New seasons, again

I've been thinking for weeks now that I should write a blog, because I have so many conversations in my head while I'm skiing, or practicing flute, and quite often while I'm going about my day daydreaming. Sometimes, I also have some remarkable "Ah-Ha" moments.

As I sat down this evening with my daughter, my computer genius, she laughed when she found out that I had I begun the blog in 2010.  Here I was, 5 years older and hopefully wiser, yet the blog post could've been written yesterday.  Had I not grown at all?

Whether or not I have grown, during these 5 years since my first earnest attempt at a blog I have experienced life.  I have experienced incredible excitement.  I've also experienced almost the exact opposite: catastrophic, unbelievable, heart wrenching lows which resulted in profound abandonment and loss.  Wow, that sounds ominous and dark. There is light that can override the darkness, and then, almost as though a switch had been thrown, the dark times washed back over me.

Living in this town, sometimes I have overwhelmed at how much it snows in the winter.  It snows as much as I dreamed would be magical when I was a child.  As an adult, however, the feelings of darkness and feeling all alone can be shrouded in darkness.  After 5 years of living here, this past winter I made the conscious decision to take new joy in the fluffy, white, giant flakes of beautiful powdery snow that floats down from the sky.  It makes my world magically quiet, as though I truly am living inside a sparkly snow globe.

Snow - this type of snow that dumps sometimes for days on end, provides a blanket of gentle quiet all over our little world here.  The first year I was here, it didn't stop snowing for 22 days.  Let me rephrase that:  I didn't see the light of day for 22 days.  I say various shades of blue-gray, but not the brilliant blue sky against my world of white.

For the introverted musician that I am, I love to play piccolo, loudly, within an even louder orchestra.  At the same time, I truly love the quietness of many inches and feet of snow.  It's weird and fantastic all at the same time.  Good thing I've learned to love it, because last year I think we had 10 feet of the white stuff that blanketed our tiny community.

With that being said, of course, there is an unusual phenomenon I've begun to discover as I meet more women my age in our town.  It is an unspoken fear of "when will the snow start, and how will I make it until May?"  I've determined that it is a widespread unspoken fear that goes hand in had with, "I better get to the gym to work my core, my quads and cardio so that I can get into those cute little ski pants and generate the strength from which Olympians are made."  I

In this town, as opposed to the big city, I think this conflict of thoughts and feelings are normal amongst women.  Pedicures are replaced with sunscreen, moisturizer, long johns and a helmet.  Spray on tans are actually replaced with real tans sandwiched between a goggle line and a turtleneck line. Women are very tiny and muscular not necessarily just to look good, but to ... wait for it ... be strong and be able to ride a mountain bike UP a hill, hike UP the mountain with skis only to ski down 1 run at 6am and ski double black diamonds after having gone to a yoga class and a spin class before hitting the mountain.  Of course, this is all done before going home to fix dinner and then head to Zumba.

I digress.

Back to my thought process of being 50-something: Sometimes snow is as magical as I experienced it to be when I was a child.  And sometimes, it creates a fear at this age, "What if I fall?  What if I get I get caught in a blizzard somewhere between here and Denver?  What if I don't negotiate a high speed turn on the mountain, and wrap myself around a tree?  Who will prepare dinner, pay bills, and make sure the doors are locked?" And worse, "Who will plan my funeral?  Will the best musicians be hired, or will be people suffer through music I don't like?  Should I simply write my eulogy now?"  I also wonder if I'm the only woman my age who has odd thoughts like this going through her brain.  I'm beginning to realize that, "no", I am not the only one with a myriad of thoughts like this.

I ski a little slower and conservatively ... most of the time.

Another interesting thing I've discovered in this season of life is the actual daily act of being 50-something.  Everyday I relearn something.  I've realized that the young woman in me who has learned so many lessons has also begun to let go of who I always wanted to become, and actually be the person I am.  I've spent these past few years beating myself up, shaming myself, and even hating myself for not having the same drive that I had in my 20s, 30s and 40s.  There are days when letting go is very difficult.  And, in stark contrast, I've completely let go of a starched linen tablecloth and my beautiful 12 settings of lovely bone china and crystal.  Instead, they have been replaced by dishes with a few snowmen on the face of the plate, accompanied lovingly by my grandmother's sterling silver forks, knives and spoons.

I frequently sit with thoughts that go so far against what we were taught in the 70s and 80s:    LET GO of who I always wanted to become, and BE who I actually AM in this life.

Sometimes it hurts that those words don't line up with my dearest friends whom I admire as they are pursuing their dreams as doctors and nurses, airline pilots and fighter pilots, mothers to 1 child and mothers to 10 children and 5 grandchildren.  I am none of those things.  I am not finishing my Masters.  I didn't land a job in a higher paying professional orchestra.  I have become a wedding harpist who plays schmaltzy music for weddings.  I haven't recorded a professional CD, or been signed to a label.  I haven't been on a solo tour.  And, I also don't practice 6 hours a day anymore.  So, did I miss the mark?  Or, is the stability of status quo okay?

