At Peace. . .

The night before New Years Eve and I feel a deep calm. Unusual for me on this day of the year. I usually have a twinge of anxiety on the cusp of the new year to come. I feel like we are about to jump off the edge of some metaphorical cliff into the unknown — not knowing what awaits us in the year to come.

Of course everyday we face the unknown — we can never really know what awaits in the day. But we can tend to fool ourselves into thinking that our calendar lays out what awaits us . . . what appointments, what is on our to do list, what people will be showing up that day for dinner, etc. etc.

But on the day before the eve of the new year, it is so much more apparent that the future has not yet been written. It is not yet known. There will be joys to come (I am trusting that) and there will likely be sadnesses to be borne (unfortunately I am sure of that). But not knowing the specifics of either joys or sadnesses creates in me that twinge of anxious dread.

I would have expected much more than the usual anxiety at this soon-to-be New Years Eve and so I am surprised at the calm and peaceful feelings that have come over me. Why would I expect more anxiety than usual? With the surprises that came at the end of the year in October and hailed health challenges that were entirely unexpected, I experienced a return of my PTSD from earlier life surprises. From late October until just a couple of days ago, I could slip easily into mild panic and fear. Sleeping was often a challenge. But in between those moments of anxiety, there were experiences of calm and peace. Often those times came when I received a message or email from someone wondering how things were going, or from my daughter or sister or brothers. Knowing I was remembered and wondered about was comforting.

And so I will enter this 2020 year ahead with calm and peace, having learned one thing very well: how deeply meaningful is contact with another human being. Whether by a 3 word email or a phone conversation or a note in the mail or a cup of coffee at Panera’s — caring relationships are healing and their maintenance is a priority.

Where will I be in 2021??

I just left the orthopod’s office after my one year hip replacement anniversary check up. I’ll only need to check in once every two years from here on. My hip surgery has been a total success and it was a good decision to undertake it.

I stopped at the check out desk and commented to the clerk that I didn’t need to come back for two years. Would someone from the office get in touch with me to make an appointment closer to that time or would I need to make a note to myself?

“Oh, we’re making appointments for two years out,” she said and opened the calendar software to 2021.

So, I will be seeing the doctor on November 29, 2021 (a Monday in case you wanted to know). It is now in my Google calendar on my iPhone — the first appointment date in 2021!

As I left the doctor’s office, I wondered . . . 2021. Will I be healthy? Will I be living in the house we’re presently in? What will be going on in my life then? What will I have done with these two years?

Two years used to be a long time. Even now, thinking about 2021 seems so far in the future! And yet as any of us grows older, our perception of time changes — speeding up and making it seem like days fly by before we’ve noticed.

Before we’ve noticed . . . that is the biggest wondering I have about 2021. Will I arrive at November 29, 2021 and wonder where the time went? Will the days between now and then hold any meaningful events, quilting projects (;^), interactions with others, counseling or spiritual direction sessions, losses, challenges . . . ? I cannot expect of myself that every day will be an experience of deep mindfulness — I know I won’t be able to bring deep intentional attention to every moment. But what I do want is to become better at reaching out to make connections with those around me . . . family of course, current friends, but also others whom I don’t know yet (or don’t know well).

I have spent my life as an introvert and my introversion won’t suddenly change to extroversion. All the flavors of my active vocational life (counseling, priesthood, spiritual direction, teaching) involved intense, often profound interactions with many people, and I often ended a work day exhausted and longing for some time alone to allow my soul to catch up with the rest of me.

But in retirement, I have lots of time alone. I have awakened in this stage of life to a longing for connection with others. . . a connection that goes beyond casual conversation and into a deeper knowing. Martin Buber, Jewish theologian and philosopher, called the first kind of relationship an “I/it” relationship in which neither person really knows the other. The latter relationship he called an “I/thou” relationship. In the latter kind of relationship, one seeks both to know and be known by the other. There is vulnerability, authenticity, discovery of truths about oneself and the other. Not all relationships or interactions can be I/thou, and there is nothing wrong with having some I/it relationships. But I know I seek more of the I/thou in my life.

So November 2021? Will I be nurturing deep friendships? Will I be seeking to live mindfully as I walk this earth? Will I be striving to leave this earth and its people a better place in some small way (undoubtedly an infinitesimal drop in the bucket — but hopefully in some way) for my having lived?