Naming the World

It’s an interesting thing; this aging. I am surrounded by elders. I enjoy them, their wisdoms, insights, and the one commonality that distinguishes the ones still active and engaged, are their passions and passion for life.

It may be writing as an example, it may be walking, it may be reading, playing scrabble, canoeing, camping etc. but those that remain engaged in life are the ones that remain active in some way. A great example is my mother-in-law—98. She continues to name the world, practice Sudoku, walk, pick berries in season and enjoy her great, great grandchildren on those many occasions she connects with family.

A further example may be another elder who dragged me lake swimming this afternoon! Of course I joined the ranks of an elder when I turned 65 this year, but this woman far exceeds my enthusiasm for lake swimming and she is twenty years my senior.

I took my camera and ventured that way in support of her engagement. She loves to swim and last year swam daily in the river with a mutual friend my age! This week again I was impressed with another friend—88—her energy and our diverse conversations kept us up late. Last year, her husband died, and she is adjusting to this change.

My own mother is showing distinct signs of dementia and I can’t help link it to her increasing lack of interest and engagement in life over the past ten years. This year she had a stint insertion to stretch her aorta. Now she is getting the necessary oxygen, yet her attitude of engagement still wanes.

Personally, I experienced this with a contemporary a few years back. His physical decline coincided with angina attacks. His brain, as his arteries became more blocked and oxygen reduced, simply wasn’t getting to organs. His behaviour collapsed into this new habit of apathy and it was difficult to get him off the couch. Ultimately I let go because it was his choice.

Simply put, no-one can persuade anyone to do anything they don’t choose to do themselves. All the cajoling in the world won’t make a difference. Lasting motivation ultimately comes from the inside out rather than the outside in. A distinction I see with elders is those that remain involved in their passions, remain engaged in life. Those that lean into apathy tend to fair less well.

My friend—88—still journals, and has done so for over seventy years when she first began her practice in the wilderness backcountry of Canada; in part to track her days activities, observations, inventions and the emotional landscapes of her life, and in part to write extensive letters to friends. She began this practice early on, and keeps it up today. I call it—naming the world—she calls it writing.

Writing Practice: Go outside listen to the sounds of the wind in the trees. If its’s a calm day, listen to the sounds that meet your ears. Smell the air, touch the ground, feel the weather, taste the atmosphere, imagine the story, recall a moment…begin to write. Keep going for 15 more minutes without stopping.

Lost Art of Letter-Writing?

Dear Fellow Bloggers and Followers;

This morning I woke to snow on the ground. Rapidly it began to melt because believe it or not yesterday Spring had arrived and the sun was hot. Hangin’ out on the deck chatting to neighbours seemed to be what my agenda called for rather than working inside on a blog post. So when I woke this morning two things were on my mind- my blog post and what was going on outside.

As Spirit calls- more often than my to do list, I donned a pair of hikers, grabbed my camera and spent time “seeing what I see” in the rapid melting scene of my garden. One gift was this snowbird hanging onto the branch slowly melting in the warmth from the sun. I couldn’t help but see “him” hanging out waiting for my lens to capture his last moments before he returned to water.

I had thought that I may blog about the “lost art of letter writing,” because it seems to me, it is an art, and sadly in part due to the speed of technology, and in part due to the instantaneousness of our expectations, and pace of life, it is in many ways become a lost art.

I went to boarding school,and as part of the weekly routine; Sunday was letter-writing day. A time was set aside- we sat dutifully in desks for at least an hour, and wrote “home”.

Having been gifted at birthday, holidays or gone “out” or “over” to friends, part of the “after” ritual was writing “thank-you” letters. In truth, at the time, I found it tedious. However, I now see the gift I discovered then, in two different ways now. First, it was a small gift to offer in gratitude to someone who had thought of me, and second, it was a gift of connection.

Now I see the gift it offered me. The art of contemplation and focus; in a sense, I had to contemplate the other person before I was able to respond, and rather than focus on myself, I was able to “walk a moment in their shoes”- see from another point of view first, rather than my own. That, in and of itself, was a huge gift although as the time it brushed by me rather innocuously. [I just love this 20/20 vision, hindsight thingy!]

I have several dear friends who are at least twenty years my senior, and this morning I was mulling on one in particular, and their ability to letter- write. I began to wonder what was it they offered that surpassed other missives.

First and foremost, they draw from years of practice, the art of honing and refining, and an ability to listen to what is said, and respond in a thoughtful, quiet, present manner. When I receive an email from this particular person, what is it that makes a difference in its message? The technology is the same as many others I receive, yet the contents are radically different.

It came to me that it was as if I was being asked to pull-up a chair close to a blazing fire, and spend a little time with a friend when I read her letter. She shared what was happening in her life, she made references to our connections over the years, she walked a moment in my shoes, she built on her own contemplations and asked me wondering questions- and in doing so, brought me intimately into her circle. The experience of reading one her letters is an embrace; a gift of connection, compassion and contemplation. It is her community of caring. The ability to achieve this seems to me an art she practices by drawing from the inside-out, and making a connection with whom she communicates.

It isn’t the technology that is being used so much, as the attitude of approach. Her attitude is one of compassion, the ability to walk a little in another’s shoes, and draw who she writes to into her circle of influence- and I am grateful to be included in that circle.

Yours, in contemplation

writingmybrain@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Writing My Brain- Book Launch

Book Release

Writing My Brain Saved My Life – a non-scientific telling of brain injury from inside out, a memoir launched on January 12, 2014, seven years after a near fatal motor vehicle accident that left Angela Simmons with a TBI (traumatic brain injury), and multiple physical injuries.

The story is told through prose, poetry and photography in a memoir that crosses genres and integrates a journey of discovery to recovery.

It is a book about attitude- how hers threads and weaves through the pages to re-examine a life. It shows how her passion for writing and photography pulled her from no language to words, from physical limitations to one-handed photography, from pain to management, and from blankness to contribution.

It has been about how her attitude helped re-frame a life from challenge to opportunity, from apathy to engagement and how choice is always an option, no matter what each moment brings.

In 2007 Angela’s life changed in an instant when she was run-over by a diesel truck, and tanker north of Edmonton on highway 43. Subsequent years addressed a traumatic brain injury and multiple physical injuries. The years have been about re-learning to live a full life following passions and living with changed abilities and capacities.

This is a story of that journey. It contains twenty-eight vignettes/essays, poems, six full-colour photo-collages and 12 Vision cards to be used as tools for contemplation and wellness within its 165 pages. The story spans three intensive years of struggle, trials and gifts to find a new normal.