And really, who defines status quo?  Do I need to continue to raise the standard of excellence to the next best thing?

What if I simply make the choice to do the next right thing for me?

Hmmmm.

After years of angst because I desperately wanted to be normal and simply fit it in; I am beginning to realize that I am who I am.  And that's really okay.  God made me.  And that's good.  Do I have stuff to work on to make me a better me?  Sure!  But, God made me and I am choosing now to rest in that reality.  I think, perhaps, this might be genuine humility?

Honestly, it feels good to have dropped some of my hidden pride and competitiveness.  I've almost completely quit forcing myself to climb the career ladder of success in life.  It feels good to embrace my current "best" to fully live IN the present moment rather than ignoring the present moment and waiting for the future to be better.  What a colossal disappointment it is to wake up 5 years later and read that I spent 5 years waiting to achieve something miraculous, outstanding and worthy of landing me on the cover of some magazine.

Sigh.

If I sit quietly in front of my fireplace with my homemade latte in hand, I can gently respect the miracle that, for starters, I'm still alive.  Beat cancer:  check.  Beat heart disease:  check.  Beat an affair and lived through it:  check.  I can still laugh and cry.  And, I still make a pretty good latte and burn the toast with relative consistency.

I've begun to learn how to give myself permission to ease up on the pressure and learn to find my new normal.  (I was forewarned to never use italics and bold in a blog, but there it is.  It's important to me.  I want it to stand out, even if it breaks protocol writing etiquette today.)  It will be defined differently than the gal down the street, or that wonderful friend who always looks fabulous, or my other friend who is able to enjoy all the amazing, sparkly, new, fancy things I always imagined I would enjoy at this age.

My new normal became normal and stronger, after life became worse.

Let me write that again so that I remember it.

The new normal became normal and stronger, after life became worse.  

Here is how I got from Point A to Point B of finding my new normal:
I smiled.
I cried.
I powered through.
I totally faked it until I could make it to the next day.
And the next.
And the next.

And after the tears stopped, I walked into another job interview, answered the questions from my heart and became a ski instructor after having been rejected the year before.  Amazing.

That was one of the first empowering days that I experienced in a long string of empowering experiences after a year or 2 of ... hell on earth.

You see, in retrospect, what happened the day I was offered a job as a ski instructor, my heart sang when I realized I had been chosen.  It was empowering enough to walk out tall and smiling like a teenaged girl who was just invited to the senior Prom!  With those simple words, "You are the type person we want on our team" also came the feeling, "Somebody wants me."

I felt valued.  And, in those moments, my brain chemistry began to change.  I went to the gym.  I worked hard.  I dropped 20 pounds easily.  I couldn't wait to get my uniform and learn how to be a ski instructor.

That was wild too - the learning.  I was the 2nd oldest person in my "new hire" group.  I kept up even when it was scary, steep, and exhausting.  Digesting so much information, and amping up my alpine skiing skills, also scary.  And empowering.

Somebody believed that I could make a difference in guests' lives.  I dared to step up to the plate and reinvent myself completely.  Thrilling.  Overwhelming.  The new norm for me.

I became a new person when I zipped up that jacket and buckled my helmet.  I had been chosen to do this job.  I had been accepted. I finally belonged in a foreign town that, in my experience, had not wanted me.

Instead of sitting in a practice room for hours until my head was spinning and ears were ringing, I was now standing in line to get into a gondola car with 7 strangers and teach them how to ski.  Mind blowing.

The new norm.
Change:  the brain hates it.
Change:  I needed it.
Change:  I could do it.

It was scary.  And yet, when it was time to tip my skis over the edge of what seemed to be a giant, snow covered cliff, I dropped in and became a more brave and secure person.  It didn't matter that it wasn't who I imagined I would be at this age.  What mattered was that I skied strongly with determination to the bottom of that mountain with graceful power.  It mattered that I smiled as I negotiated each round turn on those 2 freshly waxed skis in which my boots were clicked tightly. That was my new norm.  And I loved it.  And I was reborn, every day with each new gondola ride.

The New Normal - perhaps that is actually what being 50-something is.  Trying on a new outfit in life and embracing those changes as the seasons change with the color of our hair, and the magnification of our reading glasses.  The New Normal - greeting each new day that is new and familiar at the same time, and living it with grace, humility, wisdom and love.  Most of all love.  Learning to love myself in this moment, in this body, in this sacred place where my body, soul and spirit meet to create the unique me I am at 50-something.  As I do that, I am better equipped to love others openly without reserve, yet with wisdom.  And in the long-run, isn't that what its all about?