A Lighter Life
Just after the new year, as I was preparing bags of clothing for my monthly “Okay, I accept that these items will never fit again” donation to the Epilepsy Foundation, I began to see how giving away suits and dresses and separates I had bought during my forties and fifties offered benefits I hadn’t noticed before: more closet space. Less guilt about keeping expensive clothing I’ll never use again. A good feeling about how great some of the ensembles might look on someone else.
Closing up the bags, I gazed slowly around the eclectic work/reading/personal space I had created in our colorful, oddly-angled attic and noticed reminders of other parts of my life that had become easier, less encumbered. Better.
Let me be clear: I’ll never claim “everything’s better now that I’m in my 70s”—that would be a lie. But I am experiencing my life in surprising ways that wouldn’t have been possible during earlier decades.
Life just felt lighter that day.
A glance at my wall calendar revealed mostly events I looked forward to—dinner with my daughter. A birthday celebration with two dear friends. A trip to my hometown of St. Louis, to visit my 95-year-old mom. A weekly FaceTime conversation with one of my best friends, who moved to a different state a few months ago. Another online conversation with my brilliant nephew, who manages my social media accounts. My granddaughter’s choral concert. These are people I will always choose to be with; no one on this list got there because of a networking opportunity. My social life is still busy, but it carries less weight. It’s . . . lighter.
Of course, I always enjoyed and truly appreciated all the people I met with over coffee, lunch and happy hour during the decades I depended on professional connections to find consulting work and employment opportunities. They depended on me, too. But honestly, it’s a relief not to have to dress up and gear up for so many meetings. I love wishing those individuals well online; perhaps they feel the same way.
I also have to admit that engaging in fewer happy hours translates to . . . well, fewer glasses of wine and virtually no driving under the influence. These days, I imbibe mostly within the safety of my own home, or in the living rooms of my friends, who have also cut back. And in some cases, way back. My liquor bill is certainly lighter.
My office files, once filled with professional history I am finally beginning to toss, reminded me of a time when life was plagued by conflict. I once accepted a job at a company that was so utterly the wrong fit that my closest friends still shudder—even more than I do--when I refer to those months. Today, the photos on display in my attic, not to mention my favorite books, framed art, and even my favorite chair, elicit far more joy than during long gone days and months when I played out ancient family dynamics. Fortunately, time and forgiveness have softened those memories and healed the effects of those events. My emotional life is less complicated. Much brighter.
In the early 2000s, I had purchased a piece of art—created by Minneapolis folk artist Mari Newman—that now hangs behind my desk. For a long time that image represented a period of grief and high anxiety as my second marriage ended. Now it reminds me that I have a solid, caring relationship with my ex that finally works—one we can and do use to support our daughter without the strain of living together.
With a lightened emotional load, life is simply less stressful, partly because I’ve given up the navel-gazing I once devoted to dozens of fairly inconsequential decisions I made during any given day. And perhaps life isn’t all about me? That’s what a good friend who lives down the street says—a psychologist who actually addresses the causes and effects of overthinking via her new blog, Less Thinking, More Living, at https://substack.com/@drjackie.
For me, less thinking includes fewer judgments of myself and others, which results in better relationships across the board. Years ago, an astrologist who read my natal chart exclaimed, “With five planets in the house of relationships it’s almost as if you came to do only that!” Whatever that meant, it sounded right.
Sometimes I wonder whether I could have reached this calmer point earlier in life, without all the angst. Perhaps, but only if I had been born a different person. Because getting to this point by age 40 or even 60 would have required that I experience everything I’ve been through even faster than it occurred: the triumphs and disappointments; the wins and losses; the excitement and fear; the beauty and ugliness; the periods of joy and grief. I would have had a heart attack by age 50.
No, difficult as parts of my past have been, I wouldn’t shorten the amount of time it took to navigate those years and get to this place. And I’m lucky to be healthy enough to reap the benefits: a less cluttered life that I can navigate in a physical form I know well and have learned to accept.
These days, lighter is better.