Marcia’s Musings: A New Era Arrives
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Nothing against knitting or knitters, but if one more person suggests this as a hobby for me, I may toss some needles. Being homebound for a month that feels like a year gave me plenty of time to become aware of some new realities. One of them is this: All my hobbies, except for reading and writing, involve being active and outdoors – gardening, biking, hiking, walking, swimming, kayaking, and fishing. (To this I add homemaking: Nothing pleases me more than carefully arranged and uncrowded mementos and art, consistently folded towels and linens nestled into closets and drawers, and neat countertops. However, you can do only so much of this before it is less an artform and more a chore.)
Thus arrived the many suggestions to take up yarn when the physical, outdoor avenues closed to me.
Thankfully, my yoga practice calls me inside when the Minnesota weather is too hot, too cold, too rainy, too snowy, too dry, or too buggy – in other words 335 days a year. (Being inside for yoga doesn’t qualify as a real sacrifice as I prefer public indoor classes in which my heart and mind can meld with other hearts and minds.)
And the other humdinger of a conundrum: My other lifelong hobby has been my work, a rich stew of journalism, corporate management, and entrepreneurship, including founding Green Lotus and thus rewarding me with mission and satisfaction for seventeen years now. As I watch people of all ages struggle to make sense of the new work world, I give thanks for a long run that was mostly exciting, challenging, and rewarding. It feels like a Golden Age.
When the hammer fell, or more accurately the surgeon’s scalpel, and a non-life-threatening complication ensued along with an extended rest at-home, legs-elevated time, I faced down this question: As I age, how will I fill my time and engage my mind and body when I need options other than physical movement outdoors and work? As one of my closest friends relayed to me in a quick feedback loop when I shared my worries, “I would say you’re sounding a little panicked.” Highly accurate, I thought.
I examined the endless possibilities for indoor hobbies, having quickly jettisoned knitting because I never stopped dropping stitches in the times I tried it, and I just didn’t care if I finished anything, a strong signal that it might not be my thing. Also, the click-clack of the needles jangled my nerves a bit unlike, say, attending a sound bath or a singing bowls training. I did one of those at Green Lotus during the pandemic – oh, how, the waves of sound soothed my soul. Keep that one on the list, I told myself. Then at least you’ll have two, and yoga and singing bowls have a long and rich relationship.
What about painting and sketching, I thought? Half the residents of Florida – where I spend winter – paint or draw, it seems. (The other half seems to gravitate toward photography, potting, glassblowing, and sculpting.) I attend countless numbers of exhibitions during the season and enjoy them to the hilt. It amazes me that so many people who never had gripped a brush, sketching pencil, or piece of chalk before retiring bravely take lessons at art centers and create what to me are utter masterpieces. The appetizers, libations, and interesting conversations at these soirees themselves serve as creative expressions. When I arrive home, I feel motivated and inspired. Now, I’m thinking, add these to the list of things to try “later”.
One of my dear friends never leaves home without her sketchbook, watercolors, and brushes. She captures what she’s seeing and experiencing in the moment and leaves room for annotations that provide insight, and sometimes, raw expression. I love these artful journals so much and all the adventures they capture – from the animals of Tanzania to the waves of the North Shore. “These should be made into a series of books,” I tell her, assigning her one more thing to do while I blissfully ignore my dilemma of no indoor hobbies. I think she should tell me to mind my own business or at least take a long look in the mirror. Kindly, she doesn’t.
I endured in one month two surgeries – the first to replace my right hip, which went swimmingly, and the second to deal with a rare complication, the luck of the draw, that happens to one percent or fewer of the 450,000 people who need new hips each year. Homebound, I thought often of my parents, other family members, and friends and how they approached this dilemma. I realized, too, that these issues affect younger people as well as aging ones. With so many girls and boys who become athletes at a young age, corresponding stats along with the rise of sports medicine show how many of them need new joints in their thirties, forties, and even in their twenties. The odds go up with age, though, and by then it can feel too late to start delving into the wide world of hobbies.
