This strikes me as a terrific way to start the day: I go searching for silver polish — a fat white jar with a blue top in a plastic Macy’s bag. I get lucky quickly; the bag is hiding in the corner of the dining room behind a stack of dish boxes, a diminutive dollhouse, and a pile of art books.
Delighted that this hasn’t been an hours long hunt, I turn to a nearby shelf, grab a small silverplate platter that was once my grandmother’s, and then fetch a roll of Bounty.
I settle myself at the kitchen table and I open the jar anticipating… well, anticipating my state of being that always occurs when I undertake this activity.
Then I begin.
I dip a half-piece of paper towel into the pinkish goop. I rub, gently. I can feel my breath slowing with every small circle of my right hand pressing the polish against the dark tarnished surface.
Bliss.
Little Limitations Can Loom Large
I tell myself that the “little limitations” I’m dealing with are an inconvenience; I need to ignore them, get over them, focus elsewhere. I need to be persistent and patient. But the bumpy road I’ve been traveling is heading into Year 3, and I’m frustrated that I still can’t go full steam ahead.
On the contrary; I feel caged by the constraints of my current circumstances – the bum shoulder, the impertinent hand, the (temporary?) inability to drive and the sloooooooow process of (eventually?) accessing appropriate physical therapy. More factors: There is the tiny number of human connections in this new location (and my reluctance to follow up in my “compromised” condition); there is the lull in paying projects (which is emotionally challenging and pragmatically unsustainable).
The common thread: I am not made for sitting still unless I’m working; I am not made for isolation unless I invite it in so that I may work or write. And I know the lessons of inertia: It isn’t just that the more you do, the more you can do; the less I do, the more irascible, irritable, and insecure — I know, I know — I become.
Hello? Can You Just Enjoy the Lull? Chill!
The trick (my adult voice intones) is to stop torturing myself, stop the stream of what-if’s and if-only’s, and instead, find a way to relax, refresh, and renew — to accept what I cannot change (for now) and change what I can (without judging myself too harshly).
My adolescent voice protests: But I’m a Type A! A Type A in limbo now for more than three years! It’s been one step forward and two steps back again and again! WTF!?!
My adult voice insists: You have made good decisions. You have gained skills. Now keep going. This isn’t personal.
But the sometimes surly argumentation continues: Why did I push my parts to their limits with lifting and hauling and packing and unpacking and climbing and stooping in the month before and after my latest move? Oh right. Because I don’t have an unpacking service on call. Because I was told to use my bum shoulder and arm as part of the healing process, but I unknowingly went overboard. Because I am not made for sitting and not doing what needs to be done.
Because apparently I am (still) not good at heeding this lesson: Listen to your body. Listen attentively. And you’re no longer 40!
Meditation? Whatever Works…
This last point brings me to my grandmother’s platters and the rhythms of my breathing. For some, soaking in a tub offers the script for relaxation and renewal; for me, it virtually always — always — involves “getting something done.”
I contemplate all the ways that we comfort ourselves under stress.
A bath doesn’t do it for me.
Music doesn’t do it for me.
Reading doesn’t do it for me.
Writing used to; it doesn’t at the moment.
Apparently the languorous motion of polishing does.
If only I had a whole stash of silver to clean to its gleaming, gorgeous best…
Can We Temper Temperament… and More?
These days, I’m required to temper my temperament and my targets, which is especially annoying when it’s still the beginning of the year. Sure, it’s periodically snowing and sleeting and fairly grim outside, but what about all our January resolve? Our February I-can-still-do-it-iveness? Our annual (or monthly) goals? Do we all find ourselves in a funk of sorts in midwinter? Are the blues inevitable when we are situationally stymied or trapped in a tunnel that is longer than we imagined?
My goals for the beginning of this year included generating new leads (tough when you can’t drive to “connect” with potential clients), making progress on unpacking in my new place (nope; stuck there too), and making new friends — one or two with whom to grab a coffee.
For this last, I made a start but stalled — and I have only excuses. I reached out to a couple of people but didn’t follow up. One reached out to me and I politely declined. I know the reasons for both come down to not feeling like my “best self.” Not even close.
But don’t we all need one or two reliable in-the-flesh connections?
Self-Protection? Self-Sabotage?
So why do we withdraw when creating community would help?
Sometimes courage falters; we aren’t feeling well physically, or we aren’t comfortable in our skin emotionally; either situation leaves us ill at ease with people we don’t yet know. Sometimes the brain rebels… we’ve been sleepless or churning, and thinking (or overthinking) is wearing us out, so “company” seems inadvisable. Sometimes we tell ourselves we aren’t good enough, and fighting insurgent insecurities takes everything we’ve got. Insecurities find fertile ground in inaction.
And pride plays a role in these justifications for inaction.
Time for another lesson: Physical labor, any form of exercise, or fanciful (judgment-free) acts of creativity can help reduce the need to self-protect and the subsequent consequence of self-sabotage.
One more: Listen to your adult voice, its wisdom, its broader perspective that puts your challenges in context; remember that you’re strong, you’re still you, you’ll be fine.
Too Much Downtime?
For some of us, too much “renew and refresh,“ whatever its format, feels lousy. The drive to achieve, when neglected, sends us spiraling down as we fall out of the habit of feeling good about what we are accomplishing. “Relaxing” doesn’t cut it.
At least, that’s how some of us are — yes, me — when a significant aspect of our contentment depends upon engaging in forward movement – learning something, building something, making something — a home, a book, a connection.
Maybe I can move from the peculiar pleasures of polishing my grandmother’s trays to pulling on my boots, plodding through the slush and sleet, and running (walking) a small errand. (I can do; I have done.) Maybe I can unwrap a few lightweight objets sitting in a box and enjoy the surprise of whatever I have just discovered. (A childhood locket! Drawings by my kids!)
