Tag: summer

I did something hard

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I did something hard, impulsively. Without thinking started to play badminton with my kids. I’ve always feared doing group sports because I’m uncoordinated and not naturally athletic–though I admire it so much in others. I’m super competitive I enjoy the battle. I watch a lot of sports. I like my team winning.  I’m also easily ashamed of myself and don’t try things fearing I’ll look silly. 

Also who knew how much aging makes you afraid and physically cautious.

I’m committed to keep moving because I saw my mother’s mental and physical decline as directly connected to her inactivity. But for me the haze of depression and newfound anxiety, the boredom of retirement, a lifelong fear of looking dumb, have all combined to make me never try group sports since college.

But I played yesterday impulsively. I did not think. I picked up a racket and joined in. They only play for fun as far as I can tell. And it was a blast. I loved hearing you’ve got it mom even as I missed. It felt so good! And I laughed so hard at myself and with others about how ridiculous we all were.  It felt so good! I felt something healing inside me, just a little.

Afterward I felt like I wanted accolades. I just did a hard thing I wanted to shout, to shrugs from my husband because even he who knows me so well cannot comprehend how I chose life in that moment. Everyone acted like it was totally normal, this thing I never do. Perhaps that made it easier in the end–the nonchalance.

I am so proud of myself! This thing that was so nothing to young people was massive to me. And there’s no photographic record, per usual if I don’t record it, it doesn’t happen.

But I know. I have the grass stains to prove my diving for the birdie. I did a hard thing and it matters to me. The doing was hard. Risking shame. Looking bad. Looking silly.  Holding them back.

I’m turning 60 in a month. For me, this age has always been absolutely ancient in my mind. For just a second I was 20, going into a game, unafraid of anything.

why must winter come? (a poem)

why must winter come?

it’s fall and yet i walk about the yard in shorts, constantly aware of the heat.  cool enough.  gorgeous leaves, made of reds, yellows, browns chewed into smaller pieces, set aside for the spring.  the grass is still green and growing, fighting.   for it has something more to show for itself.  as i blow the remaining sticks and other fall debris i wonder if it is tomorrow that will bring the cold?

it’s fall and yet the windows are open, as i sip a cold clausthaler and listen to the neighbors’ rowdy party music, i long hop the fence.  i’m not finished with summer yet.  somehow the heat makes it linger on.  the nights are starry and the moon was bright last night.  with the windows open a perfect sleep comes.  down comforters likely out too soon but feel anticipatory.  as i put the fire pit aside to mow, perhaps the last of the fall, i hope we use it again!

one last fire, outside before the morning dew on the lawn freezes and i wish again for a heated garage.  i blow the leaves out of the garage — again — and again as they seem to fight me. wondering how it got this way, again.  the indiscriminate pile-up of bikes, discarded furniture, forgotten projects, and garage sale finds all manage to keep it something other than what it was supposed to be.

and as i sweep the summer’s storm of activity away i think of winter wishing, wondering, what will it hold?  if summers are for friendship, and water toys, laughter, smoky grills, and cold beer what does winter’s promise hold?  for those of us who hold on tight to the warm weather and outdoor chores, the possibilities and hope that come from growing things.  Somehow, i must allow winter to come.

then i will settle in to short nights and freezing toes in the morning.  pull out the wool sweaters, accepting that summer is fully gone.