When You Wish Upon a Star

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When my ex walked out the door, he took my dreams with him.

He carried out the trips we had planned over dinners and walks, running over them with his car until they were but black marks on the street.

He hefted the retirement daydreams onto his back and launched them in the dumpster as he drove away.

The house plans and projects were sent through the shredder before being addressed to the incinerator.

He even stuffed his pockets with the small yearnings, the desire to grow old together and to watch our world evolve.

He took it all.

 

The first dreams I built were solo dreams – a desire to see the Smithsonian (done!) and a commitment to take time to play more (check!). I couldn’t look too far ahead nor could I trust that another would be there. So I kept the dreams small and close or vague enough to adjust to whatever reality presented.

Even once married, I found myself tentative to speak of long-range plans. Hesitant to believe in lofty dreams. It was though by not speaking them or even thinking them, I avoided tempting fate. Prevented a thief from yet again raiding my hopes and dashing my dreams.

 

This weekend I didn’t just tempt fate, I seduced her. On a quiet weekend away, Brock and I spent hours discussing thoughts and desires for retirement, speaking our dreams and discussing our plans of how to make it happen. We spoke of homes and trips. Pensions and deductions. As we continued to talk and refine our ideas, I found excitement slowly replacing my ambivalence. It felt amazing to believe in a future again. To take steps and share visions.

And to believe that not every wish is stolen before it can come true.

 

I was able to make that wish in a very special way this weekend. After struggles with horrible vision for most of my life, new lenses and a small, dark town allowed me to see the stars for the first time in twenty years. Never say never.

 

 

Life Assurance Policy

Posted on by stilllearning2b

life is not a waiting room

My parents are of an age where their friends and acquaintances are dying in ever-increasing numbers. Some of them are felled before they make it to retirement, some of them have been there awhile and others have found that elusive balance between work and play for much of their lives.

I’m of age where retirement feels eons away and I find it easy to assume that I have many tomorrows to fill with my dreams. I file plans for retirement as easily as I put money into my pension.

Of course, I know there are no guarantees in life. I may not make it until retirement. The carefully saved money could disappear. The health I’m blessed with could be taken with one illness or a single accident. The people I want to spend time with may no longer be around. I’ve already faced the loss of one dream with the collapse of my marriage; others may still follow.

The other day, I learned from my father about another death. A man who had been looking forward to having time to pursue his passion. A passion which is now to be carried out by those who loved him. The conversation gave me pause. We so often delay our passions due to necessity – the bills that need to be paid, the house that needs upkeep and the tasks that accompany life. It’s so easy to forget those things which make us truly alive while we tend to those minutiae which keep us alive.

Immediately following that conversation, Brock called from his business trip. He had some information that was making him think about his future, causing him to question the retirement he was planning. We had an interesting talk, weighing the “now” versus the “maybes” in the future, trying to extrapolate the potential repercussions down the road of various choices. We arrived at no answers, only a sense of clarity and of shared purpose in our goals. For now, that’s enough.

I used to think that if I kept quiet, played by the rules, that everything would be okay. That was my life assurance policy. Unfortunately, the premium on the policy was way too high – causing me to pay with procrastination of passion, keeping me in a waiting room of life. And then, when those promises of a secure future for a faithful wife and hard worker failed to materialize, it turned out that the policy didn’t pay.

That experience was like one of near-death. I live in a way I didn’t before now that I truly comprehend how much of an illusion security can be.

I’ve now written my own life assurance policy. It’s more a list of promises to myself than anything. A list that reminds me to live for today. The premium only requires that I remind myself of my promises and stay true to my own beliefs. It requires no forms and no salesmen. It’s fully transferable and never expires. And that’s a life assurance policy I can feel good about.

Lisa’s Life Assurance Policy

-Remember your passions. Find a way to incorporate them into daily (or at least weekly) life. Ignore the excuses the brain kicks up – that’s only fear talking.

-Don’t spend more time/money/energy on tomorrow than you do for today. Every day and every interaction is worth it.

-Be smart about planning for tomorrow but don’t waste time worrying about tomorrow. There is too much you cannot foresee and cannot control.

-Become at peace with change. It’s not going anywhere; you might as well get used to it.

Time Travel

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I went to a friend and former coworker’s retirement celebration today (the event that I gave up the mysterious Heart Beans for). It was a beautiful medley of teachers I have worked with over the last ten years. My retiring friend looked radiant, her face creaseless and worry-free and her body relaxed. It was wonderful to be able to share in recognizing this exciting transition with her.

みちゆき — time travel
みちゆき — time travel (Photo credit: nodoca)

It was interesting for me in other ways as well. Some of the teachers that were present keep up with me via Facebook or my blog (hi, guys!) even though we see each other infrequently due to the distance and Atlanta traffic. Others were part of my support system when my tsunami divorce hit three years ago, right before my last year at that school but we have not really kept in touch. Others still have been out of my life since before the disasster and had no idea of the events of the past few years.

It reminded me of the children in my life that I see periodically. Their parents hardly notice the changes over the months or years but to me, the changes are shocking. My mind attempts to connect the 6 month old with the taking toddler or the 6’1″ pseudo-man with the 4’8″ prepubescent 8th grader I taught.

I imagine it felt like that to some of the teachers I saw tonight. Several of them, upon hearing the news of my divorce, told me about times they witnessed my husband and I together. How good we looked as a couple. How in love we appeared to be. How much it seemed like he adored me. I never know how to respond to this. It is a lifetime ago to me. I know, yet I don’t really remember.

The ones who were my support group were thrilled to see me happy and moving on. They couldn’t get over the change in my body language and the lack of stress on my face as they grew accustomed to the Lisa who was facing the end of a life and was not sure how she was going to create another. They were also trying to connect the old Lisa with the new. Unlike them, I have lived every day, faced every step forward as well those going backward. Even then, I sometimes have trouble connecting the dots from 2009 until today.

As for those I stay in touch with, it was wonderful to exchange hugs with those I largely “see” through Facebook.  I felt immediately at home again.

The teachers at that school are truly a family. And, like a family, we always look out for each other even when we only get glimpses through the years.