Rearview Mirror and The Road Ahead

Steve and I are leaving for DC after work today to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with Andrea and her family. On these 6+ hour drives, we often listen to audio books or podcasts or favorite music. But what I love most of all is our long conversations about memories, our families, our past loves, our hopes for the future, and yes, even politics.

As 2024 approaches, my guess is, we’ll talk about what we most remember about 2023 and our hopes for 2024. So, I’m going to get a head start and think about what I’ll say.

Many of my thoughts were prompted by one of my favorite blogs, which I’ve shared before: The Marginalian. For the end of the year, I highly recommend Maria Popova’s post, “Resolutions for a Life Worth Living.” Even more, I recommend subscribing to the blog.

Highlights of 2023

I’m sure you’ve heard people talk about how, in a moment of crisis that they perceived as near-death, their lives flashed before them. Well, I hope it doesn’t sound morbid, but as I get older, that’s how I define my highlights. What memories or images might flash before me? Here are a few from 2023, in no particular order:

There is nothing sweeter than one of my grandkids reaching up to be held. Or the first time I hear them say, “Grandma.” I’ve experienced these joys with each of my grandkids.

This year, it was Penelope, our youngest and most likely, last grandchild, which perhaps makes the joy even sweeter. I took this picture of one of the times she reached up for “Gamma” to hold her. I knew such moments would pass too quickly and I wanted to “see” it many times before that “flash-before-me” moment.

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Allie, Pops & Taylor Swift

Sometimes I happen onto a moment when even as I tell myself to just sit and enjoy it, I can’t resist rushing to grab my phone so I can capture it. Fortunately, I had my phone with me as I entered our living room onto this scene–Allie and Pops singing karaoke to Taylor Swift’s “Christmas Tree Farm.” For me, the moment captured Allie growing up too fast, though still not too grown up to cling to Pops and sing along with “Tay Tay” as she forgives him for not knowing the words and singing off-key.

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But, one moment in 2023 that I did simply sit and let the moment soak in with no attempt to record it was the Cleveland Orchestra and Choir opening their Christmas program with “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.”

I was already in awe of the venue, Severance Hall, and feeling deeply in the Christmas spirit as the orchestra began to tune their instruments.

When the conductor entered the stage and lifted his baton, I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for the glorious first notes as I fondly remembered decades ago, holding up my own flute and taking a deep breath as I watched for Mr. Lindsay’s baton to come down for the first beat.

At last, the venue filled with the harmonic chords of the song’s first notes. When the choir began, “Oh come, all ye faithful,” my heart pounded and the lump in my throat exploded into chills as tears began to run down my cheeks. I must admit, I tried to hide them from Steve–not sure why. Perhaps I didn’t want to break the spell of being wrapped in the joy of the sound of music.

Should I perhaps try to explain for you with some hackneyed phrase how and why experiencing beauty can make life meaningful? I prefer to confine myself to the following thought experiment: imagine that you are sitting in a concert hall and listening to your favorite symphony, and your favorite bars of the symphony resound in your ears, and you are so moved by the music that it sends shivers down your spine; and now imagine that it would be possible (something that is psychologically so impossible) for someone to ask you in this moment whether your life has meaning. I believe you would agree with me if I declared that in this case you would only be able to give one answer, and it would go something like: “It would have been worth it to have lived for this moment alone!”

Viktor Frankl

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As my siblings and I get older, as we are now scattered in four different cities and as we have our own children and grandchildren, the times we are all together are fewer and farther between.

So, I count as a blessing of 2023 that we were all together twice–once in Avon Lake to celebrate Tami’s 60th birthday, and once at a Marler family reunion on Grand Lake in Oklahoma to celebrate the completion of Chuck’s lake house.

This is a house Chuck had contemplated and planned for probably 5 years. He’d shared and discussed many of his plans with my dad. I know he’d looked forward to lots of father-son time on the lake. Unfortunately, Dad passed away in 2021, 18 months before the completion of the house.

Chuck planted a weeping willow tree on the shore of the lake, where he can see it from one of two decks outside his beautiful home.

Dad was not there physically, but we all felt his presence.

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I am not a runner. I don’t like to run. But, Steve likes to run, and I like to do things with Steve. And, I know it’s good for me.

But . . . I do not like to run.

Still, one of my 2023 highlights was finishing the Hofbräuhaus 5k WITHOUT STOPPING! As I trodded closer and closer to the finish line, my head filled with thoughts: “Jan! You’re 65 and you’re about to finish a 5k –for the first time ever without stopping! Don’t you dare stop! You can do this! Keep going!”

