50 After 50 Page 13
I think God made puppies so adorable because they can be exasperating in their chewing of things around the house, high-energy antics, and not being able to control their peeing. But the trade-off is definitely worth it.
Now that arthritis has weakened my knees, I do not run very often. But boy does my dog love to walk! So not only am I bringing him joy when I take him out on walks, but I increase my physical activity. I have not completely dropped my multitasking habit. I am a recovering multitasker who is striving to be fully present in all I do.
Do you have an animal? Can you lend your time to foster one, to see if having a pet would enhance your life as it has mine? I am registered with a foster dog group that needs foster homes even for one night at a time (for when the dogs are transported to the Washington area before being adopted at their weekly adoption events).
27. Back in the Saddle
Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of Solitaire. It is a grand passion.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
I am pretty much a city kid, raised in Washington, D.C., and its suburbs. Horses scared me, especially when these gloriously large, muscular, imposing beasts with large teeth reared up on their hind legs. There are actually two names for psychological fear of horses: equinophobia and hippophobia. One throw from a horse could kill or seriously maim you. Christopher Reeve, aka “Superman,” became a quadriplegic after being thrown from a horse. If it can happen to Superman. . . .
Equine therapy was part of the PTSD rehab at which I was treated in Tennessee. The therapists there told me that horses have an ability to sense a human’s emotions. If I were able to gain my horse’s trust, he would let me brush him, lead him, and even decorate him with chalk paint.
Horses that most people ride weigh more than 1,000 pounds. They have distinct personalities. They can be gentle, wild, or stubborn. They absolutely know when a rider or caretaker is afraid or lacks control.
I started riding at this institution. When I got home, I found a place from which I could take lessons. I enjoy being around horses, hugging them, and seeing the landscape from high atop these tall beings. I even learned how to do jumps on a horse (small ones). I certainly found encounters with horses to be therapeutic.
I was surprised by how much my leg muscles ached from squeezing the sides of the horse and hovering above the saddle. Riding is not passive at all. It is a form of exercise that left me sweating from the exertion.
Riding atop a horse also gives me a different perspective on the world. I can see more new landscapes on the back of a horse and things both high and low that I may not otherwise notice on foot. Being silently in sync with this massive creature while exploring vast swaths of nature is an experience like no other.
I have heard that courage means walking through fear. Fear holds us back from so many things. I realized after entering rehab how many of my actions were governed by fear. Many people are afraid of gay people or people of color because they have no experience with them. Prejudice often is dissipated when people come to know one another. And my fear of horses dissipated by acclimating to them.
I also used Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)21 and Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT)22 skills to conquer my fears of many things, including horses. A therapist helped me learn how to challenge my inaccurate or negative thinking so that I can see situations more clearly and respond more effectively. I changed my interior dialogue about many things and learned how to regulate my emotions via CBT. I use a version of it on people close to me when they are upset or afraid. I ask them, “What is the worst that could happen?” and “Is all of that true, or are you ‘awfulizing’ the situation?”
We definitely build confidence and character by doing things that scare us. I am no longer fearful of horses and enjoy the physicality of riding when I can. I honestly did not believe riding could be a calorie-burning activity before I tried it, but it is. And it may be one of the few exercises that tones one’s inner thighs.
I have seen challenges exhorting people to do one thing every day that scares them. Tall order, but perhaps I will. What is the worst that could happen?
28. Floating
When I stop struggling, I float.
—Anonymous
What would it be like to return to the womb, I wonder? I found something that is as close to what I can imagine that would feel like: Flotation therapy, which involves floating in warm, heavily salted water in a float tank.
Popular for years in Europe and on the West Coast of the United States, floating is starting to catch on in places along the East Coast. In 2011, there were 85 float centers in the United States, and now there are more than 250.23 Sensory isolation in a flotation tank is a method known for inducing deep relaxation, boosting creativity, and easing body aches and pains.24
“Sensory deprivation chambers” were developed by scientists at the National Institutes of Mental Health in the 1950s who were studying effects of such deprivation on the brain. A 1980 science fiction/horror movie, Altered States, that involved sensory deprivation chambers probably set back the chambers’ gaining any following in America around that time.
It was later found that flotation therapy can help with stress, addiction, fibromyalgia, ADHD, and autism spectrum disorders, among other maladies.25 Awareness of the beneficial effects are spreading. High-performance athletes such as NBA star Steph Curry are becoming devotees,26 which has a trickle-down effect in the general population.
A typical flotation tank contains 12 inches of body-temperature sterile water and more than 800 pounds of medical-grade Epsom salts to ensure that anyone can float. The tank I used was approximately eight feet by four feet.
Hope Floats was the first flotation studio to open in the Washington metropolitan area.27 Its welcoming, soothing, spalike atmosphere eased my initial apprehension. Nevertheless, for the first few minutes, I was hesitant to close the door to the tank. I quickly got over my mild claustrophobia and closed the door. One can choose at the studio to listen to soft classical music or nothing at all. I tried both.
