Front Porch: During the Golden Years, its easier to find peace in the ordinary

I recently saw a cartoon posting on Facebook in which an old woman was opining that she was organizing tasks into those she wouldn’t do today, ones she wouldn’t do tomorrow and those she’d never do ever.

It was good for a laugh. Who hasn’t done some version of that?

But for those of us in that time of life – oddly called “Golden Years” for reasons I’ve never quite understood – the reality is that such (lack of) activity is a sure road to a bad place, mentally and physically.

I much prefer the lesson from Admiral William McRaven’s 2014 Commencement address at the University of Texas at Austin in which he put forth the idea that doing the little things can change your life. Here’s part of it:

“If you make your bed every morning, you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride and it will encourage you to do another task and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter … And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made – that you made – and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better. If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.”

Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll not be changing the world, but then, I’m not in my 20s, with a fresh diploma in my hand, ready to charge out there into the great unknown future. I know my future. It’s to hold on dearly to my husband, take the best care of us I know how to do, stay as well as I can and keep as nimble-minded as I’m able. And along the way, be a good friend, useful in the community in some way and be an irritant to as few people as possible (with exceptions).

And don’t leave a mess behind. And then time and circumstance will dictate when I’m done.

Small goals, but doable. Every day. Without being OCD about it, procrastination is indeed the thief of time … and also one’s sense of well-being and mental health.

In recent years I’ve had bouts of feeling overwhelmed. By health matters (my own and in my family), sadness at how the loss of strength and physicality have affected my ability to do a lot that I’d like to do and that – common to us Golden (Rusty?) Year dwellers – feeling of the loss of relevance and the general puzzlement at where did the me I thought I was go.

Added to that, the moving to warmer climes and the deaths of close members of that circle of friends who have shared and laughed and suffered and understood for more than half a century. Gawd, that’s a long time. Their absence is palpable.

It’s come around now, thanks to a lot of reading about mental health in the elderly, and, frankly, with some good discussions with my son, Sam. And, as always, relying on my women friends for talking and listening. And staying on top of medical issues as they arise.

I am now finding peace in the ordinary things once again, the things that used to annoy me. I’m grateful at being able to get my and my husband’s pill containers set for the week, fold laundry, make rhubarb bread or try a new recipe, separate the recyclables, pick up tripping hazards (pine cones) in the backyard – there’s a peaceful rhythm to it all, and a sense of accomplishment.

Small things, one after another, with time-outs to read and watch TV and sneak in an occasional nap. It may not feel golden, but it doesn’t feel rusty either. It feels good. These things make my world go smoothly. And it starts every day, before I emerge from my bedroom in the morning, with making my bed.