Author: Danita W.

The Pitbull: a  muscular fierce looking dog with a bad reputation, usually unearned. I’m sure, like me, you’ve heard it a million times that “it depends on the owner”.  Still, I am a little uncomfortable when I see a Pitbull pulling their owner wherever the dog wants to go! This morning I was walking my little doggies and spotted a  Pitbull being walked and I held up my doggies. I’ve learned avoidance is sometimes the best response . I stood and watched as the owner led the dog up the stairs to their house.Their progress was slow as the dog had a difficult time negotiating the stairs and moved very stiffly. At the top of the stairs the dog turned and I saw a very gray muzzle, and I realized the dog was quite old. Immediately, my heart was full of kinship and sorrow.  I thought, as my eyes teared up, “Yes, Pitbulls get old too.”

All animals get old, including all human animals like me. For a moment, that Pitbull and I were both old souls with beating hearts. I felt compassion for the two of us with our aging bodies. We were once strong and curious and had the world on a leash.  I feel so connected to dogs, and I know for sure that we are a “we” and know each other well..  Puppies and babies are so magnetic and lovable, we gravitate to them,  but old dogs and old people are an acquired taste. We learn to love aging faces and bodies as we ourselves are aging. 

I believe that aging and awe are traveling companions and curiosity is the glue that holds them together. Like the Pitbull, I explore the world on my daily walks and often spot something ordinary that brings me awe. I move slower; this speed allows the world to rush in over my walls. Lest I get too philosophical and cerebral, I know aging can be a very difficult experience. Aging brings  a lot of losses to grieve. The physical, emotional and spiritual losses that come with aging keep me tethered to resistance.  How do I overcome the urge to fight aging? The truth is I’m not into overcoming much of anything, now I just want to accept it all.  Begrudging  my aging body doesn’t help me stay  healthy.  Actually resistance is not good for much of anything.  Reality always wins, and in spite of it I find that I still love and am loved. Raging at my diminishing capabilities is a waste of precious time.  I choose instead to be grateful that my hearing aides and my glasses can compensate for some of the sensory deficits I have. Of course, I have my moments of anger and regret, but I don’t hang out there. The kindness of the pitbull’s owner help him to take in the world, and make sure that he isn’t isolated from the great “ outside” and companionship. I’d like to think we humans want that for each other too. 

Some days the equation seems to be as x (age) goes up, y ( joy) goes down, but I know it’s the choices I make that create the “new” math of my life.  I have so much less to manage and worry about.  I get to say “I don’t care.”and “So what!” at least once a day. How satisfying is that? I get to care for my doggies, and other peoples dogs too, as they and I age.   We can count dog years and people years,  but we all know it’s the life in those years that counts.  We both deserve “treats” and walks every day, and massive amounts of unconditional love. Birthdays add up and joys add up too.

I’m possessed. Not that kind of possessed!  I’m possessed by all my possessions.  I know“You can’t take it with you”,  but I thought I would have like 100 years before I needed to downsize. I supersized my stuff, binged on material possessions and gained a lot of material and psychic weight,  and there is no Ozempic for clutter control. I’ll have to settle for will power!

I still want to hang onto things but I’m starting to change my thinking and my behavior slowly. I will only change when  I decide to change , and the “times they are a changin.” Right now it’s more painful for me to collect things and clutter my life than to feel momentarily bereft when I let things or people go. I want to see clearly, move freely and think freely. I can’t be tending to my stuff and lose my focus. Too many choices and I become overwhelmed, and conversely I’m  convinced there is one and only one correct choice. Just buy 5 different kinds of toothpaste or shampoo, experiment and choose one and keep the others just in case.   When I quit smoking I threw away a lot of almost full packs cause I just wanted 1 more cigarette -and then I would quit completely. I finally quit when I got it that cigarettes were controlling me not vice versa. I wanted to be free to not “ need” a substance to get thru my life. Notice that cigarettes aren’t sold in packs of 5! 

