In his book “20,000 Days”, Robert D. Smith quotes William Borden, “No reserves, no retreats, no regrets.” In my quest to live each year as though I have been given 365 days; of these three, the one I most often omit is “no reserves.” How often I hold back, linger, wait. In that conservatism I insure that I have no cause for retreat or regret.
This week, Jeff Goins is blogging a slow down challenge.
I whole-heartedly understand the benefits (spiritual, mental, emotional, physical) for slowing down and savoring. I have practiced it more often than not the past few years. For the past six months I have been walking, writing, reading, playing the piano, enjoying the world around me, as often as possible. Yet, instead of continuing with that regime, I am doing the reverse. I have taken a full time job. Chide me not. I needed to eat and I had bills to pay.
I took a wonderful job, believing that a writer can find time to do what she loves to do – is inspired to do – write. What I had forgotten is, when I am over-busy, the inspiration – the desire – withers. On the other hand, I am remembering that inspiration also starves when the writer is hungry, worried about how to pay the rent. Once again, my priorities want to pick a fight.
Perhaps, “no reserves,” means no sleeping in? Waking and getting to a keyboard (piano or Mac) in time for sunrise is yet another source of inspiration.
Birthdays wouldn’t be so hard if it wasn’t for the candles. The cake looks more like swiss cheese or a mini gopher colony once the candles are removed leaving pocks and potholes where the frosting used to be. My three-year-old granddaughter seizes the candles, licking off the frosting and then double dipping as she waits for me to cut the cake.
This year my candles would be difficult to arrange in orderly rows and ranks; an odd number; a prime age. Prudently and perhaps with a bit of thrift, my mother placed only three candles in the corner of the cake – just for tradition. So everyone could sing by candlelight. I took a breath and blew. Success. My grandchildren clapped and cheered and shouted, “Make a wish! Make a wish!”
Suddenly, I was stuck. Pop quiz! Make a wish. What do I wish for? Blank. Perplexed. It is such a heavy responsibility to have only one wish. There is a fear and shame that goes along with wishes. Fear that you might wish for something and be disappointed. Shame that you are engaging in wishful thinking and should shake a leg and do something about it.
“Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.” What if I blow out all the candles and the magic works? What if I wish for the wrong thing, and get it? Let me think this through. If I make a wish, have I committed myself? After all, it is pure laziness to engage in wishful thinking and then take no action to make the thing you want or wish for come about.
What do I want? For me? Wishing and wanting, doesn’t that sound selfish? I have no wants. I don’t know what I want. So then, what do I need? Nothing, really, I have learned to get along. Poke me, I have no feelings. What do I want? I want to do the right thing; or rather, to not do the wrong thing. I want not to make a mistake.
Wait a minute, there is something deep inside that hungers for something more. What is it? What is that niggling thought? Like the spoiled little prince who cried out, “I want something hot as summer and cold as winter,” I am vaguely dissatisfied. I want, I want, something different; something new and wonderful. A new life, a new love, a new location, a new job. Really? Am I wishing for those things? What am I thinking of? What if the new life was just out of the frying pan and into the fire? What if it wasn’t what I wanted and I was sorry I left my old life? Do I even have energy for new love? Do I want a new location? Think, woman!
What is the right thing to wish for? World peace? World prosperity? Are those wishes I won’t feel guilty about? But, can I do anything about it?
Happy Birthday! You are thinking too much again. Who needs a birthday spanking when you can beat yourself up without even trying? It must be the fault of all those candles.
A few days ago, while searching for images to update and illustrate my writer’s profile, I came across a photo album titled, “Rancho.” Flipping the pages, this thought escaped me unbidden, “Man, was I ever in my prime! And I didn’t even know it.”
Scrapbook of one prime of life
I was in my early forties when I co-wrote, co-directed, designed costumes, designed and constructed the sets for a children’s musical. It was a nearly charmed time in my life. At first I volunteered as pianist for a newly formed children’s choir, quickly became assistant / substitute director, costume designer, and organizational wizard. What a ride. Before the two year journey was up, I had organized and delivered a week of summer music camp activities, worked for a recording studio, helped produce four children’s church musicals and one Christmas CD. When those years culminated in “Rancho Prodigolly,” it was no longer just the director and me, but a full team complete with wardrobe director, choreographer, and stage hands.
