Yes, so true. My Mum lived by “what will the neighbours think” all my life. Until my parents bought a small piece of land outside the city and started spending weekends there planting trees and walking it the trees. My Dad started as a forester so was a lover of trees. He and my Mum both patted them whenever they got the chance.
Now I live in a retirement home with my wife and I am always awake around 3am. I try and blame the cat but it’s really my bladder.
Everyone here thinks we are strange because we stay in our room all the time. I have always been a loner and so has my wife. I am happy here in my own space. I can be me in here.
Ah yes. I too am up in the middle of the night. My new knee does not settle well into a sleep pattern. And it is frustrating to try and make it behave. I get up, have a cup of sleepy time tea, and read a good book—I am almost always into 5 or 6 good books. When my eyes start to droop, I go back to bed.
Even though our household isn't technically "retired" (I'm no longer working outside the home, but my husband teaches music lessons in our basement), your insights in this piece apply to anyone.
Years ago, when I was raising young children as a stay-at-home mom, my sister accused me of being a workaholic. She was right. It's something I've been wrestling with, especially over the last couple of years.
My husband has often suggested that I take one day each month just for myself, leaving the house to do whatever I want. It's a wonderful idea, but somehow I never made it happen. Then an out-of-town friend came to visit, and we talked about my frustration with the endless cycle of chores and responsibilities. I told her about my husband's suggestion, and she immediately agreed, then added, "Why not make it two days?"
I can't explain what shifted in that moment, but something did. For the first time, I truly believed I was allowed to do it. I don't know why I've kept myself prisoner for so long, but I've finally seen the light.
Tomorrow is Friday, one of my favorite days of the week, and after my morning shower I'm heading out with no agenda except to do whatever feels good in the moment. I'm bringing my camera too, just in case. I miss having "photographer's eyes." They need time, attention, and quiet awareness to come alive, and I'm finally giving myself the gift of nurturing them again.
Your call to just being present — like feeling the warmth and texture of sudsy water as you’re washing the dishes — is easier said than done. As a writer, I continue to live inside my head far too much. I’m getting better at letting go of a past and future over which I have zero control. Still, I got a long way to go.
Yes, so true. My Mum lived by “what will the neighbours think” all my life. Until my parents bought a small piece of land outside the city and started spending weekends there planting trees and walking it the trees. My Dad started as a forester so was a lover of trees. He and my Mum both patted them whenever they got the chance.
Now I live in a retirement home with my wife and I am always awake around 3am. I try and blame the cat but it’s really my bladder.
Everyone here thinks we are strange because we stay in our room all the time. I have always been a loner and so has my wife. I am happy here in my own space. I can be me in here.
Ah yes. I too am up in the middle of the night. My new knee does not settle well into a sleep pattern. And it is frustrating to try and make it behave. I get up, have a cup of sleepy time tea, and read a good book—I am almost always into 5 or 6 good books. When my eyes start to droop, I go back to bed.
And napping—happens.
I forego my evening martini so I can get a good night's sleep. Turns out that the martinis aren't the culprits.
Even though our household isn't technically "retired" (I'm no longer working outside the home, but my husband teaches music lessons in our basement), your insights in this piece apply to anyone.
Years ago, when I was raising young children as a stay-at-home mom, my sister accused me of being a workaholic. She was right. It's something I've been wrestling with, especially over the last couple of years.
My husband has often suggested that I take one day each month just for myself, leaving the house to do whatever I want. It's a wonderful idea, but somehow I never made it happen. Then an out-of-town friend came to visit, and we talked about my frustration with the endless cycle of chores and responsibilities. I told her about my husband's suggestion, and she immediately agreed, then added, "Why not make it two days?"
I can't explain what shifted in that moment, but something did. For the first time, I truly believed I was allowed to do it. I don't know why I've kept myself prisoner for so long, but I've finally seen the light.
Tomorrow is Friday, one of my favorite days of the week, and after my morning shower I'm heading out with no agenda except to do whatever feels good in the moment. I'm bringing my camera too, just in case. I miss having "photographer's eyes." They need time, attention, and quiet awareness to come alive, and I'm finally giving myself the gift of nurturing them again.
Your call to just being present — like feeling the warmth and texture of sudsy water as you’re washing the dishes — is easier said than done. As a writer, I continue to live inside my head far too much. I’m getting better at letting go of a past and future over which I have zero control. Still, I got a long way to go.