Of petty things… of greater things… of sense of purpose… of letting go…

Life throws the proverbial curve ball at us – at all of us, to varying degrees, with varying intensity, with varying frequency. What varies, I suppose, is how we react to it, how much significance we give to it, what we learn from it, what we tell ourselves, how we change ourselves.

We have all met impressive people. Perhaps, you are one such impressive person yourself. People doing wonderful things, making a difference, realizing their dreams. People with tenacity and optimism - who don’t come in their own way. People who see the greater scope of things, see the greater good, rise above the petty.

And then there are some of us – who allow the pettiness of life to affect us. I am increasingly and drearily aware of the smaller things that assume bigger proportions these days.  

What changed, I wonder. Why do things that I would have laughed off earlier, now leave me with a sense of groundlessness? Why do I react more to things I would have allowed to slide? Why have I become less accepting of things that do not seem right? Have I simply become petty?

Is it hardship of sorts that makes us more reactive? Does it create a heightened sense of alertness? And does this sense of alertness make us focus on the smaller stuff? As it settles in, does it create a haze that will no longer allow us to see what is more important?

I seem to care more. But am I caring about the right things?  

At what point, do we begin to allow the pettiness of life to affect us, to influence us, to take us away from the greater good, the greater scope of things?

Is it a lack of a greater sense of purpose that drives us to do so?

How do we define our sense of purpose and rise above the petty? For some of us, how do we reinvent our sense of purpose (even the thought of that seems painfully daunting, sigh…). How do we keep sight of the greater possibilities – which in reality, may be little things – but those that makes our heart sing?

How do we not confine ourselves to our limitations – but instead, give ourselves permission to give validity to a greater sense of purpose and rise above the little things?

How do we not waste our days preoccupied by the pettiness of existence?  

The circles of age...

Age is just a number? Age is just a mindset? Or is it? Why then, do we mostly find ourselves in the company of people our own age?  When we think of friends, we mostly think of people who belong to our generation – sure, a few years here and there, a decade here or there, doesn’t seem to matter, especially as we get older. But we seem to stick to our generation – whatever that is – or whoever we imagine belongs in there.

As parents, this ‘generation’ is sometimes our kid’s friends’ parents. So is generation defined by common areas of interest, or lifestyles, or general situation in life? Does that keep us somewhat confined? Is it just more comfortable? More likely to happen? Does it simply make more sense?  

What happens when our paths collide with persons from other generations, at different points in their life? How is it that we rarely make an effort to hang out with them (unless they’re family)?

Take for instance, my constantly colliding path with seniors in the realm of exercise. If on the rare chance that I take an exercise class, I stand tentatively at the door, check for seniors, and if I see some, I walk in. Hmm… I know, I know… sounds pathetic, huh? Maybe. But it has worked pretty well for me.

I used to go to a tai chi class that was predominantly populated by 60, 70, and 80 year olds, with just a scattering of younger folks. I loved that class. I loved the friendships I was making with these amazing seniors. I wondered if I would have their joie de vivre when I was older.

They were always friendly, welcoming and encouraging, even as I threatened to shatter the overall zen of their class with my general confusion, taking off in wrong directions, almost crashing into the frail 70 something next to me…

The class moved in unison to soothing music with synchronization and peaceful smiles. Well, at least most of the class… Some new ones (at times just one - moi) promised to derail the class. But they showed delight each time I returned, promised I would eventually get it, and even invited me to their holiday potluck.

Then, there are times, when I force myself into the pool for aqua jogging. I make sure to choose a time when there is a batch of seniors doing their aqua aerobics. For if the water is not warm enough, they make plenty of noise about it. Not to reveal the devious workings of my mind… but that is my assured way of wading in a warm pool in winter.

Besides it is fun. Their instructor belts out rock and roll numbers, and Elvis croons to the crowd in the pool – some with perfectly powdered noses and make-up and even pearls! It makes me smile even when I am especially grumbly about the aqua jogging. 

They smile and wave at me and many invite me to join their class. I tell them that I can’t do what they do – an hour in the pool. I’m in the pool barely fifteen minutes. Someday soon, they assure me, and consider me part of their team already.

So now you know I’m quite popular in the eighty-year-old circles. So, just to disprove that I’m actually an eighty-year-old in a forty-year-old’s skin, let me tell you about the other day.

I recently got an electric car. There are currently very few of the kind on the street, and the sweet little thing sometimes gets attention. The other day as I parked downtown, a very cool 20-something-skateboarding-dude struck a conversation with me. He wanted to know all about the car. I smiled in my mind, thinking how unlikely it would be for him, to strike a conversation with me, otherwise.

