A few words of introductioin

I am going to write an occasional column for The Democrat and the editor asked me to write an introductory column

I found it was easier to describe myself when I was younger. I would recite my academic accomplishments, give an accounting of my resume, name my husband and my children, and perhaps throw in a few hobbies. There I was, packaged in a tidy little container for the world to know.

I’ve come to realize that while those are important facts about me, they don’t begin to tell anything about who I am. A thing I like about getting older is having the time to reflect on the people and moments that have all been stitched together in this crazy quilt of a life to bring me to this moment. So, I’ll give this introduction a go by telling you what I hope people remember about me when I’m no longer able to tell my own story. 

My faith, family and friends are as important to me as the air I breathe. I love the colors red, yellow and purple. My favorite flower is the delphinium. I love a good fight, especially if I believe I’m fighting for an underdog or an injustice. I don’t herd well. Dogs make me happy. I don’t mind being alone. I’m a boat rocker, preferring to hold a strong conviction over the desire to be popular. The words “it can’t be done” make me mad. I love to dig in the dirt and feel closest to God working outside in my flower garden. I love life and count each day as a tremendous treasure, but I try not to take myself too seriously. 

I think I can do things better than I actually can. My basement holds relics from countless artistic projects that looked easy to do when an actual artist created them, but look pretty cheesy in my hands.

 I like to be in control. I’ve been president of countless organizations, not necessarily because I’m a good leader, but because I’m a terrible follower.

I don’t relax well. Did you ever sit through a stress-reduction presentation, widely popular in the ’90s? Participants were instructed to close their eyes and begin relaxing from the toes and move up to the scalp by being aware of each muscle, slowly letting go of all worries. Theoretically, by the time it was over, the successful relaxer would be a mere puddle on the floor. I once made it to the arches of my feet before I bolted from the room.

I don’t listen well. I remember a preacher 20 years ago saying, “Listening isn’t waiting for the opportunity to talk.” I felt that there was a huge red neon arrow flashing over my head when he said that. 

Some of my flaws I work on, but not too diligently. Most, I make my friends and family tolerate them. 

I enjoy the process of writing. When I was in college, I was one of those strange students who loved doing research papers. It brings me great joy to piece together words to make a story, and that is what I intend to do with the opportunity to share with you in this column. I hope that my writing will cause others to look at their lives with renewed enthusiasm, to focus on the positive and realize that even the negative events are opportunities to seize life with greater purpose. When I was a hospice grief counselor, we called this life review. It was important to give the dying person the opportunity to look back and find the good things that made their life significant, worth living. But why wait until then?

I have discovered that sometimes the only difference between being happy and being unhappy is not what happens to me, but how I frame it. My mother died on my son Andy’s 16th birthday. As a typical teenager would do, he bemoaned the fact that Nana had ruined his birthday forever. I told him he could look at it that way or he could see it as a special day for the rest of his life to remember what a great grandmother she was. He said he had never thought about it that way. Nothing changed. His Nana had still died, but he had a much more positive way to think about this event that shook his world. 

This is how I have determined to live my life and this is how I will approach my column, by writing from the perspective of an older — not old — woman who has made up her mind to live with joy and humor and an appreciation for even the small, insignificant moments that make up each day, whether or not the day as a whole can be put on the books as a good one. 

So, there it is. You probably now know some things about me that my husband of 35 years hasn’t yet discovered. I’m pretty sure, though, that he has my major personality flaws figured out by now and he could probably add a few to the list. But, hey, let him get his own column.