“I can't go back to
yesterday because I was a different person then.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
When you wake up in the morning knowing the most exciting
thing you have to do that day is unload the dish washer you know you’re in
trouble. If not for the dog rattling the library door, I would have pulled the
covers over my head and stayed in bed until noon.
But he has a schedule to keep that includes dog walkers to bark at as they pass
by the house so their four-legged companions can leave early morning pee-mail
at our box. There is something pathetic about being jealous of your dog’s
schedule but, darn it, it must be nice to have a purpose in life like he does.
If I start barking at the rabbits as they feed in the back yard in the late
afternoon I hope the neighbors will call Social Services because that will mean
I’ve gone over the edge and into the land of kooky old people who, like Lewis
Carroll did when he wasn’t teaching and writing about mathematics, find our
imaginations more fun to live in than the here and now. Just call me Spot, your faithful Springer Spaniel.
When ever I bellyache about not having a sense of purpose
since Don died, volunteering gets suggested. I duly note and appreciate the
fact that often times the obvious answer to a dilemma is the correct answer.
I’m not dismissing that suggestion although it doesn’t excite me. Call me naïve
but I want to be on fire with passion over the direction I go next in life the way
I used to be in my younger days when a project or idea would consume me. But is
that even possible after we’ve pushed the envelopes of pain and happiness that
come with living a long life? What is it going to take to make me happy again?
Is it finding other people to connect with, finding a cause to fight for or a
project to prime my creative juices---a combination of all three? And how is my
search for happiness in my age bracket any different than at other crossroads through
out our lives? Is fear of failure more or less an issue as we age and are
contemplating a major life-style change? As we age do we become so afraid of
missteps that we forget that missteps sometimes lead us to our greatest joys?
“Who in the world am
I? Ah, that's the great puzzle.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
One thing, of course, that will make me happy again is
getting my dominant arm out of the sling at the end of the month. When I get
the sling off, though, I will probably need some therapy. I can’t get my hand
up close enough to my face to eat and my fingers wouldn’t stretch out fully
yet. This has been a major setback in my pursuit of happiness in the post-Don
era of my life. Breaking a bone at any age can bring a wave of depression into
your life but I’m discovering that at my age it can also scare the crap out of
you. Accidents happen so quickly and just as quickly they can cause you to end
up in a nursing home when you have no one at home to help you. And this is
where I need to remind myself about the Rule of Living in the Moment, and not
to borrow trouble from the Department of What If This or That Happens. If I was
inclined to get a tattoo it should read: DON’T BORROW TROUBLE. IT WILL GET HERE
SOON ENOUGH!
Broken bone or not, I suspect that all widows eventually ask
themselves the make-me-happy-again question. The pink elephant in the room is
the fact that a lot of us would secretly say the one thing that would make us
happy again is to rewind our lives back to a time when we could have done
something to change the outcome we are now living with---the death of our
spouse. But that possibility is in the realm of Alice
in Wonderland going down the rabbit hole and try as we might, we can’t turn our
lives into a fairytale where anything is possible. We can imagine turn-back-the-clock
scenarios, though, and in the end they have the power to help us heal, make
peace with the past, and that’s a good thing. I thought I had moved past the
worst of my grief…until I broke my arm and then the “poor me” feelings came
rushing back, and now the stress of not knowing where the future will take me
is nipping at my heels again. Or maybe---just maybe---it’s too early in the
timeline of widowhood to expect my mojo back. ©
“Would you tell me,
please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don’t much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough.”
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don’t much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