The better I am at organizing, the worst I become at paring down my stuff. Why keep figuring out how to organize my stuff when I could just get rid of it?. If I am not using a pan or a utensil or whatever why do I keep it and then have to figure out how to store it. I play this game with myself where I see how many pairs of shoes I can buy, keep and organize.  It’s not a game I can win. Believe me I have tried! I have a bounce house full of beads of all kinds. I think I might need to bring home less stuff. The flow of what comes in and what goes out needs to skew toward less “ in” and lots more “ out”. Who needs 5 corkscrews because you couldn’t find the other 4?

I’m a compulsive person who must figure it all out. I have a dangerous amount of psychic clutter. It’s ALL important and I must always focus on bettering myself, being good enough and preferably perfect. I have rehearsals going on in my head all the time.  I get myself prepared with the best argument, retort ,put down or flirt. How will I get him to fall in love with me? Now I am finally confronting my false sense of control and realizing that worry really shits on today and this moment.  If I am worrying, I am not available to experience what is happening right now. I can’t hoard time no matter what bargains with the devil I try to make. I am a consumer of time and I know it is finite. Life doesn’t need to be so complicated and “time” consuming. 

My friend Henry David Thoreau preached :“Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb nail.” And “ Our life is frittered away by detail, simplify, simplify.” And the traveler in me  agrees with Henry” The rule is to carry as little as possible.” See the  farmer with his pitchfork and the farmer’s wife in her apron , and you are looking at “American Gothic” by Grant Wood. Now imagine them both with cell phones in their hands, ear buds in ,back packs stuffed to the gills and suitcases in a pile at their feet. Substitute  the pichfork with a Weed wacker. Silly isn’t it? What are the 12 Steps for Hoarders Anonymous?

What do I do when I see an aging stranger in my mirror: a.cry, b.smile,  c. scream or d. All of the above? That’s easy, the correct answer is”d”. I’m not  talking just a bad hair day here, I’m flirting with Dorian Gray!  I troll myself and since I know best what’s gets to me, I hurl some pretty good zingers at myself. I’ve got wrinkles on top of  wrinkles, and what about that hair-do and the hair on my  chiny, chin,chin. That deer in the headlines look is not very flatttering. I don’t think my teeth should be brown.  Heads up, my insides don’t match my outsides, so what you see is not what you get.

 Aging is a messy situation. Should I fight it, embrace it, or ignore it?  I could look younger with the right anti-aging potions and lotions and cosmetic surgery,  but I I still wouldn’t have had fewer birthdays. Denying aging will never change the reality of aging. It is a relentless process, stopped only by death….. not a warm fuzzy feeling….

Instead of focusing more on old news or “old”news,  I decided to take a writing break and drive downtown to see an “old” friend.  A Canada goose was about  to cross the street on Centre Avenue, and as I put my brakes on I saw that she was a Mama Goose followed  by 4 goslings and bringing up the rear was Papa goose.  Of course,  I had to come to a complete stop as they ambled across the street. I smiled when I realized I had gotten my warm and fuzzy feeling after all. That moment I was ageless, just a fellow Mother and traveler on the road of life. I had helped my son Tyler cross the street many times. Being in the moment and witnessing the innocence of the goslings made me feel blessed.  It was what I needed to change the direction of my day and take a “right” turn.

Then I remembered my blog about the yellow caterpillar that my late husband, Roger, and I spotted while we were resting on a bench?. Roger was pretty far along in his dementia,  but able to walk and focus on some things. I  don’t think that caterpillars are warm blooded, but they sure are fuzzy. We watched the yellow caterpillar slowly make it’s way across the rocks to the base of a tree. We wondered how it decided which direction to crawl?. Up and down and around the rocks he went. Our world became that yellow caterpillar. We weren’t old or young, or sick or well, we were just there, in the moment. 

I am typing this while sitting on my sofa and I just felt this light touch on my arm. It is my little dog Molly reaching out to me with her paw. She pats my arm to let me know she wants attention, and “pets” and probably to sit on my  lap. She doesn’t care how old I am, or how old I look, or how old I feel. So I’ve went from my angst about aging to warm and fuzzy goslings, caterpillars and Molly. I choose the warm and fuzzy!

