I do not want to be this busy. I have extricated myself from corporate life, downsized to a turn-key city box for urban sleepovers, and outsourced as many care and maintenance tasks as are available to maintain our home. I was asked the other day if I played pickleball, would I like to? There was no hesitation in my response – I don’t have time. What I meant is that it is not a priority.
In this liminal time of my life, I am faced with many options. I am fortunate. My challenge is respecting and protecting my core and authentic passions and commitments. The imagined endless amount of time afforded to retired people isn’t materializing for me. My current project is to fuse time and priorities into a sustainable lifestyle.
I imagine a job description for a vibrant, almost 70-year-old:
- must maintain good health through nutrition, exercise, and engage in social connections
- be available (within reason) for grandparenting
- host family events
- keep mind active – learn and challenge brain cells to nurture synapses and grey matter, schedule a variety of hobbies and activities – a mix of old and new
- be fluid and available if a family member or friend is in need
- spend large sums of money on hair, face, and clothing to look natural and graceful, as the skin and body sag uncontrollably
- make time to explore dormant talents and yearnings to grow creatively
I recently attended a four-part workshop that led me down a path of contemplation about my relationship with time. I have been hardwired for urgency my entire life. I drew a picture of Gumby, the green rubber figure of my youth, whose legs, arms, and body could be twisted into every shape imaginable. In my lifelong battle against time, my tendency was to frantically contort to whatever I thought would make me look worthy, productive, and successful. There was never enough time to do all that I believed I needed to do, so I walked, talked, and accomplished quickly. I was manically determined to be a visibly successful working mother, with a well-appointed home, three well-mannered children with good grades and straight teeth – ideally with an enviable physical or musical talent, be well dressed at all times, maintain a lean and fit body, and have a rested and handsome husband by my side, while volunteering to be class parent. I dreaded the festive season because it added a level of unattainable perfection.
Shortly after the birth of our third child, I broke down in tears of overwhelm when asked to bake a tray of cookies for the Christmas concert. I did it anyway, arriving at the school with a tray in one hand and a bucket of newborn baby in the other. Time and priorities were chronically combating with each other.
I am once again reminded that at this stage of my life, there are opportunities for me to choose, to make conscious decisions. Acknowledging that there are still only 24 hours in a day, and that there are fewer days ahead of me than behind me supports my decision making. I battle stories in my head that reinforce old beliefs, that give voice to my inner critic (I call her Edna), that wish to duel with a newfound sense of freedom that creeps into my psyche. When I am charged with energy, the interests and opportunities are endless, and I tend to overcommit. When I am tired, sad, or overwhelmed, nothing looks possible, so I decline and withdraw. Identifying my life purposes (several, never one) while being realistic about time and energy provides the guideposts for my actions.
While watching lazy flakes of snow coat the valley that lies outside my window, I am sequestered in my room. I have chosen to take a break from painting salt-dough figures with my daughter and grandsons. The Norman Rockwell picture of family arts and crafts will have to wait while I write. It’s a priority.
“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.” — Steve Jobs