I ran V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y. In fact, another woman about my age was walking and running and we traded places several times throughout the “race.” Toward the end, I was not about to let someone who walked part of the race beat me, so I charged forward past her and across the finish line. Yep, it was a highlight, all right!

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Speaking of running, another highlight was watching Tommy run the Turkey Trot with Pops. I declined to run the Turkey Trot this year, but it looked like so much fun, I may have to join next year!

This year, however, I watched from the sidelines and thrilled at the sight of Tommy taking off at the Start Line, leaving Pops in the dust.

Of course, being an overly protective Grandma, I yelled, “Steve! Catch up to Tommy,” as visions of Tommy getting lost in the crowd entered my mind. Realizing he wouldn’t be able to keep up his fast pace for long settled me. Pops would catch him soon.

I rushed to the finish line to capture a picture of Tommy crossing

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There were lots of other highlights in 2023, but these are the ones that first came to mind. To close out 2023, I’d like to share a photo that is quite possibly my favorite of the year. I’m not sure why, because it’s a little sad, but it’s also so sweet.

This was the first day of school for Jack and Harry. It was Jack’s first day of kindergarten and Harry’s first day of preschool at a new school. Both boys have their backpacks on and had been very excited as we all headed out the door to walk to the bus stop for Jack and to the new school for Harry.

However, when it came time to pose for a photo with Grandma and Pops, Harry must have finally realized the gravity of his first day at a new school . . . well, you can see the weight of the moment in his little pout. Even Jack encouraging Harry that all would be okay didn’t seem to help.

Of course, at the end of the school day, all was well. When we picked Harry up, he was all smiles. As he so often answers when asked a question like, “How did you sleep,” or “How was your day,” he answered, “GREAT!”

And so, I thought this a fitting close to my 2023 highlights. Sure, I’m sad to see the year go, especially as quickly as they all seem to pass anymore. But as the final days of the year approach, should you ask how my year was, I’d say, “GREAT!”

On to 2024

Good grief. I must admit, I’ve grown weary of New Year’s Resolutions. They’re always the same–eat better, write more, exercise more, blah, blah, blah. By February I’m usually disappointed that I haven’t done better.

So, this year, rather than resolutions, I’ve been thinking about words I’d like to symbolize 2024. Here are a few:

  • Transitions
  • Connections
  • Discovery

Transitions – I’m currently “transitioning” to retirement and now work only 4 days a week. My employer has hired my replacement and I will begin training her on Tuesday. In March, my plan is to begin working 3 days per week. By September (if not sooner) I plan to retire fully.

I am looking forward to retirement, though I must admit, there have been a few times when that extra day off has afforded me enough time to feel a tiny panic prick my internal well-being with thoughts of, “Now what do I do?” or “What if I get bored?”

So, I’ve started a list of things I’ve wanted to do, but haven’t had the luxury of time to do:

  • Finish my memoir
  • Write more short stories and submit for publication
  • Spend more time with kids and grandkids
  • DIY projects around the house, like refurbish the front stairway, paint the basement, landscape the backyard
  • Volunteer
  • Go to lunch with friends, travel with friends
  • Go back to school

The biggest transition will be learning to live without the structure of 8-5. Will I be disciplined enough to do so? Or, should I toss discipline out the window? Stay tuned!

Connections – Not only do I want to spend more time cultivating existing friendships and making new friends, my big “connection project” is to hand-write letters to those I love and those who have impacted my life in some way.

As I’ve read the many hand-written letters my parents wrote to each other from 1957-1974 (many included in my memoir-in-progress), I’ve come to treasure these mementos from the past. Seeing my parents’ thoughts and feelings written by hand makes me feel closer to them than texts or emails might, as if somehow the molecules and atoms of their hand, holding pen and gliding across the paper brings a part of them back to share their hearts, showing me they were more than just my parents.

I’ve been reading David Brooks’ How to Know a Person, a book about learning to connect with others. I haven’t finished it yet, but so far, I highly recommend it. I believe only good would come if we all learned the art of connecting to each other.

The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.

James Baldwin

Discovery – This word encompasses many things for me. A discovery of new places, new people, new hobbies, new relationships. A discovery of me.

In the past, so many discoveries have been hindered by lack of time, or an overabundance of fear–mostly fear of failure. Retirement will hopefully resolve the problem of lack of time.

But to be honest, fear has dotted the roadmap of much of my life’s journey. As I look back, it has kept me from accomplishing what I’ve dreamed of accomplishing, kept me from writing what I wanted to write, kept me silent when I wanted to speak. Many times, it’s kept me from pursuing and it’s kept me from leaving.