I’d like a word with you! Don’t worry you’re not in trouble. Since my mind feels like word salad that’s my topic.  I love words, vocabulary is my thing. I’m fascinated by finding the perfect word, synonyms are so much fun. How did this or that slang or idiom come to be?  We use some weird words. What about the joy of cursing? It seems to me that without slang, idioms and swearing, English would be a pretty boring language.  I imagine those who are learning our language have a hard time with the underbelly of our language!

Ironically, I’m first going to define some words. Slang: very informal usage in vocabulary and idiom that is characteristically more metaphorical, playful, elliptical, vivid, and ephemeral than ordinary language. Wow that definition has  some major vocabulary in it!  Slang is basically informal language, it’s not wrong or bad, but I probably wouldn’t refer to the Pope as “ Hey dude!” My age is showing for sure, but when, as a young person,  I used words like groovy, cool, and right-on we agreed on their meaning and we knew when and how to use them.  Slang is older than we think, or conversely short-lived in usage.  “Groovy” is a good example, it comes from the 30’s originally, was resurrected in the 60’s  but is seldom used today. Slang is generational and often specific to particular group. The boyz in the hood use different slang than Rednecks use! 

Slang is often used when we talk about sex. How many ways can we say sexual intercourse, or penis and vagina? Let me count the ways! We could start with “Play nug-a-nug”, slang for having sex in 1500.  In 1970, my friends and I  just asked “Did you do it?”, “it” meaning have sex. “A roll in the hay” does not mean rolling in the hay barn, and “making whoopee” has nothing to do with whoopie pies. There is so much slang for male and female genitalia that using the correct terms, like penis and vagina, seem like “dirty” words to me. Almost everyone “diddles”, but no one masturbates, right? The more taboo a topic is, the more slang created to cushion reality. Would you rather be “Pushing up daisies “ or be dead?


idiom: an expression that cannot be understood from the meanings of its separate words but has a meaning of its own   Huh?  For example, “I’m all ears.” does not mean one is literally covered in ears, it means you are very attentive and listening closely. A lot of idioms in common usage in our language have old and archaic origins. “ Hit the road.” refers to the sound that horses hooves made on the road. This is so much more vivid than “I’m leaving now.” Winking your eyes 40 times will not be nearly as restful as a short nap. “40 winks” originated in Britain. Are you going to “Beat around the bush.”,  “ Bark up the wrong tree.” or “Bury the hatchet.”?

People who have a poor vocabulary are boring to listen to. To say you are “sad” is not nearly as interesting and nuanced as saying you are “heartbroken, “despondent” or “miserable”. The latter set of words are more precise and reveal the nature and depth of your feelings. I’m not a word snob, I’m just curious and want to better understand. Are you just angry or are you fuming and irate? You decide.

For now,  I think I’ll bite the bullet and hit the road. Or do I need to face the music first? I’m cool, you’re cool, we’re all cool….

There are so many reasons for me to just walk on by and ignore, dismiss, marginalize, and disparage some of my fellow Americans. I know “both sides” are guilty, and I’m still tied up in knots trying to keep my mouth shut.  I can’t make sense of it, or be tolerant, so I will just walk on by the steaming hot mess for now.  Instead, I will focus on what makes me chuckle, giggle or brings a smile to my face. It’s kind of like circling the wagons and choosing to conserve my supply of tolerance and patience for the worst, which I’m sure is yet to come . Meanwhile, Fort Collins has lots of amusing quirks to bring a smile. We are a city of migrants from places like Iowa, North Dakota and Texas who come for the lifestyle and the climate. Texans and Californians are required to file for asylum. All are invited and asked to BYOB.

