Years ago I read of two views of life from the perspective of an older age, a choice to make as we saw fit. If I saw my life as having had a purpose, of my having enjoyed pleasures and overcome difficulties then I would experience a positive feeling about it, integration with optimism for my future. This is the choice that I have worked diligently to achieve.
If, on the other hand, I saw my life as missing out on what I had wanted, my hopes left unfulfilled, I would experience disintegration, unable to see that what had happened did have a purpose. My view of older age would be one of regret, and in the extreme of bitterness.
For several very early mornings in a row, in India, months apart, I have lain in bed and looked at all of my adult life situations. With each review, I have found that none of my former periods, if continued, would have led me to the growth I have experienced over the past nineteen years, thirteen of which I have lived here. And this is how I have deepened my acceptance of living apart from America. I have more to offer of love, understanding, compassion, and knowledge…and yes, I find more laughter coming from me as I can now see how humorous life can be—I have matured emotionally.
One night, I sat on a cushion, at a table low to the floor. The soft, dim glow of a lamp was all that lit the room. I was gazing, though, beyond the room, at the sun sinking behind the deepening darkness of the woods and even farther back beyond an unmown field, at a rim of country grass. My dinner companion put my dinner of fresh fish, rice, and vegetables before me, then sat on a low stool with his plate across from mine. We ate quietly until I said that this was much better than a restaurant. As today, I ate out at very few places due to aging, due to years of a restricted diet, but for the next two weeks I had the pleasure of eating out each night at this table.
For several very early mornings in a row, in India, months apart, I have lain in bed and looked at all of my adult life situations. With each review, I have found that none of my former periods, if continued, would have led me to the growth I have experienced over the past nineteen years, thirteen of which I have lived here. And this is how I have deepened my acceptance of living apart from America. I have more to offer of love, understanding, compassion, and knowledge…and yes, I find more laughter coming from me as I can now see how humorous life can be—I have matured emotionally.
One night, I sat on a cushion, at a table low to the floor. The soft, dim glow of a lamp was all that lit the room. I was gazing, though, beyond the room, at the sun sinking behind the deepening darkness of the woods and even farther back beyond an unmown field, at a rim of country grass. My dinner companion put my dinner of fresh fish, rice, and vegetables before me, then sat on a low stool with his plate across from mine. We ate quietly until I said that this was much better than a restaurant. As today, I ate out at very few places due to aging, due to years of a restricted diet, but for the next two weeks I had the pleasure of eating out each night at this table.
Months later, back in India, on a day when I felt discouraged that I must cook every meal I eat, a new thought appeared to inspire me, interrupting the effort I was about to make. I realized that people in assisted living housing and nursing homes eat out every day with little other choice. I had pushed my mother from her room to the dining hall in her nursing home and had walked beside my dad years later, as he left his room to dine with the other residents in his assisted living housing. As I again faced my cooking pots, I felt a mixture of compassion and gratitude—the first for the past then for my being able to live in my own home.
Except for a photo of my son-in-law and teen grandsons across the room propped on my desk, I sat alone at my kitchen table as I looked out the large west window. Above the brick wall and wire and close on the other side in a vacant lot, the custard apple trees that I had just begun to water and fertilize with manure had already put out new leaves in abundance. Satisfied, I turned to my bowl and dipped my spoon into homemade dal.
My realization is, “The lives we live have more variety than can be researched, yet for each of us our personal journey is where we are to focus. How we live each day determines our aging as a time of gratefulness or disappointment.”