Wisdom of Old Age

I'm a worrier. I worry a lot. I worry that I'm not good enough. I worry about how my failings and shortcomings affect other people. I worry that when I tell my dad I'll call him the next day but then I forget until long after he's asleep --I worry that he thinks I forgot him, I worry that he waited and waited and waited and I let him down. I worry that I've deprived my parents of walking me down the aisle and of grandchildren, and that I've let them down, do they really know that's what I yearn for most one day? I worry that I worry too much and can be a drain on my friends and family. I worry that I'll wear them out and will be left ultimately alone.  I feel bad on a personal level when I can't fix things. And so, I worry. And many may say that my worries are unfounded; That my dad clearly had more to do in his day than sit around waiting for me to call; that I'm still young; that it's not practical to fix every problem of everyone else that you come across in life.  It eats away at me for hours when I miss an IV attempt on the most difficult of patients (even if I had just got the IV on the chubby dehydrated six-month old that four other people were unable to get).  I know that some say that it's impossible to be perfect always, but still, I worry. And I cry, and I have a hard time sleeping. So sometimes I make lists. I make lists of all the worries swimming in my mind preventing it from silence and rest. I write them down and it sets them free.  At least for the night. Sometimes I write the same thing consecutively for many days. Sometimes I write nothing, because sometimes I'm at peace with me.  And that's what part of my New Year's Resolution is about. Being a more kind person --especially to myself.  So I try. I try every day to trade in my worries for thoughts of accomplishments and happiness. For thoughts of blessings and good fortune.

Along those lines, I'm quite enjoying my classes this quarter. I'm taking an elective class on the assessment of the older adult. The first week of class we were assigned to read a book written by K. Eileen Allen, a 90 year old woman from Seattle, entitled "I Like Being Old." I was surprised by how much I enjoyed and related to the book.  It wasn't just about how to age gracefully and avoid dependent living, it was about life lessons applicable to all ages.  She states that for her happiness is finding the balance between reaching out to people and spending time with herself. I like that. She says that happiness is getting rid of the "oughts." She no longer fees bound by other people's ideas of how she should live her life or even by what she thought she "had to do" earlier in her life. What a beautiful philosphy is that?! And why do we have to wait until we're 90 to figure that out?  She spends some time talking about being grateful to be aware that she's happy, and that happiness is an "inside job" after all. Love. She says, "A dazzling sunrise offers it's glory for only a few moments, and I miss the joy it brings if I don't acknowledge it right then and there."  She's also realistic. I love that she no longer believes that every cloud has a silver lining --because quite frankly, sometimes, they don't. She speaks on the importance of meditation, something I'd really like to implement into my life, and perhaps this quote spoke the most to me:

                    "It feels good to quiet myself, be in the here and now, and not worry about what 
                     happened yesterday or will happen tomorrow. Old perfectionist me often feels 
                     I'm not doing a good enough job... But when I stop stewing over what's wrong, 
                                         I'm able to see my virtues more than my faults."

She concludes that "Life is a gift and a giver of gifts to be treasured and rejoiced in each day. Life is impartial, neither singling me out for special favors nor to be a victim. Being happy acknowledges the gifts of this world and living happy is up to me."  So tonight as I get ready for bed instead of letting worries cloud my pretty little head, I'll write them down and let them go. I'll look at myself in the mirror as I wash my face and acknowledge that I am beautiful. I'll remember the beautiful picture from the drive home of the orange painted sky bleeding into the orange-hued lake --a crystal clear and still reflection of the surrounding shore and brilliant sky. The glistening snow-capped Olympic Mountains off in the distance.  And I'll pledge to be more grateful, more aware, and more happy tomorrow. Not every cloud has a silver lining, and not every day is happy, but acknowledging the little things and the little moments that we're happy is a beautiful start.