Wendy Karasin – Musings of a Boomer

Three years ago today I wrote this post. Rex Ryan and Mark Sanchez are no longer around, but the rest of the post is as relevant today as it was then. I love when that happens…

Football was never my favorite sport, and then I became a Jets Fan.

I did not allow my sons to play football in high school for fear some padded monstrosity would mercilessly tackle them. I saw nothing appealing about a game in which large men ran after a pigskin, excessive levels of testosterone abounding, looking to pummel whatever got in their path. It seemed to me the polar opposite of evolved.

Interest started slowly. My sons would gather in our den with lots of friends to watch games. For whatever reason – perhaps it was home team pride (NY Jets), perhaps it was too much faith in Mark Sanchez or Rex Ryan, or perhaps for no good reason at all, we chose the Jets. I’d bring snacks to a hungry crowd, sitting on the edge of their seats, yelling and watching the television with extreme intention, (I often asked why they didn’t put as much energy into their school work). They spoke (screamed?) in an animated fashion – usually saying something motivational, followed by expletives of disgust;, as in; “Come on, come on, just through it to an open guy” – then – “You f#@*ing asshole. Like that. I would leave the room, shaking my head, thinking, who cares? 

But there were times when one or all three of my sons would watch and I’d sit beside them, asking questions, trying to understand the game and their interest in it. It was a challenge because our conversations generally went like this: “What just happened?” I’d ask in response to them slamming their hand on the couch or stomping a foot.” To which they’d respond, “Shh, not now, Mom.”

Then last year, on a sunny, beautiful, exciting day, the generous man I’m dating invited my sons and me to see a game at the MetLife Stadium, in East Rutherford, New Jersey. The jets were playing the Indianapolis Colts. Our seats were close to the action on the 40 yard line. We wore Jets paraphernalia; hats, jerseys, sweatshirts. And the piece de resistance was – after all the yelling, standing, and posturing – the Jets won!

My first experience, watching the Jets play live, was a resounding success. But then the Jets, being the Jets, just lost one game after another. It wasn’t easy being a Jets fan.

When I asked my son Scott if we could pick another team to root for, he smiled, shook his head, and said; “Mom, a fan’s a fan. You don’t just leave them when they’re down.” And I think, Don’t you love it, life lessons can come from anywhere!

Unfinished business can loom like a large gloomy darkness that falls over us. While it is admittedly difficult to track down and face the storm, it is more difficult not to. We may get accustomed to carrying shame and anxiety, which then become our struggles and our reality. Yet, with clarifying digging, emotional support, and hard work, we can find our way through this turbulence – or, at the very least – see these traits as qualities separate from ourselves.

The distance this provides allows for a wider perspective with different options and opportunities. Unfinished business, like guilt and regret, takes a toll on our health, ability to make good decisions, and our voie de vivre. The sadness we feel can create small pockets of depression into which we slip. 

The goal of our digging and introspection would be, I suppose, to arrive at our most authentic selves. Being the widespread term that ‘authentic’ has become, there is the danger that its meaning may get diluted. Dictionary.com defines authentic as; not false or copied, genuine, real. To me, being authentic is what we do when we cut through our veneers, irrational thinking, and belief systems that no longer serve us. When I laugh exuberantly, have a heart to heart with a dear friend, listen to my favorite musicians, and do yoga, I am authentic. When I concern myself with being liked, or feel insecure, or believe someone else’s truth to be my own, I am not. 

Creating a foundation that helps sustain the harmony of our bodies, minds and spirits, is a step toward authenticity.

I leave you today with two quotes:

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” Gandhi

“The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones that do.” Steve Jobs

My yoga teacher says that the practice of yoga is about learning. More important than the pose, is our awareness of that pose in relation to our bodies. Subtle tweaks in posture and position are verbalized and then demonstrated by softly realigning our bodies with a touch. This teaches our brains and muscles what to do.