Inside the tank, I felt weightless. I could not sink, even if I wanted to do so. I actually fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt refreshed and light. I felt clearheaded, and as if I had slept for a solid eight hours.
It was cool. It was weird. I was not sure I would enjoy it, but I found it to be deeply relaxing. It eased the muscular pains I had before entering the tank and put my mind at ease. It felt like a mega-meditation and was like a mind/body reset. It was an experience I definitely will repeat. It’s like a 60-minute retreat to a galaxy far, far away.
• 9 •
Spiritual Endeavors
As primary caretakers for most of our child-bearing years, many of us neglected our spiritual and emotional health. Or maybe we were too busy building our careers. It is not too late to nurture growth in this area, especially now that family obligations may have receded somewhat.
There are many easily accessible spiritual teachers. Some that I follow online and respect greatly are Tara Brach, Jack Kornfield, Pema Chodron, and Brene Brown.
It took me half of my life to understand the difference between religion and spirituality. People in recovery frequently say, “Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell; spirituality is for people who have already been there.” There is a place for both in my life. I take what feeds me from organized religion and have expanded the sources that enrich my spirituality.
Now, with life experience gleaned over five decades, my spirituality has more rich soil from which to bloom. As does yours. Exploring and expanding my spirituality was a huge gift to myself that enhanced every aspect of my life. And there are many ways to experience it.
29. Excavating My Inner Wild Woman
You were wild once. Don’t let them tame you.
—Isadora Duncan
I turned 50 and decided to run naked in
the woods. I do not think there is a single woman from my “past” life who would believe I spent a retreat in the woods with a group of women I did not know, part of which involved dancing naked around a campfire howling “pussy power” at the moon. If you had told me, before I turned 50, that I would be doing this, I’d have been incredulous.
The name of the retreat intrigued me. “Women of the Wild.” I longed to be a Woman of the Wild. I had spent too much time holed up in a little box I believed society—and especially my straight-laced, steady, appropriate husband—wanted me to stay in. This cradle-Catholic was raised believing that anything wild, lewd, of-the-flesh (unless solely for procreation), led to infernal damnation. We were exhorted to cover our heads, shoulders, and knees while in church. I was done covering who I really was. I did not want to allow fear to govern my decisions any longer. Thus, I shed my comfort zone, pushing away any lingering wary thoughts, as my car climbed the mountains into Appalachia, into the woods and away from modern plumbing.
The retreat organizer lived near Gallaudet University, a liberal arts institution for deaf and hard-of-hearing students, and arranged for the gathering to be completely accessible, with interpreters fully fluent in American Sign Language (ASL). Initially, I felt self-conscious when talking with the deaf participants. Do I look at the interpreter? Do I look at the woman with whom I was speaking, who was looking alternatively at me and then the interpreter? What happened over the course of the retreat was a gradual easing of the hearing “barrier.” We learned how to adapt and leaned in to one another. We all learned the difference between the ASL sign for “vagina” and how that sign differed from that for “pussy.” We took an audacious group photo celebrating this piece of education. I no longer take for granted the facility (albeit diminishing) I still enjoy with all of my senses.
There also were lesbian and trans women present. We were of all ages, though the group skewed a bit younger than my demographic. While dancing naked around the campfire, I showed the youngsters what “elephant” skin looks like on the belly of a women who gained too much weight in pregnancy. They smiled and said I was beautiful. Perhaps I was and perhaps I was not. The point was that we were and are beautiful, just as we are. The energy and vibration we created together was dazzling, palpable, and intrepid.
We danced fully clothed as well. During open mic night, we got a “twerking” lesson from a belly dancing instructor. My half-century-old body betrayed my ambition as I struggled to keep up with the seductive moves. No matter. We laughed together and I felt a sense of freedom in my soul. Or was it freedom in my haltingly shaking pelvis that refused to contort like those of the young women? As we moved to the pulsing music that our deaf sisters felt in their bones, no one cared how they looked. When was the last time I was in a room with dozens of women who did not care one iota how they looked?
How much time I had wasted caring about my appearance! The shame from my First Communion at age seven being the only girl not dressed in white was etched into my psyche. Had my immigrant mother not known how to dress me for this occasion? Did my custodial father fail to get the memo? I still cannot look at photos from that day without feeling blood rush to my face, or at least sadness for that seven-year-old girl.
A preoccupation with being dressed appropriately for the occasion entered my public persona as the result of this and other shaming life experiences. I remember not feeling that I had the right clothes when I arrived at college. It was the 1980s, and preppiness was de rigeur at that New England gothic-spired school. I had come from a Catholic girls’ high school, where we wore uniforms every day and fashion was downplayed in my friend group. I remember feeling judged and stared at by my wealthier college classmates.
At the country club we joined, I was mistaken for a server. I was painfully aware of the dress code and disappointed that my armor had not sufficed. At the large Washington, D.C., law firm where I first practiced after graduation, I was mistaken for a secretary. There is, of course, nothing wrong with servers or secretaries. I have been both. But assumptions people made, based on my appearance, stung.