It can be difficult to look back, see an astounding success, notice things have tapered off, and worry you are now past your prime. It is somewhat consoling to take a look at prime numbers. You will notice erratic gaps between seven and eleven; 23 and 29. The great thing about growing older is that I have seen enough to know that prime of life experiences come again and again. What makes it the prime of life for you? Is it having resources, money to do what you dream? Is it completing an advanced degree?
Prime for me is when somebody sees my value, my worth, puts me in that position and gives me free reign to shine. Given this affirmation, I prove myself beyond their expectations. But I have to reveal a little bit of myself, at least the tip of the ice berg, before anyone knows, before they think of me. Often, this revelation happens through volunteering or taking entry level jobs. Sometimes, it is an arduous journey between primes.
I don’t know about you, but I want another prime.
Does the prime of life refer to only a narrow corridor of years?
In my twenties, I was in the prime of life; entrepreneurial, physically more beautiful than I had ever been. In my thirties, I hit my stride writing scripts, musicals and getting other people where they needed to go. My forties yielded hours in the music classroom where I knew I was being fully she I was meant to be. Most recently, I have experienced prime moments, tiny snippets of time when I connected with a tutoring or piano student.
It can be an arduous and erratic journey between primes. I am making the journey. I feel another prime of life coming on. How about you? Where is your next prime?
Some months ago, while car shopping, I posted on Facebook “ Red with a spoiler,…but will it make me happy?” And my 24- year-old daughter responded, “Yes, yes it will.” If you know my daughter and me, this exchange seems ludicrous, almost batty. We both know that things don’t make you happy, that money doesn’t buy happiness. We are accustomed to live frugally.
I know some things that do bring happiness: a heart full of gratitude, time spent with those I love, the sweet feeling of success large or small.
Welcome home from your hike
Within a week of purchasing the vehicle, I was able to travel to Ft. Collins and visit my two younger children. I had been desperate to see them for several months. I can take the car to work or into less accessible areas. When I return from a long hike and see my own *Red Pearl in the distance, it is like coming home. My heart is filled with gratitude.
When I began car shopping, I knew just what I wanted; a dependable, fuel conscious Subaru Outback, preferably red, within the scope of my savings account. The spoiler was unexpected lagniappe. So is the upgraded stereo system – literal music to my ears.
It is impossible to ever enjoy a feeling of success without having set goals – large or small. Reflection on goals met or sweet success brings contentment and confidence. The confidence comes from being able to say, “I did what I said I was going to do.”
Andrea commences the rest of her life May 2012
I got my children through school. I finished my degree. After much research, saving and shopping; I got the car I wanted. But these successes share some things in common. They all cost money, time, focus.
Money may not buy happiness, but it does augment the time I spend with those I love, the sweet feeling of success; and hey, money right when it is needed causes overwhelming gratitude.
This year, I’m going to do what I said I was going to do. I’m going to write a book. I’m going to live as though I have been given only 365 days to live. That is going to take time and focus. Oh, and undoubtedly some money.
* Red Pearl – sorta like the Black Pearl, and captained by a woman. The dealer certificate lists the color as regatta red pearl.
A residence where every type of music and musical personality emanates from the walls of every room.
Another curtain call – one last hurrah in the final stages of life.
What could be more appropriate?
I took myself to a movie last night. Yes, I skipped supper and ran out the door after my final piano student to make it to the historic, downtown Avalon before showtime. I sat in the lumpy and aged theater seats of what was known as the Cooper Theater in my childhood. It was the place I first saw the original “Fantasia.” Also where I gagged at the smell of a cigarette smoked surreptitiously nearby. But that was once upon a time, very long ago.
As the reel rolled, I was reminded over and over again of who I am and who I used to be. More importantly, I was reinforced in my resolve of the past few years to live each year as though I have been given 365 days to live. Things that need to be said, relationships that need to be healed, dreams I want to come true; come under deadline when I have been given 365 days to live. As Robert D. Smith says in his book, 20,000 Days (2013), “…imminent death inspires clarity of purpose.”
Was it a feel-good movie? Do tears make you feel good? Does getting older comfort your soul? In some ways, the plot was reminiscent of “August Rush” with the underlying theme of never giving up on your music. Over the past year, I have played numerous one hour piano gigs at retirement centers. The movie, “Quartet,” is a poignant and comedic reminder of the changes that happen as talented, intelligent people age. Think of it as “Pitch Perfect,” for great- grandparents.