Yesterday, I noticed not for the first time, the instructor’s ability to be present to every person in her studio. Even walk-in’s, that are only there to ask questions. She engages fully in a conversation (as I became aware of my annoyance – and my chagrin at my annoyance – waiting my turn). She then gives that same level of time and respect to me. And anyone else waiting to speak with her. It becomes apparent, with patience, everyone will get their chance.

Her yoga class is special on a few levels. She is Japanese, and I must pay close attention to catch the gems of information coming from her mouth.  She began yesterday’s class by asking us to form a semi-circle around her, so she could indicate (citing a Japanese boxer, and then showing each of us individually) how to push the sacrum back and engage the abdominal muscles so we are clear about how to hold our positions during Vinyasa and still stances. The minute (small) adjustments she perceives and manifests, feel different to the muscles of my body, and make them work harder. Each tweak asks for a greater degree of balance, flexibility, and strength. 

Perhaps it is so in life as well. Small tweaks in thoughts, feelings, conclusions and awareness can bring forth big rewards. Not changing our alignment and negative, unkind or reactive thinking causes us to stay stuck in unhealthy habitual behavior. After all, isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing and expecting different results?

Slight changes open new pathways and conversations.  Choose to have supportive people in your life that help you take a good look at yourself. You are the one who decides who to be and how to act. Healing and repair are all around us. If you haven’t yet found it, keep looking.

My brother, David, calls to see how I am feeling. He does this for two reasons; 1. Reading my blogs daily makes him feel up to date with what’s happening in my life and so he isn’t sure when we last spoke and 2. He is uncertain whether what I am writing about is going on currently or whether they are excerpts from my past. And it’s a valid point. My yoga commentaries are present, some of the stories relating to Costa Rica and my parents’ deaths, are past. Not that the past does not enter the present and vice versa, but still, there is some significance to where one stands temporally. 

I want, at least intellectually, to remain in the present, even when the present contains pain, fear, anxiety, or elements of the past that flood me. Time is a marvelous healer and past hurts rarely ‘flood’ me nowadays. Sometimes they seep, though.

Death can be a transforming agent. And death can be taken in ways other than the literal, it can be the loss of a friend, love, job, way of life. An ending and a beginning. After the death of my parents’, I created a garden in their honor, a way to keep them near. Purple and white sprouts that grow upward like magic from the grass beneath. Their beauty is expressed in living color and splendid design. Sometimes I step onto my deck, and stare in their direction. There were days when my heart and body ached unceasingly, my mind unable to think. Emotions either too close to the surface with an incessant need to express, or so deeply buried that the suppression itself took a toll. However, the feelings did subside. I found myself laughing heartily, or feeling hungry, or having a fun conversation. I vowed (and vow still) to enjoy these spaces of time as often, and as long, as I am able. Because life is life, a roller coaster, but we are still on the ride!

My life was significantly defined by being born a Baby Boomer. The music changed from Sinatra croons to introspective rock and rhythm and blues. Our attitudes turned from accepting societal rules and tradition, to inquiring first.  Jobs and parenting styles evolved – sometimes for the better, sometimes not. As the massive numbers of this generation grow older, trends, marketing and sales in our country shift to care for, and exploit, us. We are overburdened with responsibilities for our children and aging parents – if we are lucky enough to have either.

With our sheer numbers, education, and wisdom, I hold out hope that we can be remembered for more than our music, politics, and technological geniuses. I’d like us to be remembered for our heart.

Deja vu-ing to Woodstock and Kent State, we were a passionate and involved group – with morality and ethics not only apparent but constantly reviewed and revised. I think that’s a good thing, it prevents us from getting stale and stuck.

This generation can do aging differently, indeed we already have. We live longer and we look younger than previous generations. We have the opportunity to study and embrace the cycle of life, and live this phase with zest, choosing carefully because our time (and we ourselves) are precious.

I chose to spend a great deal of time with my children when they were growing up (and I still do). I chose to spend a lot of time with my parents as well. I am lucky in that, the majority of the time spent was comfortable and pleasant (although we have had our share of some doozy fights). These decisions are individual choices, incorporating taste, passion and level of import assigned.