Maybe I can manage to stop when my body whispers “enough” and remember that small, positive steps are redemptive to the Type A personality, and some comparisons to other versions of myself are the opposite of productive.
(This. Is. Hard.)
Remembering Your Fundamentals
I circle back to my morning’s first lesson: The more you do, the more you can do — even if not at the speed or in the way that you used to. This principle is a fundamental aspect of my character, which brings me to another challenge — my current conflict with writing. I don’t feel that I am working towards anything interesting, much less accomplishing anything of substance. I feel dulled and distant; writing offers no satisfaction — or payoff — for now.
Perhaps I need to be more open about my sense of impotence, fragility, and frustration, my narrowing options, my fear — hoping you will not judge me for where I am at this moment, that you will not perceive my musings as self-pity, that my honesty is, in its way, “doing something.”
Perhaps you will have a clearer understanding of what it is like to be languishing in the limbo where many “not yet retired” but underemployed, underutilized, “disappearing” fifty-somethings and sixty-somethings are grappling with an uncomfortable present — and a deeply uncertain future.
Perhaps your strength will help me — and more important, so many others — through those periods when we feel we’re treading water and fighting to hang onto life lessons that serve us well: the power of persistence and perspective; and the fundamental necessity of connections and community even when we aren’t our “best selves.”
Are you feeling increasingly invisible? Unheard? Diminished or marginalized? Do extended periods of limbo, whatever the reason, drop you into a dark place? Are you over 50 and unemployed or underemployed, feeling powerless to change your situation? Who else finds specific, mundane tasks (like polishing silver) to be extremely relaxing?
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I think that it is great that you found something that feels relaxing for you, if it’s polishing silver!!!
? Maybe I should start a silver polishing service… ?
That is EXACTLY what I thought too! But I didn’t want to be an “influencer”. ?
I think it’s the repetition and satisfaction in seeing something beautiful slowly uncovered that makes polishing silver so calming. To me it’s a feeling of slowing down and being able to ponder. We don’t have many opportunities for that kind of activity very often nowadays. Please keep polishing ?
Yes! I think you’re right. ?
Dear DA. Forgive me for harping.Polishing silver will kick the can 10 minutes down the track. You need feel productive and make a genuine contribution. And give love. Heaven knows, maybe even get some. Seriously. Volunteer. There are lots of volunteers with temporary and chronic disability helping people worse off than themselves. There is a not-for-profit very near you who could benefit from your extraordinary talent.
You’ll probably either laugh or think I’m pulling your leg, but my equivalent of polishing silver used to be washing the dishes. One of my college roommates was notorious for not cleaning up until it was almost physically impossible not to. I can remember many weekend nights where there was nothing else available to do, or affordable, so out of necessity I ended up taking on a pile of dishes. As in your situation it was forced by a lack of alternatives, and, once started, I found it relaxing. I now know it is the kind of mindless, repetitive task that is essentially meditation. Gardening seems to have the same effect on many people. Also, as in your case, it provided the satisfaction of accomplishing something tangible.
One of your recent pieces questioned what makes a good day. I was tempted to respond that on balance, what makes a good day for me is being able to do a few things that move my life forward. I held off responding, as I realized this would probably seem a non-sequitur to people still in the workforce, whose days by definition still move forward. In my days, those things seem to be fewer, farther between, and less significant.
It’s interesting that you mention music. I’ve certainly had music take me to an altered mental state, but it isn’t through casual listening, or meditative. It’s normally through either dancing or playing as a musician, and it doesn’t come immediately. But I do notice that when I don’t listen regularly, on return I feel I’ve missed something essential. Although it isn’t meditative, it is infinitely meaningful.
On pushing boundaries – We shouldn’t beat ourselves up for finding the boundaries. How will we know where they are if we don’t go looking for them? I’ll admit, though, to doing the one step forward, two back dance myself, and it’s getting *very* old.
Dishes? Yup, chuckled at that. The observation re moving forward — yes. I wonder how many of us need that and feel not ourselves without it.
Ha! Doing the dishes definitely made me laugh ?. I have never enjoyed the “doing the dishes”.
As a child, I remember my oldest brother being the managing delegator, my next to oldest brother being the cook, and me standing on the chair being the dishwasher. My mom was divorced and worked a full time job. In those days, the three of us took care of each other, the home, school and play. Mom was busy trying to earn enough money to shelter, feed and clothe us.
Hmmm, perhaps too many years being the dishwasher just took all the fun out of it. But we were a team back then.
I enjoy cooking, preparing and creating a beautiful dining experience. I quickly learned to clean as I work through the creation of a meal. That certainly helped myself manage my personal dislike of being the dishwasher.
Last month, I turned another year older. 59 YAY. (sarcasm) I’m under overwhelming stress. My property is on the market and showings require spotless. I received an offer that is ridiculously low and my broker is suggests I counter, they counter, I counter, they decline. My physician of 10 years sends me a letter that stops taking assignment as my medical care. My oldest dog seems to be more blind and spending nights awake trying to soothes his crying, so I think that he is dying. I learn dog just diagnosed with dementia, testing a new med so I can sleep in order to juggle this all alone. Overwhelming, I tell you…
I’m not a paper plate type person. But, I made an executive decision to purchase a large stack of Chinet heavy duty paper plates. As I unloaded the groceries into my pantry, I placed those Chinet paper plates onto the shelf of my pantry. Then I announced to my dogs that I am officially OLD!
So, Robert, between your relaxation of doing the dishes and my acceptance of using Chinets, I laughed!??? And I needed a good laugh!
I just saw an article in The Guardian, The Joy of Folding. It quotes people who claim that folding gives pleasure through the tactile interaction, the artistry of the process, and the feeling of being in control.