trying to create a connection between someone who is inspired and those who receive the act of kindness. Because one of these populations is the houseless community, I began to learn more about the daily struggles these folks face. While I have been settling into my home developing how I might better attune with my midlife, other people are transitioning from having nothing to needing something as they seek a better life, not having the seeming luxury I did. As my friend and founder of the organization has shared with me and others within the group, often these folks just want to be seen. Paying it forward can be as simple as having a water bottle to give to the person on the street corner on a hot day. It can be giving someone a ride to a critical appointment that will make a difference in receiving benefits or experiencing a delay that could be deadly.

Scary words, but at the same time empowering. Understanding I have the ability to do something means I have a responsibility I can’t ignore. These days, I look at my community differently. Instead of feeling the warmth of a common quilt, I am looking at the seams and in the tears where it’s not as warm. I have learned that when these edges fray, it is up to us to help stitch them back together. It is up to us to pay attention to those who are unable to stay connected. So these days, I’m learning to sew. And I’m driving with a case of water in my car just in case.

I see you, Kansas City.

The people in my village

A colleague of mine recently shared a fascinating article about the impact one’s family structure might have on their overall health, well-being, and access to opportunity. Having grown up in a traditional, nuclear family, the possibility of other family models seemed unusual to me. Women who have volunteered to be a new “mother” to gay children who have been cast out by their own parents offer support where there was little. Blended families with children from shared parents and different sibling dynamics inspire discussion about how to use yesterday’s terminology with today’s new social norms. The times where the questions we ask ourselves and our children about relationships, romantic choices and identities have evolved into a new understanding of what family means to each one of us. Sometimes, it really does take a village to raise a child. In my midlife, I have questions about this I struggle to find the answers to.

Relationships that are built on love often result in children. In my family, I have children and stepchildren and siblings to those children who are from other facets of their families. I have people I consider family, but whose details require complicated explanations to those who are new to me. Establishing the relationship terms for these people is often difficult. Child of my grandchild’s father who is not my grandchild. Parent of my stepdaughter’s son-in-law. My traditional brain tries to put each of these individuals into a category, so they can be easily defined. But the new norm tells me that there may be no new name for them. It worries me that I will not be with them, be to them, the way our society expects me to. In the seating chart of my wedding life, I don’t know who sits that the main table anymore. I don’t know who gets the reserved seating because the etiquette has all changed. I am trying to follow the rules that aren’t meaningful anymore. What I am finding is that there is no easy answer to the questions I ask.

As with many new situations, I wonder if the way I love those dear to me has changed, if I don’t know their family role. I don’t think it has, but I’m finding I need to let go of the way I used to view my family, and simply look at them as my tribe. My tribe: the people who connect to me in a network of love and support. Shifting this paradigm has required mental midlife work, as I am a list maker, plan implementer, and rule follower. Planning the new way to navigate through my growing family life is not easy. I will have a new grandchild soon, and I’ve decided that it is ok to chart a new path through my village, as long as it takes me to my tribe – where I am home.

Cracks in the ceiling

During this time of COVID-19 and the importance of limiting exposure to the outside world, I believe we have all spent a little more time focused on home. More of my friends and family put up holiday decorations earlier than normal. Wanting that feeling of coziness and safety among dear ones was key to supporting one’s emotional health. I was sent plenty of images showing Hallmark movie holiday décor and families in festive attire. Social media blurred its lens to display pictures that others in our community wanted us to see – that they were making it. They were surviving. That they were ok and looking ahead to healthier and happier times. But this season, not all families wore matching Christmas pajamas.

In many families, like mine, there is discord at home. Fractures in our faith in what is right and what is wrong have made me uncomfortable with those who tell me my mask makes me someone who doesn’t value freedom. I am afraid of the growing violence and hate disguised as support for our leadership. And most of all, I am concerned that friendships are being torn apart. At a time when my world is small, and restricted, my relationships with family and friends are what I have left to connect me with the outside. While my midlife self is decluttering my home of memories and emotional baggage from the past in order to live in the present, it means that I am more closely examining the four walls of my world. And right now, my world is my home. My door keeps sickness out and lets family in. My friendships help me sort out what to keep and what to throw away. However, in these desperate times, I am not feeling as safe in my community. The overly attentive mother is examining her midlife with scrutinizing detail, and what she is finding is not pretty.

The complexity and challenge of remaining healthy and compassionate when the world around you is crumbling can be overwhelming. The discourse of the day about vaccines, masks, and even safe holidays at home put me at odds with what normally makes me healthy and happy this holiday season. While I should have been decking the halls and making merry, I was fortifying my structure and engaging in debate that weakened my faith in my community. This new year, I have found cracks in my ceiling. I just hope that my roof, and the roof over us all, doesn’t come tumbling down.