If we feel we matter, and the people in our circle of influence support that belief, perhaps we will be more adept at doing the same for others. A heartfelt (and free) gift, worth its weight in time, attention and legacy.

If you feel this (or any) post will benefit another, please pass it on, and thanks for stopping by.

My head pounds as I drive the familiar roads out of town. Today I bring my dad’s car to the second, smaller building off Sunrise Highway that is Rockville Centre’s pre-owned Lexus dealership. The constriction in my chest and lump in my throat reveal the letting go required to sell this car at all. I wonder how I will find my vocal chords.

As the blacktop slips beneath the car, my eyes are drawn to the center console and I notice the time – 11:11 a.m. It is a holy time and I believe my dad is with me, giving me his permission. I relax, breathing in the minty scent of the car he dearly loved. My mind drifts to an earlier time.

“Dad, I’m on Singer Island. Can you get down here?”

“To see my daughter and grandchildren? You bet I can! Besides, I have something to show you.”

An hour later my cell rings.

“Wendy, I’m in the front parking lot, can you meet me?”

“Dad – is this a new car? What color is that?” I ask. My kids surround the captive vehicle, uttering ohhs and ahhs, a sense of respect registering in their expressions. “Awesome car, Poppie!”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” my father coos as though he is speaking to a baby. “The car practically drives itself. The color is Glacial Ice.” With his words, the Florida heat seems to diminish ever so slightly.

Lexus pre-owned does not know what they are getting, I think, as I drive onto their crowded lot. There is no amount of money they can offer that is worth what once belonged to my dad. I kill the engine, reveling in the soft, luxurious silvery-grey leather. I take a moment to examine the details; the pinstripe with his initials – W.P. – and mine before I got married, the top flight navigation system, the back up camera. My father did not skimp on the accoutrements. Emerging from humble roots and working hard, he allowed himself the splurge. I take a deep breath and stroll from the sweltering parking lot to the air conditioned office.

“Hi, are you the lady from Merrick?”

I sit across from a nondescript desk while he shuffles and reviews papers. The experience is surreal and I detach in order to get through it. But my head and chest pound. He tells me he needs double signatures on the check which he cannot get now. “Can you return in a few days?” he asks.

In the car again, the radio plays James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” I turn from solid flesh to human puddle.

My friend and I go to Blue Spirit, in Costa Rica, for the first time. This holistic retreat is nestled within a jungle of Howler monkeys and a roaring Pacific. The natural beauty, like minded people, and vegetarian food abound. One feels a sense of peace and safety here.

Thatched massage huts dot the hills behind the open air dining facility. Cushioned swings provide a 360 degree view of sunrises, sunsets and full moons. Wooden beams, stone work designs and Buddhas are ubiquitous.

Mornings begin at 5:30 when I wake to the sun and the moon high in the sky. Coffee at 6, yoga at 7. A new (submerged?) part of me surfaces. The days flow, one into another, with indigenous vegetarian meals, seminars on body movement, writing and emotional freedom. Not a stitch of make up touches my face, I dress in cotton and wear no shoes. There is a comfort to this very natural part of me.

I have a conversation with a mother-son team that I am drawn to. I loved that they chose to come together, and thought about my own sons and daughter possibly coming with me someday. Our conversation turned to the topic of mindfulness. The mother gave me a clinical definition of the word, then quickly added, “It must be experienced, your mind will do all kinds of stuff with the definition.”

“You’re right.” I answered. “And if I hadn’t had my own moments of mindfulness, that’s exactly what my mind would have done.” I am not mindful as often as I would like to be, but I am mindful more often than I once was. We exchange phone numbers and emails – but some experiences are complete and whole as they are.

Singular threads of hope, friendship, laughter, and song drop into my life interspersed with loss, pain, and undefined emotion. These seemingly disparate experiences combine and connect and become the people we are today.