But images in a rear view mirror are so much more clear than the fear-paved road ahead. The beauty in growing older is that there is so much more road behind me than what lies ahead. In my rear view mirror, I see that so many of my fears never came to be.

Fearlessness is what love seeks. Love as craving is determined by its goal, and this goal is freedom from fear… Such fearlessness exists only in the complete calm that can no longer be shaken by events expected of the future… Hence the only valid tense is the present, the Now.

Hannah Arendt

As I re-read what I’ve written, I realize what these three words have in common is “growth.” I’m pretty happy and excited that even at this time in my life, I look forward to growth.

May 2024 be a year of growth for you, too.

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Senior Again

The first time I thought being a senior was a big deal, I was 18 years old and in my last year of high school. I looked forward to crossing the threshold into a new and exciting world, filled with new experiences and much-anticipated freedom.

Last night, I celebrated becoming a senior again with new friends I’ve made since moving to Avon Lake. This time, “Senior” means I’m turning 65!

As we sat around a table in a warmly lit restaurant surrounded by a patio lit with twinkly lights, we sipped our chocolate martinis and laughed about stories of forgetfulness and commiserated about our graying hair . Other more serious topics included Medicare, estates & trusts, dermatology, kids & grandkids, husbands & health. Still, there was plenty of laughter and camaraderie.

I couldn’t help reflecting on past birthdays and how conversations with friends have differed over the decades. From talking about boys, driver’s licenses, silly curfews and college in my teens, to weddings and babies in my young adulthood, to teenage kids, divorce, next chapters, and empty nests over the next few decades.

It’s all gone by so quickly, and I’m grateful to have been able to share the years and conversations with some great friends.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pen
High School Besties on 50th Birthday Cruise

I was a senior a second time in college. It took me fifteen years to get there, and maybe that’s why at the age of 30, I thought I was getting old. REALLY?!?

Thirty-five years later, that makes me laugh. Because for whatever reason, since then, I’ve never really felt as old as I did turning 30.

Anyway. Now, here I am, a senior . . . again. As with the first time I was a senior, I look forward to crossing the threshold into a new and exciting world, (retirement?) filled with new experiences and much-anticipated freedom.

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The Loveliness of Liminal

This morning, as on many mornings, I scrolled through social media posts while sipping hot coffee I’d anticipated from the moment its fresh-brewed aroma first woke me. I smiled at photos of friends’ recently past Christmases, but noticed a curious sense of agitation as I read the sprinkling of New Year’s hopes and dreams and the requisite “resolution path” to get there.

“What will my resolutions be this year?” I asked myself. “And which–if any–will be successful?” There. Right there was the seed of the agitation I’d felt upon reading others’ roadmaps to a happy and successful New Year.

Then, I took a deep breath. In that space between breathing in and breathing out, I thought:

There is no rush.

I realized then what I love about this week between Christmas and New Years–this liminal space of peace and relative quiet. A time that lies between the excited energy of Christmas and all its rushing, wrapping, cooking, cleaning, visiting, putting up and putting away and the clean slate of the New Year, upon which we write our hopes, dreams, goals and resolutions.

Today is December 29, Day 4 in the peaceful transition between years. I’ve got two more days before I “should” come up with any resolutions. (Yes, even at the age of 64, I’m still a “Should” Girl.) Many people say they don’t believe in resolutions, and some say they set “goals” instead of resolutions.

Me? I kind of love resolutions. Maybe it’s the tradition of setting them. Maybe its that successful or not, resolutions are the seeds we plant to grow our hopes and dreams. Sometimes they grow, and sometimes, with little water or sunshine, they die, only to be planted again on a new December 31.

As I reflect on my previous years’ resolutions, I notice a pattern of the same resolutions over and over.

  • Eat better.
  • Exercise more.
  • Write more.
  • Discover and experience new things.
  • Learn something.
  • Read more.

Rarely, if ever, am I successful in carrying a resolution through to the end of the year. But if I’m successful for a month, two months, or even a day, that’s better than nothing, right?

For now, I’m making an end-of-year resolution: To relax and enjoy these last few days of 2022–a year when things have started to inch toward normal after the surreality of the last couple of years.

In this last week of 2022, I will not swim upstream toward regrets of 2022, nor will I ride the rapids toward my hopes and dreams for 2023. Instead, I’ll gently float the river of this liminal space, the final, peaceful moments between 2022 and 2023.

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December 9, 2022

I missed Advent Calendar Day 8. So much for my perfect streak. (Though, I also missed Day 1. Haha! But in an effort to maintain a semblance of perfection, I played “catchup” on Day 2.)