Such baggage led to some stifling behavior on my part. We lived in an affluent neighborhood for a couple decades, where I would not even go outside for a run unless I was in color-coordinated attire. And it was usually high-end Lululemon brand, or the like. Now, I dress for comfort, especially while exercising. And I live in an area where people seem not to regard clothing as much beyond functional.
Does caring less about what others think come from a healthy self-esteem, borne from nurturing parents and a supportive upbringing? Does it come from maturing with sheer force of years of experience on this planet? Who knows? It is probably very case-specific. For this person in long-term recovery, it came from internalizing the sentiment that “What other people think of me is none of my business.” And even if it were, it is largely out of my control.
The rain at the Wild retreat did not dampen our spirits, but rather magnified the earthy smells during our nature walks and movement between geodomes and our cabins. Everything green was glittering with moisture. It smelled loamy. I felt the soil give as I stepped into the woods, as my resistance slowly gave in.
I had a transforming experience sitting upon a rock that jutted over a river’s rushing water. All sounds were drowned out, save for the river current’s music. I was able to sit still with my eyes closed, attempting to empty my mind, and meditated for the longest period to date. My mind’s eye conjured up the image of a phoenix behind my lids. Images came and went. I listened for my Higher Power to speak to me in some way.
I opened my eyes and gazed at the river’s rocks. Most were smooth; some were still jagged. “Stop fighting, and let the river of life smooth your edges,” a spirit seemed to say.
There were yoga, meditation, and “soulspeak” workshops at the retreat; sessions on unhealthy body images; and instruction on how to manifest our intentions and create our own abundance. One sublime orator shot verbal sugar through our veins, as we listened with rapt attention to her compelling words. We learned the gift of “holding space” for people we love, but cannot reach. When I hear negative thoughts from others or in my head, I learned from a wise woman, Malka Roth, now to respond with, “Return to sender, with love and consciousness,” until I can release the negativity. One poet led me to a place where I was able to see myself as my own soul mate. When I shared this with her after her presentation, we both wept.
We practiced healing modalities on one another and ate vegetarian, “clean” food. I enjoyed a body massage in a makeshift studio with cloth walls that opened to the rushing river. During the closing ceremony, we took turns standing in the middle of the circle and receiving positive energy from the outstretched hands of the others who were reaching toward the woman in the center. We sealed our intentions to attract positivity and tend carefully to our dreams.
The retreat included empaths, shamans, yogis, and seekers of many kinds. Women shared their deep pain during the weekend. We were so opened up and raw following the sharing that took place, that I happily wore a red hat upon my return to civilization, being told that this would protect my Crown Chakra, which represents our ability to be fully connected spiritually—one of several spiritual self-defense tactics to which I was exposed. New to me. Why not embrace these concepts previously foreign to me? Who is to say traditional Western religions are right and Buddhists are wrong? I can now find my Higher Power anywhere. I believe we are all talking to and seeking the same God, no matter what we call Her or Him and how we approach the Spirit.
I still smile when I think about the long weekend in the woods with this amazing group of soul sisters—free of judgment, inclusive, international, authentic, open-hearted, magical women. I allowed myself the spiritual expansion I had dreamed of for years. I am working hard to dismantle the yoke of shame and fear I have carried for so long. I am banishing the word “should” from my vocabulary, in a quest to cease from “shoulding�
�� all over myself. I am learning to love out loud, accepting life as it comes, and letting the rough edges of my life heal with the gliding water of experience that now includes the Women of the Wild.
I have adopted as my mantra a meditation Malka shared with us that was adapted from a writing of Ram Dass. After solitary meditation in the woods, she had us come together and consider picturing the world as a forest. Notice how some trees grow straight and tall, nourished by sunlight, while others bend this way and that, struggling to reach some sun above. Some trees bend and break with weight foisted upon them or weakness within, that we cannot see. So, too, are people around us like the trees. Some have easily received what they needed to thrive. Some worked hard to get what they needed, and some could not bear their circumstances. If we think of our fellows in these terms, it is much easier to practice more kindness toward all.
Remembering this metaphor for regarding others in the world has allowed me to grow in compassion toward those with whom I come in contact. I was surrounded by such love at this retreat. I pray you, too, can find a community or retreat where you can let go, expand your mind, and allow epiphanies like those I had at Women of the Wild dance in your consciousness.
30. Getting Off the Hamster Wheel
My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.
—The Dalai Lama
Meditation, or centering prayer, as it is called in some Catholic circles, has gone mainstream. It has changed my life in subtle, yet noticeable ways. I no longer wrestle so much with life and fill my days with incessant doing. I slow down. I savor.
The benefits of meditation, such as stress reduction, have been widely touted. It can be an antidote to anxiety because it causes one to be present. If I am not worrying about the future or fretting about the past, I am able to be fully present. I can ground myself in the sounds and sensations I am experiencing right now.