We don’t get to choose how long we’re here, but we get to decide how.

May 3

I recently read a story about superagers. What’s a superager, you ask? Dr. Lee Lindquist, a specialist in geriatric medicine, says it’s anyone “age 80 or older who exhibits cognitive function that is comparable to an average person who is middle-aged.” Recent research indicates superagers have a few things in common. They’re active, challenge themselves mentally and keep learning new things, maintain strong social connections, and (wut?!) enjoy alcohol in moderation. New life goal unlocked!

That reminded me of something I shared last year that’s worth a little update slash second glance: I’ve been thinking about getting old. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about ways of being I want to cultivate so that when I am old(er), I’ll be kind and gentle and maybe even a little bit wise. I’ve been thinking about it because I lost a parent last November. And because I’m a grandmother, which looked and sounded extremely ancient to me as a kid. I’ve been thinking about it because some of those I host in spiritual direction have been considering the kind of people they hope to become when they reach old age. Not for the first time, I am spurred on to love and good deeds as I bear witness to the stories, wisdom, and good questions of others.

Maybe it’s a little backward, but I’ll start by painting what I don’t want. I don’t want to be bitter, grumpy, inflexible, and critical. Too many people leave a path of pain and destruction behind them. I don’t want to be one of them. One of my grandparents had gotten so full of rage as they aged that they slapped one of their children in the face on the day they died. We laugh when we tell the story, so we won’t cry. Another left behind a trove of angry and accusatory letters (several of which existed in several edited versions indicating how much energy they’d given to their ire) to various family members, some of which they’d mailed and some they hadn’t. It was quite a gut punch to encounter them in cleaning out their belongings. Others’ lives got smaller and more legalistic, spending their final years spouting self-righteous ire at political or religious enemies. And some got so focused on how others failed them and were swallowed by self-pity. I don’t want any of that. I want better for all who meet elderly me should I have the grace and good fortune of a long life. I want more for own beloved self.

I want to be humble and gracious and strong. I want to be generous and loving and full of laughter. I want to be tenderhearted and brave. I want to stay curious and resilient. I want to be like Grandpa Allen, who loved his people fiercely and made sure his granddaughter knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was welcome in the world just when she most needed to know it. I want to be like my great uncle Paul, whose face radiated joy whenever he saw me and who couldn’t get through a blessing before a meal without crying because his heart was that full toward God and those he loved. I want to be like my great aunts Opal and Katy who quietly held my grown-woman hands in theirs to speak their delight when I visited. I want to be like my great aunt IB who, as her memory faded, would say with a humble smile, “I think I might have told you that story before.” And she usually had. But her heart was so gentle that I was always glad to hear them again. (Note: I can’t not tell you IB’s full name because it is majestic and penultimate Texan. Hear this is the dulcet tones of Julie Andrews if you can. She was Ibera Countess Corley, born in northeast Texas in 1911.)

They are who I want to be like when I grow up. So, I am recommitting to cultivating a life whose overflow is love. I will keep emphasizing treating my spirit, mind, and physical body with kindness and care. I’ll stop working and staring at screens a little more often to walk near the water, stretch, drink tea, and do yoga. I’ll get my hands dirty in the garden. I’ll keep my bird feeders full. I’ll be kind to strangers, trusting I’ll meet an angel or two along the way. I’ll work on letting the little things go more often and fighting for the things that matter with more courage.

I’ll give when there are needs and because it is better for my soul than hoarding gifts. When I’m angry or triggered, I’ll try to tend to what’s broken and resist lashing out to multiply pain. I’ll keep meeting with my spiritual director and therapist to heal and grow. I’ll cultivate friends who help me see blind spots and who celebrate victories and mourn losses with me. I’ll consider the ripple effects of my way of living and keep William and Sutton and their kids and their kids on to the seventh generation in mind. I’ll love with more freedom. I’ll explore more. I’ll keep reading and learning. I’ll work hard for others. I’ll play often. I’ll talk to God and try to listen more than I talk.

How about you? What do you want to cultivate with your elderly self in mind? Because we don’t get to choose how long we’re here, but we get to choose how.