BYOBB.  Bring your own bike and beer. Next time you guzzle a Fat Tire (  a Mountain bike) you are drinking one of Fort Collins finest beers. There is a brew pub on every block, so if you can’t find a beer you like you are deaf, dumb and blind. Fort Collins is on the move and staying hydrated. If beer is not your thing, think “buzz” and head to one of our million coffee shops and have a Grande Vanilla Latte, 2 %,  iced. I know of a couple of “pairs” of coffee shops and brew pubs right next door to each other. Get caffeinated so you can better lift your elbow to chug beer and not fall asleep while you are imbibing. And yes, there are plenty of pot shops too, if that is your preferred way to get a “buzz”. Folks, ( Biden talk) it’s legal in Colorado.  So BYOP!

BYOB. Bring your own bike.  There are more bike lanes in Fort Collins  than car lanes. On the bike trails, “ on your left”, does NOT mean move to your left, unless you want to be run over by a bicycle.  There are more bike lanes than car lanes in Fort Collins. In the traffic food chain, bicycles rule. I have never looked good in biking shorts, but they are a necessity if your saddle is on a bike.  We even have cops whose wheels are bicycle tires. They can get around in crowds and police partiers and protesters. Don’t mess with them!

In Fort Collins,there is another BYOB— bring your own bark- bring your dog. It’s harder to get your dog into doggie daycare than get your kid into a fancy preschool. Dog trainers and dog walkers are in demand.  It is rare to see a car on the road without a dog sitting in it or sticking their head out the window. Quite a few places allow pet dogs, but if dogs are not allowed it is  likely that a dog or 2 will be waiting outside on the sidewalk for their owner. The dogs,of course, are petted by everyone passing by. You are in the minority if you don’t have your own bark. I know more dogs in my neighborhood than I know owners. Most dogs are more likeable than nasty humans. One of my dogs, who I love dearly, is an asshole,  but he is the exception.

Trails and more trails, natural areas, parks and open space— Fort Collins is all about preserving and managing recreational areas and protecting natural areas. There are rules of the trail. Bikers are supposed to yield to hikers,  but 99% of hikers yield to bikers because they are traveling a lot faster. Everybody yields to horses and rattle snakes. Read the sign dummy! “Warning. Rattle snakes seen in the area.” Or “Trail closed due to muddy conditions.” BYOB of water. Beer is dehydrating. 

Canada geese are actually part of the City of Fort Colllins logo, and if you don’t watch where you are walking they will become part of your footwear. By the way, it is “Canada” goose and not “Canadian” goose. Since they tend to travel in large flocks and have efficient  digestive systems, the quantity of geese poop can be intimidating if one is attempting to navigate the city sidewalks. Watch your step. Canada geese are much larger than barnyard geese. A hissing Canada goose who feels you are invading their personal space is worth listening to.  The best part of our wealth of Canada geese is accommodating their pedestrian crossings. They look pretty silly jay walking single file across 4 lanes of traffic. I can hear them discussing why humans don’t fly and choose to clog the streets with gas guzzling polluting mechanical monsters. “Don’t rush me”, or “Just chill”, they say.  Even if I’m frustrated by the delay I still chuckle at the scene. So why did the Canada goose cross the road? To get a beer!

Monday was April Fools Day and the topic for storytelling this week is “Fool me once”. I have “ fool”  on my mind and a few questions.  “Why Do Fools Fall In Love? and “What Does A Fool Believe?”. Is “Chain Of Fools” really just the Hokey Pokey for grownups? Am I on “The Ship Of Fools”or am I “ The Fool On The Hill”? Are these foolish questions waiting for foolish answers? Alas, even with all my years of life experiences “Duh!” is often the best I can come up with. Fool me once, twice, three times into infinity…

So how does the dictionary define “fool”?

fool: a. a person who lacks good sense or judgement : a stupid or silly person;  b. a  harmlessly deranged person  (Is there really a deranged person who is  harmless?); c: see Danita

Would you think I was fooling you if I told you there is a Raspberry fool and a strawberry fool? No foolin’! A dessert made with cooked fruit of your choice and cream or a thick sauce  is also called a “fool”. Next April Fool’s Day, take an Oreo cookie, scrape out the filling and replace it with a big squirt of toothpaste and reassemble . Wait for a “fool” to come along and take a big bite of the cookie so you can exclaim “April Fool”! This is a whole new kind of dessert.