What to do? If you lay low long enough, ideas arise. Here are some of mine:
Since the pandemic, non-profits cry out for volunteers. Whatever your current passions or ones you may rekindle, a whole new world opens when you help community-based organizations. I am pursuing two in both states in which I reside – reading to children at schools and Planned Parenthood, which engaged me in deeply rewarding board week in my 40s and 50s. My daughter enjoys volunteering at Dowling Community Garden in Minneapolis, and a friend in New Mexico spends enjoyable hours at a local nature center. Wherever you turn, you are needed, and being needed leads to a nimbler mind and open heart.
Many of my friends enjoy singing in choirs and playing in community bands and quartets. Closeted flutes, tubas, and French horns, lovingly restored, join other orphaned instruments in band shells, community centers, and auditoriums, and audiences revel in local performances. Music, like math, is a language of logic and creativity. My reedy voice may find a home in call-and-response chanting or a choir. Who knows?
Travel still beckons in quieter ways. I long for a month again in an area of Greece I once called home, whiling away days by or on the sea, in coffee shops and vineyards, and on tours of ancient sites. Green Lotus’s Greece retreat in 2024 will be my jumping-off point for a longer stay. I don’t have to go far away, either – a month near my son and his family in another state would be a great adventure! Wherever I rent a home for an extended period, I try to live as though I’m a local. My bucket list, while shorter now, offers rich ways to be engaged in the larger world.
Reading and writing will always offer opportunities to learn and probe. A writer friend and I began a collection of essays during the pandemic, and we both long to return to it. Marcia’s Musings and our entire blog provided me an outlet not only for my writing but also to return to my roots as an editor. It can offer you a treasure trove of ideas and information, thoughts and feelings, and I urge you to use it as a great library.
As I’ve reclined on my front porch with elevated legs, the delight of watching the many species of birds zooming around our feeders and splashing in our birdbaths taught me that being passive in nature provides a textured richness missed when always on the move outdoors. Over these five weeks of enforced languidness on my street-facing perch, I’ve coaxed a squirrel to sit near my feet to accept nuts. It watches me warily even as it dares to come closer and then hops up for a sip of water from the nearby bubbling fountain as I capture it on videos to send to my three-year-old grandson. “You’re turning into Grandma,” my kids tell me in comparison with my mother. She tamed all sorts of creatures, including a pair of robins that returned year after year, and a series of homeless cats. Sometimes, our backyard felt like an animated Disney movie set. “That’s okay,” I think. “That’s okay.” Buy some feeders and a birdbath, grab some binoculars, rest, and enjoy the simple pleasure of watching nature in motion.
Going back to school calls to me. Great institutions of learning offer avenues to audit regular classes and attend summer workshops. Programs like Roads Scholar and many others also offer ways to engage in the world in the company of others.
The thing is, working beyond the standard retirement age can be a hobby, too. In retrospect, my prolonged time with Green Lotus extended my curiosity, vibrancy, and engagement with a vast and varied community of seekers. It’s come to me that a person can work too long and, also, that a person can hang up the towel too early. Being aware of why and how you continue to work, should you choose to do so (and not everyone has a choice), offers so much if it doesn’t consume you. The work-life balance we so desire requires constant reexamination and adjustment.
Who am I, why am I here, and how shall I live are the three greatest existential questions of humans for a reason. Quiet time brings them close and makes them personal.
These last weeks of imposed quiet and rest, while beneficial in the long run, triggered a period of situational depression. I do not want to skirt this truth because there is no shame in it. I could feel myself on the precipice of it, and I dealt with it by talking with friends and counselors. If I hid this from you, all of my musings these last years would ring hollow. During my recovery, I’ve relied on the best of melding the integrative healing services at Green Lotus with the support of my Western medical team – this is a cornerstone of our mission’s philosophy. Hiding away when sad or fearful, lonely or isolated can lead to or deepen depression: Coming out of the darkness into the light by acknowledging it is the first step, in my opinion, to feeling at ease. If it happens to you, we are here to listen and to really see you.
As I find myself growing stronger each day, I sense the immenseness of the adventure still before me and the many choices to be considered. Aging gracefully, I realize, will be a hobby in and of itself. You know, I think I’ll venture out today to the yarn shop. When I was a child and then a young woman, I loved to embroider. Maybe the needles I pick up will create beautiful pillowcases, patterns on towels and sheets, and edges on baby blankets. And who knows? Maybe a knitted cable sweater is in my future.
Much love.