But his energy and enthusiasm was infectious. He seemed to know more about my car than I did. “I mostly skateboard or bike, but I would drive that car. I’ve been thinking of buying it,” he told me approvingly. Just for a moment, I felt just as cool and hip and young as my new friend.

So apparently, we enjoy interacting with generations other than our own. Then why don’t we do more of it? Interestingly enough, when I hang out with my tai chi friends, I feel quite youthful. When I chat with cute strangers on the street (okay, I’m really not a creepy person… just trying my hand at humor), I take in their youthful energy. As I believe would be the case with most people.

There seems to be some richness to these interactions. I suppose there is much to be learned from those at different stages of their life. Much to discover about ourselves. But I suppose it would take some amount of letting go - to allow ourselves to do so, to not see ourselves as different from them, to see them as a continuation of ourselves in either direction.

What do you think?

The flight of stairs… the scope of things…

Last year, on our trip to India, a bunch of school friends decided to check out our school campus. We walked all around, admiring, laughing, reminiscing… the jungle gym, the tree where the dabbawallas lefts the lunch boxes, the tamarind tree, we would pelt stones at, to make the tart brown fruit fall to the ground… there were a lot of giggles and a lot of nostalgia.

Sweet memories and misadventures went through our minds and it didn’t seem that long ago that we had scraped-up knees (moi especially), and fed our lunches (sorry moms) to the kites soaring high in the sky, willing to swoop down (rather scary) to get the food… Yes. We laughed and remembered - teachers, friends, quirks, funny happenings, strange activities, odd rules… but you know all about that. You’ve done the same at some point…

Of all things to make a big impact, were the stone stairs spread across the hockey field in an amphitheater-like manner, only straight. These grey, stony stairs separated our all-girls school from the campus of an all-boys school. Yes. Many stories there too.

I was almost in disbelief at how small the stairs seemed. They had always seemed so sweeping and regal and fortress like. True. We were little and perhaps, that was why the stairs seemed large. But again, at fifteen, when we left school, we really weren’t that little anymore.

So what changed? Our perspective? Our exposure to greater, bigger things? Our sense of wonder?

Was it just a reality check? Had we simply grown-up? Had we simply moved on and could not relate to the awe? Had the scope of things shifted? Had the scope of our lives shifted? Or had our humility changed?

I don’t know. I know that the stairs seem smaller than they once did. And that is the reality of today. My today. I know for sure that they had once seemed more majestic and magnificent. I wondered if I was just too grand for those stairs now. I wondered about my humility. Again.

When I look down, I can still see all the scars on my knees. So I know I must still be the same person. So what changed? The way I look at things? The scope of things? My humility?

 

Grumpy me...

I am a fairly grumpy person. Not everybody thinks so, but I do. Or maybe I have turned grumpy. Or maybe I have been disappointed about a bunch of things. And maybe I just can’t handle disappointment as well anymore.

But despite the fact I’m somewhat grumpy or can get somewhat grumpy, I’m always trying to step out of it. For I know that is a deep dark hole. And who in their right sense would want to stay in a deep dark hole? So, determinedly, even if inelegantly, I try to plod out of the deep dark hole.

But what happens when you drag yourself willingly/unwillingly out of the dark spot? Is there only sunshine and rainbows and unicorns? Ha! You wish. For oftentimes, when you walk out of the dark ditch, you come face to face with someone else being in a dark ditch – grumbles, sulks, rudeness, confrontation, inconsideration, disappointment of sorts… and that puts you right back.

Except this time, the ditch is deeper and darker, the frustration is louder and angrier, for you are aware of the effort you put in, in the first place, to step out of exactly the same place.   

So how do you step out of the dark ditch without expectations or aspirations of how things should be? How do you step out of there simply because you want to step out and not go looking for continuous sunshine and unicorns? For you and I, both know they don’t exist. Right? Right? Oh well…

How do we step out, applaud ourselves for stepping out, and then stop right there? How do we not go searching for the unicorn? With my luck, that silly unicorn would probably butt me with its magical horn, anyways. Shooo! Get out of my imagination, you annoying unicorn… I’m trying to step out of the ditch, and not return there rapidly.

In all seriousness, is it worth the effort to step out of the ditch, if we are going to create frustration and disappointment of sorts by raising our expectations or go looking for mythical creatures?

What is that balance of being real – with our frustration and our dark ditches and our endeavors to draw ourselves out to live with acceptance and honesty, in touch with reality and all its flaws without letting it put us back in the ditch?