I applaud  Odessa, a city in Ukraine for making April Fool’s Day a holiday, hence more time to prank, and another day off is never a foolish move. Why do we like to prank or play jokes on other people. Nobody wants to admit they are the “Butt of the joke”? Does my butt look big in this joke?  Usually it is better to be the pranker than be the prankee. I’ve had 2 surprise birthday parties in my life,  and had a wonderful time at both, but some people hate surprise birthday parties.

I’m a  bit of a cynic and it seems to me that pranks or cons can be more of a “Gotcha!” moment or delivering someone their “ comeuppance”. For example, back in the day when perms were a thing, I went to a salon to get a perm. I was excited and looking forward to getting curly hair,  comeuppance was not on my radar.  What I got was a fried Afro! The hairdresser was the best friend of a woman who felt I had stolen her boyfriend.  Pretty funny to them, not so much for me. The remedy was to get my hair cut short, but my revenge was sweet because everyone loved my new short haircut.

Ironically I was fooled  big time when a group of friends and I were  listening to “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by the Who. Headphones on for me, rockin’ and singing along to the song. Everyone else was listening and singing along too…I thought. It was silent in the room and I was the only one singing along! I can only imagine how bad I sang and how stupid I sounded. Moral of the story—make sure you are not being fooled listening to “Won’t Get Fooled Again”.

In the arena of love I’ve been the fool who waits for you. Nothing ambiguous with the song title “Lovefool” by the Cardigans. I  love the groups name and  can just see them in their cardigans…. These are lyrics for love songs for fools:

Love me, love me

Say that you love me

Fool me, fool me

Go on and fool me. 

Or:

You make me feel like a fool

Waiting for you

You make me feel like a fool

Waiting for you

How many romances have I had that existed only in my head? I could have written the Doobie Brothers song “What a Fool Believes” because I lived it.

Let’s just say I have a vivid imagination, the hell with reality. The more vulnerable I am, the more gullible I am. My college boyfriend stuck a bright yellow sticker on the back of my coat that said “Used”, and I walked around all day with that sticker on . A snarky frat boy kindly pointed it out to me on the bus. It took me days to finally tell said boyfriend what an asshole he was. He didn’t agree with me, but some people are just plain fools.

I love the Oscar winning movie, “The Sting”, an elaborate con set up to sting the bad guys and deliver their comeuppance. I  respect an intelligent con as long as the ending is satisfying. Leonardo DiCaprio played a shameless con artist in  “Catch Me If You Can”, based on fact.  Among other things,  he impersonated a doctor and an airline pilot. Fortunately, no one died as a result of his schemes. Outside of the movies,  to believe something that is false and full of malignant  misinformation is risky business. Conspiracy theories are nothing more than a con artist targeting fools, because he/she wants them to believe what they are told to believe. I like to think I engage my brain to evaluate information, but I also assume the best of other people. I  prefer to live that way. Giving people the benefit of the doubt means that sometimes my trust is misplaced, but positive expectations are healthier for me. 

Sooner or later you and I will be fooled again. In the meantime, would you like to go snipe hunting or cow tipping? Come on it’s fun!  Hold this bag and we will shoo the snipes towards the bag and you be ready to get them. Remember to put some might behind your shove to tip the cow over. Come on it’s fun!

It’s nothing short of a miracle that we humans can communicate with each other – even just a little bit.The words we use and how we talk to each other are very nuanced and driven by our intentions for speaking.  Are we chewing the fat, having a tete-a-tete? Word of mouth means “passing information between people using oral communication.” This  could be as simple as telling someone the time, sharing that you really like restaurant A, or indulging in delicious gossip. Word of mouth can equal communication and understanding, but also the opposite. I may hear your words,  but not have a clue what you mean!   OMG it can be LOL, which is whole other language to reach misunderstanding. I hope you might enjoy some of my research and  use of creative language.