With care,
Terra

What I’ve Been Up To: I got to sit down with Matt, Ben, and Christy for a conversation about lament as paradoxically hopeful clean pain on the Gravity Commons Podcast. They told me to expect the episode with our conversation to be out sometime in May so stay tuned.

Coming Up: I am excited to have the chance to create an interactive lament installation and lead a workshop on grief at the Wild Goose Festival this July.

And I’m looking forward to speaking at the Church Mental Health Summit sponsored by Spiritual First Aid and Hope Made Strong in October on World Mental Health Day.

What I’m Watching: I recently finished Derry Girls, inspired to find another Irish comedy after watching Bad Sisters (which is both quite dark and highly recommended but that’s a conversation for another time).

Set in the 1990s Northern Ireland during the height of the Troubles, the show opens with a tank rolling along a quaint road, some teenaged boys spray-painting over the “London” in Londonderry, and this quintessential Cranberries song. Then (record scratch) the initial narrator turns out to be reading aloud from her cousin’s diary as a way of waking her for the first day of school.

The music is fantastic and the story centers on the wains (“wee-uns”), their parents, a few frenemies, and the stern but secretly caring Sister Michael with terrorism and political ire playing in the background.

Their Irish accents and colloquialisms including the ubiquitous use of “wee” are a delight as are their period clothes/hair/makeup which serve as a fun flashback. I learned more about the Troubles as they stumble from one teen drama to another with bomb scares and political tension playing in the background. It’s an odd concept to have a fraught and violent season of history through the lens of a coming-of-age comedy but it works and is ultimately a lovely story. It gives me hope that one day not long from now, there will be a comedy about how America found its way through the quagmire with a gaggle of self-conscious teens leading the way.

What I’m Reading: Sarah Bessey’s Field Notes for the Wilderness. I came to this book expecting a resource I could share with those I host in spiritual direction and it is certainly that. I anticipated a book that would speak to my history but not to have much to say to my current experience since I am, thankfully, on the other side of reconstruction.

What I’m experiencing as I read (and listen) in fact is a mirror for my own (and many others’) story that is taking my healing even deeper. That it is framed as a series of letters from Sarah makes it feel more like a conversation with a trusted (and trust-worthy) friend. BTW, I highly recommend the audiobook so you can hear the author’s warm Canadian words as she reads them.

Here’s a favorite quote (I could list several!) about learning to love again:

“Love your body, every curve and change. Love the sound of the words "I love you," "I forgive you, "I'm sorry," "I miss you," "I choose you," "I made coffee and i's ready." Love the bark of the big old tree you watch through every season of change.

Love this moment of particular grace, not in spite of a grief and loss surrounding us but because of it. Love this because now you know that Frederick Buechner was right: this is the world, beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. Beautiful things are happening and terrible things are happening, both are true. Don’t be afraid.” (FNFTW, p. 131).

What I’m listening to: On the day of the eclipse, I got to spend time with my good friends and my godchildren and their wonderful neighbor, a wise and kind spiritual director who just celebrated her 70th birthday. It was a lovely day of pause and wonder for the incredible universe we get to live in. And since Jason and Jenny are both former musicians, I always love hearing their music recs. Jason introduced me to Jacob Collier who I suggest you listen to immediately if you haven’t before. I suggest starting with this song. And watching him perform it on the guitar he designed while conducting a choir that accompanies him.

And dear Bridgett introduced us to Adrianne Lenker. I recommend starting with this song. And this one next which manages to be simultaneously funny and profound.

I’ll leave you with these words from Saint Mary:

I know a man of such
Mildness and kindness it is trying to
Change my life. He does not
Preach, teach, but simply is. It is
Astonishing, for he is Christ’s ambassador
Truly, by rule and act. But, more,

He is kind with the sort of kindness that shines
Out, but is resolute, not fooled. He has
Eaten the dark hours and could also, I think,
Soldier for God, riding out
Under the storm clouds, against the world’s pride and unkindness
With both unassailable sweetness, and consoling word.

From Mary Oliver’s “On Thy Wondrous Works I Will Meditate (Psalm 145)”