These were opera singers. While I have never aspired to sing opera, the similarities to the music life in general brought back vivid memories – pictures from the scrapbook of time. Reggie’s magnificent presentation, to high school kids, of the similarities between rap and opera reminded me of numerous times I stood in front of a class, endeavoring to engage middle schoolers by following the common thread, however thin, between their favored genre and classical music – back through history to the roots of music.
Are you like me? Whatever my goals and dreams, I want to keep doing them, reaching that high-point again and again. It is not enough to cross something off the bucket list – to redeem and reconcile the past. Living each day in the present, saying what needs to be said and doing what needs to be done daily is also part of the deal.
I will make music. I will. I will. I will. And, I will live to write about it.
What are you doing in the 365 days you have been given? Are you keeping the music alive? Please leave me a comment, so we can encourage each other.
A brief return to the stage as Mrs. Mullins in the 2006 production of Carousel at Colorado Christian University in Lakewood, Colorado, Matt Nageli as BillyA five-month foray into the world of barbershop singing with a quartet of my own in early 2012
Not Pictured: A senior’s oldies band I played with briefly in Seattle in 2011 resulted in relationships with other aging musicians.
A few weeks ago, I bought a new car – new to me anyway. I had been looking for several weeks, and doing my research. I did not purchase blindly. I knew what make and model I wanted and why. Before closing the deal, I ordered the CARFAX and had a mechanic do a 41 point inspection. Some items needed to be addressed in the near future, but they were not critical. The information informed my purchase price and my savings account.
With delight I moved through the purchase and titling phases and took my new vehicle for a spin to all my favorite places:
The Colorado National Monument
The grocery store
Ft. Collins to visit two of my children
What a ride!
Things were unfolding just as they should.
Then, I hit a bump in the road. On Easter Sunday morning, cold and frosty in Ft. Collins, my wonderful car refused to start for an extended period of time. Give me a break! It’s a Rocky Mountain Edition Subaru. After noon, I enjoyed the 5 hour return trip to my little adobe house without negative incident and with several leisurely sightseeing stops along the way.
At noon on Monday, when the weather was fine, the car once again balked at start-up. And at 7:00 Tuesday morning. On Wednesday, I followed my intuition and filled the gas tank with premium from my regular supplier. (That’s the thing about a Subaru, you return from a road trip and still have to drive around town for a week to empty the gas tank). My Friday morning start was better, but over the weekend things digressed again. Thursday, as I prepared to return to the mechanic for the recommended repairs, it took 15 minutes to get the car started. I’ll be honest. Cold starts were one of the reasons I sold my 1994 Subaru in February and the buyer knew that. I paid for an upgrade to 2004.
This type of frustration leads me to think, “I bought a lemon,” or; “The seller deceived me.” But logic says, “this is a one owner car, 9 years old. The car has 184,000 miles on it. You do not keep a lemon for 9 years and put 184,000 miles on it.” This too, shall pass. Yes, I bought a nine year old car, expecting to put out a thousand on repairs every year – but, $1,700 in the first two weeks? That’s a little steep.
This car is a part of my decision to live 2013 as though I have been given 365 days to live. Already it provided the freedom and confidence to travel over the mountain to loved ones. It is my ticket out of town anytime I need to flee. With regard to unforeseen expense, I will say over and over to myself, “it’s just a bump in the road, it’s just a bump in the road.”
Let’s hope the same phrase gets me through tax time.
Andy Williams, Elvis Presley and Neil Diamond crooned, “Then I’ll stay, until it’s time for you to go (Buffy Sainte-Marie).” Though I am a tenaciously loyal soul, this has been my chosen motto and mission this year.
It is one thing to commit, in marriage, for life. Quite another to commit wholeheartedly when you don’t know how long the life of a project, activity or job may be. I am learning, ever so slowly, to hold things loosely, not to base my dreams, goals, or life on any one particular outcome, event or circumstance; not to control the response of another.
I am learning that you cannot force the outcome with relationships; job, social, spiritual, even love.
“The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image (Thomas Merton)”
One of the ways I let those I love – including me (because how can you love your neighbor as yourself if you don’t love yourself well enough?) – be perfectly themselves; one of the ways I remember to hold jobs and opportunities loosely; is to go about humming quietly:
“Don’t ask why,
Don’t ask how
Don’t ask forever…
I’ll stay until it’s time for me to go.”
Elvis, Neil Diamond, Andy Williams; they sang so convincingly. Now, the task is to convince myself.
Putting One Foot in Front of the Other, Hiking for Life!
“Don’t ask why,