Slang:  informal nonstandard vocabulary composed typically of coinages, arbitrarily changed words, and extravagant, forced, or facetious figures of speech usually used by a particular group of people. For example, in Mafia speak “ painting houses” means murdering someone.  If you don’t understand someone’s use of slang it’s hard to decipher the meaning of their word of mouth. I don’t understand some of the current slang, so sometimes I have to ask my son things like what does “bougie” means. ( Ask a teenager) Each generation has their own slang. I listen to teenagers and I hear words that sound like a foreign language to me. Is there “old speak” and “youth speak”? Or is it that kids just don’t listen, and old people have nothing important to say? How do I acknowledge these differences  and still talk to different age groups in a meaningful way? It’s my responsibility to keep learning and remain open to the  “new” news and new words.  I could discover that I’ve changed my mind on some issues or that I can laugh at my certainties or foibles and that is groovy, dope, solid and rad.

Sarcasm: the use of words that mean the opposite of what you really want to say especially in order to insult someone, to show irritation, or to be funny.  I love sarcasm except when it is directed at me! Things can get really murky with sarcasm because what I want to  communicate may well be the opposite of what I actually say.  “You are so smart.” could really mean, “You are a dumb shit.”. Do you catch my drift? (Slang for “Do you understand what I mean?”) Sarcasm can really hurt someone and the speaker can deny they said anything mean, i.e.”Get over it.I’m just kidding.”  I can escape accountability while still hurting people with my words. Experts at sarcasm can be masters in gaslighting. I am a  word person so I need to remind myself to limit my sarcasm and plainly and directly express my feelings. I need to ask others to do the same.

Comeback: a sharp or witty reply: retort. I’ve missed more than a few turns while driving because of fretting about what would have been the perfect comeback. I am not the most assertive person or quick thinker when I’m  upset, so I often have to resort to practicing comebacks alone in my car. A good comeback can be so satisfying, but the timing is so crucial. I offer you a few of my favorite comebacks with the hope you will be able to use them when the time is right:  1. If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I’d fart.; 2. Were you born this stupid or did you take lessons?; 3. Please just tell me you don’t plan to homeschool your kids.

Just in case you want to be an informed voter you should know that political speech is such a manipulative  cluster f**k.   Oh my, you’ve  got dog whistles,  propaganda, facism, racism and just plain old lies.  Don’t get me started…. And don’t roll your eyes at me, I know what you are saying! I am trying to understand your point of view, but see #3 above.

Parents all over the world admonish their children to “ Use your words.” Word of mouth starts in the crib. Say what you mean, mean what you say and try to be kind

The phrase “kitchen table issues “ is usually used in a political context, meaning issues that affect people in their daily lives. Sitting at the “table” is usually a white woman or white heterosexual couple, but maybe the rest of us won’t notice! The direction I’m going in is ”kitchen table issues” at our big table, in our house, on our farm in Iowa.

You have to have a big table to fit 13 children and 2 parents! It seemed like a football field or a boardroom table. It was rare that the table was not in use.  It was Grand Central Station, the command center for our family. Have to leave a note or check for someone? In prehistoric times, before cell phones, we could stick it in the clothes pin holder on the table. The table was where my parents read the daily and Sunday newspapers, and usually the papers remained there until  meal time. By laying it out on the table, you could see above the fold and below the fold at once and didn’t need long arms to hold it. Various family members would stop at the table, pick up a section to read, and sit for awhile. There were lots of  “Did you read that story about….?” The family that reads together at the kitchen table stays together.

The kitchen table was our game table and was the setting for many rowdy times! Card games, Yahtzee, Phase 10, dice games, you name it, were all played at the table, after the newspapers were removed of course. “ Anybody for a game of cards? It’s hard to think of that table without remembering all of the good times we had sitting around it trying to remember what’s trump? Some of my best memories of my Dad are set at the kitchen table. I “played” cards with my Dad and uncles as a little girl. I sat on my Dad’s lap and he picked a card out of his hand and told me to lay it on the pile. I often didn’t understand the good natured ribbing and laughing going on, but I knew I had a good, happy seat at the table. 

