On the Road to Respite June 10, 2019

Two weeks ago, I joined my cohort of M Arch students for our graduation ceremony at the Nourse Hall in San Francisco.  It was the kind of communal celebration of completion that I had never experienced, despite my having now five (good grief!) post-high-school degrees. 

Our cohort of 23 students was thrilled to have scaled our personal Everest.  In the prior few weeks we had defended our theses and presented our work to the juries.  We finished our coursework, and some of us completed our internships (check, check, check).  In joy and exhaustion, bedecked in our artsy berets and our pink striped hoods, we unceremoniously processed to a Klezmer band’s rendition of Pomp and Circumstance. 

I doubt that I will see many of my young colleagues again, or even keep in touch with more than a few, but we accomplished something very special together.  And we whooped, leaped, hugged, and broadly grinned in the marvelousness of it all.

For me, the architecture program has been an enormous undertaking.  It has required a kind of blinders and tenacity that I became increasingly doubtful I possessed.  But I made it, using up three years of my dwindling life in the process.  There is a lot for me to digest here, and in the coming summer weeks, I’m hoping to do just that.

Medicare June 27, 2018

Well, it is upon me, that magical date when the aging American qualifies for Medicare.  You guessed it, turning 65.  My friends and colleagues who have crossed this junction uniformly say, “It’s great,” referring to Medicare – not being 65 – of course.

Isn’t Medicare something my grandparents had?  How can I be that old already? 

As far as I can see, this is a perk for making it this far, like getting senior rush tickets at the opera or ballet.  Speaking of which, it has been my goal to move seamlessly from student rush to senior rush, and now, I will have achieved it!

As my father used to say when he’d hit another birthday, “What are you options?”  He lived to be 90, strong, curious, kind, and grateful up to the end.  Medicare saw him through a stroke and lots of speech, physical, and occupational therapy.  My mother, too, had tremendous medical bills with her cancer, all paid for by Medicare. 

Tell me, when will our country finally wake up and embrace Medicare for all ages?  Bernie, we need you.

Saying goodbye June 24, 2018

A few days ago I finally brought to closure something that had been gnawing at me for a few years.  I am solidly in the last third of my life, undeniably “old age”, and I would like to share it with someone.  I have been carrying the notion of that someone – a specific someone – in a corner of my heart for several years, hoping that a deep friendship and past shared experiences would morph into something fully treasured by both. 

As noted in a previous post, in January I awakened to the reality that this was never going to happen, and I made the decision to move on.  But I also needed to say it out loud, to have my decision acknowledged.  It took until this weekend to materialize, as the object of my affection was otherwise occupied with another woman and her family.  How could I have been so dense?

And so, it was a difficult evening, going over some old ground together, professing an undying fondness for each other, and clarifying what we both feel and want for our futures.  How odd: he is in a relationship that he had claimed he wasn’t really interested in, and I am not in a relationship that I very much wanted.  Life is tricky that way.

Lessons June 24, 2018

Spring Term 2018 has come and gone, and somehow I continue to be on track to complete the M Arch program by next May.  Translation:  “somehow” means a little luck and a lot of very long hours.

One thing I have to say for architecture is that it fosters a continual process of getting to know oneself, and in many different ways.  What is important to me?  What am I good at, and what are my weaknesses?  What resonates for me, and what seems like bullshit?  What advice do I follow, and what should I simply dismiss?  How can I balance what is of interest to me with what is expected of me in the classroom?

Last week I happened to read the January post for a New York Times series on leading a better life.  This particular treatise explores creativity and points out the importance of downtime to let ideas percolate.  I couldn’t agree more, but it seems my teachers couldn’t agree less.  The pace is relentless, and in my mind, it can be antithetical to careful and considered creativity. 

I am slow. I like to explore many different ideas and paths, and I embrace logic, method, and meaning along the way.  I keep hoping, as with any endeavor, that intuition and self-confidence will gradually kick in and that I will be able to generate ideas more quickly, test them more efficiently, and reach the final critique with fewer parts lagging.  Of course, efficiency and deadlines are the stuff of architectural practice, so I do need to learn these lessons.  And here is my ear worm, in the words of Leonard Bernstein, “You need a plan and you need not quite enough time.”  

Reality Check January 11, 2018

I return to the subject of grief. 

Over the holidays, I received a book called “Boundaries” from my sister.  She bought a copy for herself too, as we both have struggled with troubling family situations that had no obvious solution.  At the end of the day, it was incumbent on each of us to simply step back, realize that we were not in control of anyone other than ourselves, and let go.

I seem to have weathered too many of these challenging family problems, and I would have thought that by now I would be immune to their trauma – a devastating divorce, then a remarriage and a death, then my daughter’s plunge into drug addiction.  Responding to addiction in a child – what a boundary challenge that is!  

The book stirred up a new problem that I had not seriously heeded.  I had swept reality to the far-back of my mind as I swirled in the vortex of grief over my daughter.  This new challenge is to let go of the hope of developing a deep relationship with a man I care for.  He has moved on to another relationship, and I now have no choice but to acknowledge his decision and to move on, too. 

I don’t know how to “do” grief, despite its recurrence, but I do know that somehow I can muddle my way through and eventually make it to the other side of acceptance, tranquility, and even joy.

After the death of my second husband, I needed to find a way to heal, and I turned to yoga.  That was exactly twenty years ago this month, and I have been a yogini ever since.  Now, I renew my commitment to this practice, and hope that it will bring me the same strength I found years ago.  I am sure that it will.