is it ever too early to do a life review?

brokenhearted times ask for a daily practice of lament & gratitude

i forgot my own advice to breathe the last two weeks. breathe deep and drop into slow time. deep time. time beyond time. i’m reminding myself now. moving has been exhausting…physically and emotionally. was it like that when i was younger? i’d like to think i’m more aware as i’ve entered my crone years. paying attention to subtle shifts. and even as i shed more stuff as i unpack (why did i move THAT?) this intentional move has proven advantageous to doing a wee life review. life review…what i did with so many folks when i worked as a hospice chaplain.

my mother-in-law is on hospice. even though i am no longer married to her son, i’m still considered family and we never bothered with the “ex” thing. i visited on sunday. held her hand and shared memories: first time meeting. when the grandkids gathered to make gingerbread houses during the holidays. the VERY LARGE annual family gatherings (quite an experience for me as i come from a VERY SMALL family.) told her how much i appreciated having her in my life these past 40+ years. told her i loved her.

holding my mother-in-law’s hand

since coming onto hospice, friends and family have been stopping by and sharing their love and gratitude for my MIL being in their lives. she is well loved in the community she has been a part of for 50+ years. her weariness is being buoyed by a blanket of communal love and her spirit radiates the peace of being ready to pass through the veil.

my MIL’s impending death is after a long life and though there will be sadness, a missing of her presence and grieving, there is time to journey alongside her during the dying process. to gather. to ask her what her wishes are. to affirm her. it is a gift.

doing periodic life reviews without the impetus of a major life transition…i see wisdom in that. perhaps that would help clear out not just physical clutter, but the emotional, psychic, and spiritual clutter that accumulates in our packed “to do” lives. this move has asked me to swim against the culture of “keep moving forward.” asked me to reflect on loses and loves. on Grief and Joy. to check in with my heart. this is an ongoing process.

as i become acquainted with my new abode, i realize how essential it is for me to drop into slow time. deep time. in the busyness of unpacking (my hyper-virgo self has been compelled to empty the boxes as the clutter bothers me, but, uhm, that doesn’t make space for a lot of resting) i have not taken time to listen to the Land i now live on. to greet the patch of soil i will be able to place my hands in that rings the outer edge of the sweet patio i look out on when i sit and read. to acknowledge the Dandelions that already inhabit that space. to watch in amazement the birds that flit about on the bushes outside my kitchen. and the park that will be an endless distraction right outside my office and bedroom windows…oh oh oh.

i did step out the other day for a few minutes and introduced myself to the tree beings in the park. i have the privilege of majestic Oaks and elder Apples a few yards from my windows! Oak, a wise wise tree with stories rooted in my ancestral homeland. and Apple, a tree that is reminiscent of my childhood—our orchard having an assortment of old Apple trees. These Apples with deep home hollows for beings of this world and, i sense, the Otherworld.

my new neighbors

it was a long journey to find this home. it felt like i was welcomed in as soon as i walked in the door, as though the Universe has a hand in the selection process. sure, i’m renting, and no one knows what the future holds, but for now, i’m looking forward to settling into the dark of late autumn and winter and listening deep to the Land, my heart and my soul. make that i NEED to drop into the dark and slow time. i’ve missed those long, extended pauses. the wisdom that comes from the timelessness of deep time.

though the distraction of moving has diverted me from my usual deep dive listenings and readings. from social media and the news, these wild times have not gone unnoticed. the moaning and wailing of the brokenhearted currents across the globe. wraps around the shedding trees and lifts up the waves and beats the shore. they ask for a daily lament alongside my daily gratitude. is there more i can do? i don’t yet know. so i hold the two, lament and gratitude, together. Grief teaches me to start there and the rest will come. i breathe. i breathe in deep and exhale. repeat repeat repeat…

i’ll continue to do my own wee life review. discern. sort. discard the unnecessary. cherish and honor what enlivens my heart and expands my curiosity. i’ll pay attention to what ails the world. tell folks i love them. it is never too early. if that is one lesson from these wild times, for me, that is it. what does doing a periodic life review look like to you?

and finally, a Substack i highly recommend is Andrea Gibson’s Thing’s That Don’t Suck (i’m pretty sure i’ve mentioned her before, but moving brain…) her recent post, A New Kind of Bucket List, is full of gems. wise, insightful, gracious.

here are a few of my favorites from her list, but really, head over to her post and read the whole list and find a gem that speaks to you.

• To wear my heart on my sleeve, and never grow out of that shirt.

• To grieve the way nature grieves. To weep like the first rain of Spring.

• To be what Mary Oliver called a bride married to amazement, and to not file for divorce from amazement when my life is hard.

• To repeatedly meet the euphoria of being thankful in moments I am told gratitude is impossible.

what would you include on your “New Kind of Bucket List?” this is what i would include: “to listen to the Land where i place my feet and ask ‘what story do you want to share?’”

with deep gratitude that you are here,

anne

ps: that “bride married to amazement” andrea mentioned comes from the often shared Mary Oliver poem “When Death Comes,” included among the Library of Congress’ Poetry 180 program of poems to be shared in schools. a favorite poem of mine.

When death comes 
like the hungry bear in autumn; 
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; 
when death comes 
like the measle-pox;

when death comes 
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: 
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything 
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, 
and I look upon time as no more than an idea, 
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common 
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, 
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something 
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life 
I was a bride married to amazement. 
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder 
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, 
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

—Mary Oliver