At least some of the time at big family gatherings, it was usually the men in the living room smoking cigars, and the ladies sitting at the kitchen table gossiping and discussing the issues of the day. As a girl, I  loved to sit at the table with my Mom and my aunts and Iisten to their lively discussions. I heard that the Catholic Church banned birth control pills, but my younger aunts said they were using them anyway. I heard about who was sick, who had babies and who liked to drink. I was especially excited when they disagreed about an issue and my Mom would end the discussion with some weak platitude about needing to sweep our side of the streets first, and everyone had to agree with that.   When I got old enough for a seat with the ladies at the kitchen  table, I was confrontational, and a know it all.  I missed the whole point of this gathering of women, which was to connect and be free to talk and be honest, without men in the circle and changing the equation.

Remember when you developed a roll of films and got photos that you could actually hold in your hand? My Mom had a big tin that held hundreds of photos before they were put in photo albums. If that tin came out to the table there was always filled seats around the table to look at the photos, identify people and tell stories about what was going on in the photo. The photos passed between hands at the table, and family history was passed around too. It was a low tech ancestory.com!

Weak coffee and good desserts set out on the table were part of many visits. Family members shared recipes for the desserts they brought. Time at the kitchen table was a recipe for sharing, connection  and love.

Remember those maps that say “You are here.”  This helps us get oriented, shows us where we are in context, so we can understand how the map is laid out. I’m that dot who can move this way or that way on the map. I’m just a dot and I feel lonely sometimes. This is hard for me to admit. Aren’t I too busy, involved or social to be lonely?  Weird people are lonely because they are unlikeable, nobody likes them.  People Iike me, right ? Right? It seems “ Home Alone” is  just a funny movie and a fun time for the main character, Kevin. Who has the time to miss family or feel lonely when  you are staying in deluxe hotel suites and fighting off bumbling burglars? Or can home alone carry some risks.? Even Kevin isn’t immune to loneliness.

According to the Surgeon General, America is experiencing an epidemic of loneliness. This is a health and social crisis not unlike the COVID Pandemic. In January, 2018, the U.K. named a Minister of Loneliness. It is unlikely the U.S.will create a cabinet post, Secretary of Loneliness, but the research from both countries shows that loneliness is a pervasive and costly social problem. I know it hurts to be lonely. As I have gotten older, and the U.S.population over 65 continues to increase, I’ve been thinking more about what is loneliness is. I’ve experienced my own health crisis recently and I became more isolated than usual. I  got up close and personal with loneliness and it is not my friend.  Social distancing makes sense in a pandemic, but not in everyday life. I need a hug and a handshake. A text or an email does not have skin on it. I need other humans around to help me remember what being human means. 

So and so is still living on her own at 90, isn’t that great? Maybe.  I don’t want a medal for living alone! My husband died and I am fortunate that I own my home and am able to care for myself. I also know that I am better mentally and physically if I am able to get out of the house every day and be with others. Too many sick days or snow days take their toll on my emotional well-being. Social isolation can be caused by where I and other seniors choose to live.  A majority of seniors want to stay in their homes as long as possible, but there is a risk to staying in our homes: social isolation.  When spouses , partners or long term friends pass away, staying in the home alone can be a liability. According to the experts, seniors who have the highest levels of loneliness and isolation more than double their odds of dying within six years. It turns out that loneliness can kill you. The health risks with experiencing chronic loneliness are equivalent to the risks of smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Loneliness is hazardous to your health.

