On Aging

I think a bit about aging these days and the things I dreamt of doing someday.  The amount of time I had to experience these dreams stretched out in front of me, the end date not on the horizon.

At 44, the end date is in sight. I'm realizing that many of these dreams will likely not be realized and accepting that this is okay.  What I have and what I will experience is enough. My life has been meaningful just as it is.

I had a visit from my childhood best friend last week, her husband, and her 17 year old son. We sat outside a burger joint, a perfect Seattle summer evening. It was warm enough for shorts, not so hot that it made you sweat and the daylight lasted till 9 p.m..

Like a scene from The Big Chill, we sat reminiscing, sharing stories and laughing like we did as kids, unrestrained and worry free. Her son politely tolerated what I can imagine was boring old people talk. He sat mostly silently looking around at the passerbyes. Eventually he excused himself to browse a record store. In him I felt my own eagerness at his age to break free, to make my mark, to live my own life. I felt the excitement and wonder of what may lie ahead for him, so many possibilities still available.

I wonder, how did it happen this change from youth to middle age? I look at my friend sitting across the table from me. Her hair is now long and silver but I still see her as I did when we were ten. I watch us as her husband tells a story. I see that we are the older people of my youth , having grown up conversations. I am awed and proud of who we have become. We are full people, richened by our life experiences. We are clay which has been molded, painted and put in the kiln. We are pieces of art, valuable, each with its own story worthy of appreciation.

At 17, her son is still softly formed clay. I wonder what he will become, what detailing life will etch into him, and what he will display after being put through the fire. I am content, then, to be where I am in life. I am enjoying my life just as it is and I'm ready to be enjoyed and valued just as I am.

On Satisfaction

I learned a new youngster term this week,  YOLO. My 14 year old son, Ben, kept saying,  "YOLO, Mom.  YOLO!" Then he'd take a running start and go  sliding on one of the mounds of icy snow in our path. 

Ben and I went on a camping trip in Washington's Central Cascades this past week.  The fourth of July crowds were bumper to bumper on Sunday afternoon heading West back into the Seattle area on a meandering two lane highway.  We however,  were heading east,  away from town and away from crowds. It never crossed our minds that soon we'd be standing on snow in our shorts.

As many of you may know,  I'm not big on thrill seeking.  I was the one child at slumber parties who wanted to actually sleep.  I didn't ride a coaster until I was an adult and I don't go down escalators without one hand free to hold onto the rail.  No amount of coaxing with, "You only live once,  Mom!" was going to get me to go sliding out of control down a mound of melting ice even if we weren't three miles from our car on a mountain ridge.  Ben, however, found making fun of my aged sensibilities thoroughly satisfying.

On our descent we came across the last of the snow mounds, not far from the trail head.  Like he'd done so many times before,  he took a running start.  Perhaps the terrain had a greater slope or perhaps the invincibility of the age got the better of him, but this time Ben lost his balance. His arms went windmill style.  A flexed foot lifted off the ground in front of him, his torso leaned sideways and to the rear. Somehow he managed to remain right footed, if not humbled.  I said. "YOLO, Ben. Is this how you want to die? YOLO!"

I guess you could say that the hike was mutually satisfying.

On hubris

It strikes me how nice the younger generation of doctors are that I come into contact with at work. They treat me with respect, as a peer.  That has not historically been the norm in the doctor nurse relationship. Of course still there are outliers, many of which you'll find in cardiology.

This brings to mind an image of an open chest cavity, lights shining down upon it and a gloved hand reaching under the beating heart. I can see how that could lead to hubris. Then again when I imagine that the gloved hand is mine, a sense of my own insignificance, of humility surrounds me.  What an honor to be in that position, to be entrusted with someone's life, to be holding God's handiwork, a miracle of nature, this thing we call the heart.

I guess it makes sense. It makes sense that some people, when faced with their own insignificance, respond with hubris.