Today, however, in my decision to cast aside the illusion of perfection, I’ve decided to go ahead and skip Day 8, which leads me to this post on wabi-sabi, a Japanese philosophy of finding beauty in imperfection.

Here are a couple of other posts I’ve written in the past on this philosophy:

Wabi Sabi Black Forest Cake

Welcome to This Wabi Sabi World, Penelope

Wabi Sabi Love

Today, I’d like to share a story about the wabi sabi of Nagging. Yes, I’ve even found beauty in nagging. I wrote this a couple of years ago, while reminiscing about my mom during the holidays.

I hope the philosophy helps you to find beauty in all the hustle and bustle, the overscheduling, the wrapping and wrapping and wrapping, the after-holiday cleanups, etc., etc., etc.!

Wabi Sabi Nagging

My mother was a perfectionist. It’s how I became a perfectionist. Whether it’s a gene I inherited or the way I was raised, perfectionism runs through my blood. But “perfect” is not an absolute. It’s in the eye of the beholder—everyone’s version of “perfect”—of what’s acceptable—is different. This is perfection’s hidden wart.

And so, my mother and I often knocked heads about our differing versions.

At no time was this disagreement more evident than during the holiday season. My mother demanded a perfect meal, with foods to please every attendee. She ordered a perfectly set table with hand-washed china framed by fragile, sparkling crystal and hand polished sterling silverware.

My Mom’s Table Sans Sterling Silverware (We were probably still polishing it!)

As a teenager, my idea of a perfect holiday meal was paper plates and napkins, a buffet, time to watch TV and enjoy the company of family and friends.

I’d whine, “Mom, can’t we use paper plates so we can just relax after dinner? Nobody will care.”

“I care,” she’d reply.

It was the only reply necessary.

Besides, my whining about my idea of perfection could not compete with her nagging about it.

“Janice! Did you string the celery before you started chopping? And you need to chop those pieces smaller.”

“Honey, keep stirring or it’ll get lumpy.”

“No, Janice. The knife goes on the other side.”

But the complaint I remember to this day arrived as I helped her with an hors d’oeuvre tray filled with halved cherry tomatoes stuffed with a cream cheese mixture. The pièce de résistance was the topping of five tiny black Beluga caviar eggs. Not three teeny-tiny black eggs. Not four, and certainly not a little pile plopped in the center, but five, placed precisely in the center of the cream cheese.

I clearly remember her harping about my lackadaisical approach to this bite-sized morsel, and I clearly remember, too, my Teenage-Girl Eyeroll Style #24—the protest eyeroll—though performed with my head turned so my mom wouldn’t see it.

This holiday season will be my fifth without my mom. Though I deeply missed my mother the first holiday we spent without her, I must admit, I didn’t miss the hullaballoo and stress of her “perfect” holiday. Admittedly, I used paper plates that first holiday.

True, I enjoyed sitting with everyone, reminiscing about memories, joking and laughing fondly about my mother and her holidays—about the beautiful tables she set, her overly ornate Christmas trees, her stairway trimmed with sparkly lights and greenery.

But sometimes jokes and laughter are guardians to protect us from our tears, and though I sensed this truth in that the first holiday I spent without her, the weight of it didn’t hit me until the celebrations that would follow.

Looking back on the years since that first holiday without my mom, I realize that each holiday, I’ve added something that my mother would have done, whether it’s using China instead of paper plates, or stringing my celery before chopping.

There’s nobody to roll my eyes at anymore. Instead, I imagine my mom smiling from above that her stubborn daughter finally learned the lessons she tried to teach me.

My holiday “presentations” have become more like my mother’s. Nothing was more evident as I ironed my tablecloths and napkins this past Thanksgiving. Still, I am different from my mother, because my holiday presentations are far from perfect and I don’t think anybody cares.

She did her best to make the holidays perfect for all of us, sometimes trying so hard she was too sick to join us for the celebration, an absence which certainly contributed to the holiday’s imperfection.

Sometimes my mom’s nagging got in the way of what I considered perfection. But as I try to make the holidays special (not perfect) for those I love, the beauty of my mom’s nagging lies in my realization of how much she loved us. And the memory of her “nagging” reminders are a voice that continues to live inside me. I’d give anything to hear her once again say, “Janice!”

Jan’s Wabi Sabi Table Setting
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Advent Calendar Day 9

Welcome to my virtual Advent Calendar.

Click on the calendar date box below to find the day’s “gift.”

It may be an old Christmas photo or memory, a haiku or flash fiction, a favorite Christmas carol–who knows! (Today’s Hint: Wabi Sabi!) 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

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