I worry about solitary confinement on Main Street America. There has to be alternatives to single family homes for seniors or massive golden cages of Senior living and retirement villages. Apartment living, with buildings A to Z,  separated from the rest of society, is a recipe for loneliness. Loneliness is not only an affliction for seniors, it affects people in all age groups. I guess I’m saying we need to mix it up more in our housing choices and be more deliberate about addressing the human need to be with others of all ages. I don’t want to be totally independent,I want to be inter-dependent. I am able to recognize my own feelings of loneliness and admit I feel some shame about talking about it. The first step for addressing the loneliness epidemic is for our society to become aware of the problem. The surgeon General has just begun the dialogue about the prevalence of  loneliness. We need to keep talking about it, research it and develop and execute plans to bring people together.

I’m taking tiny steps to make connections with people and confront loneliness head on.  I take the time to chat with my neighbors, ask my favorite barista how they are doing, and feel good when they know my “usual”. I smile at others even when I feel like my face could crack! I believe in the adage “To have a friend, be a friend.” and I try to make this my practice. I make sure my friends know how much I treasure their friendship. I read recently that people aren’t hanging out as much. Maybe we could hang out.

I’m positive. Positive for Covid that is. I was starting to think that I was going to escape Covid after not contracting it for the 4 years it’s been out there. II took 3 tests  before I was convinced I was positive and the line showed up almost immediately on all 3. I had a couple of rough days last week, but I was prescribed Paxlovid because I’m older than dirt, so felt better quickly. This  last Wednesday I tested negative. Covid is in my rear view mirror for now. Speeding down my life path I’ve figured out that with Covid there is only before, during and after. When did I go from negative to positive and vice versa? There must be a viral tipping point and I don’t have a clue when and how it operates. I too have changed and been changed by mysterious forces and circumstances. There are no”rapid” tests to confirm whether or not I have learned what I needed to learn. Only time will tell if I have absorbed life’s lessons and will change my behavior.

There is a big difference between choosing to change and being forced to change, but being  forced to change narrows the options considerably. I prefer to set my own timeline -thank you very much! I chose to test for Covid, but I sure didn’t choose Covid. Others may choose not to test. I can’t do anything about that!  I chose to start smoking. How many times did I say “ I’m going to quit smoking.”, before I actually did?  I lost count. I really can’t explain what gave me the courage to finally stop smoking. I simply wanted to be a non- smoker more than I wanted to smoke.  I was ready, and though I  knew it would be painful, I knew it was worth it.   All my  previous attempts to quit helped me see where I had encountered speed bumps. My experiences with failing to quit smoking taught me a lot of what I needed to know to succeed at  quitting smoking. I learned why and how I failed!  “Don’t do this” was  how I got to “Do this” and becoming a non- smoker.

I learn from experience and my experience tells me that seeing how a dictionary defines a word helps me get the true meaning of a word and helps me write with understanding.

learn: to gain knowledge or skill by studying, practicing, being taught, or experiencing something b : to come to be able <learn to dance>
c : to come to realize <learned that honesty paid>

If I’m in a classroom and studying American History my teacher can give me a test to see what I have learned about this subject. If I have a good teacher and consistently  practice my guitar I can learn to play. In life, the “Been there, done that .” principle can be a very good teacher. When I have done this, or experienced that, this is what happened, and it’s likely to happen again. “But what if?” The  “But, what if?” principle Is where I have run into a lot of trouble in my life. I’ve often believed that I didn’t try hard enough, and  if I tried  “harder”, or I was different and better it would turn out differently. I didn’t learn from experience that wishful thinking  was not reality.  I failed that test many times.

Accumulating evidence and knowledge does not mean I will automatically act differently and make better decisions. Whats the tipping point ? Is it that last little bit of knowledge or experience that finally pushes me to change my behavior?  Ironically it was often when I “gave up”, that I was able to change. I made changes in my life and behavior only when I stopped trying to change others and circumstances and only focused on changing myself. Keeping an open mind and recognizing my blind spots can help me understand better, but understanding alone is not enough to make me change my behavior. The pain I know is better than the pain I might experience if I change my behavior. Pros and cons don’t mean much either. Still at some point I decide it hurts too much to stay the same. I don’t want to test positive for pain anymore.