There will
come a day when I won’t have the strength to lift my mountain bike up the six
steps out of the basement to get out for a ride. My arms won’t lift it up to my
shoulder, my legs will feel weak, my back ache. There may come a day when even
the thought of riding will be too much.
There will
come a day when I might not be surrounded by the good books I’ve read and have
yet to read.
There will
come a day when I say even an hour’s work in the garden is too much and let it
go a little wild and a little overrun with weeds which I despise.
There will
come a day when I won’t be able to settle down to an evening of reading with a
glass of Cointreau to warm my throat.
There may come
a day when I won’t climb the stairs up to bed and will sell the house for a
smallish, one-floor condo to watch the world that I used to work in.
There may come
a day when I no longer will want to or be able to cook up a whole dinner in my
beloved kitchen.
I’m coming these
days to focus on letting go instead of holding onto. If a massive hail storm
shreds my lovely tomato plants, then, I told Jamie, I’m done with gardening in
this almost impossible climate to work in. Some things, I just am not going to
care so much about anymore.
At a point in my life when each
birthday marks not one more year but one less, I have taken to de-accessioning,
getting rid of stuff. Many people when they reach their upper years become
hoarders and collectors of everything, not wanting to part with anything. Not me.
I just took a stack of classical music cd’s to the Denver Public Library. Let
other people hear this wonderful music. I have other versions or am just tired
of it. I periodically prune my bookshelves to take advantage of Tattered
Cover’s trade-in program and get a new book or two.
Call it
resignation and a sense of limitations, but I want to cut back and cut down,
give away and throw away. I want less. Less stuff, that is.
I also want more—more good times with
friends, more enjoyment, more fun, more commitment, more energy. Resignation and
acceptance doesn’t mean inactivity or laziness or carelessness.
There’s a prayer that goes something
like this: Lord, help me let go of the
things I need to let go of and accept the things I need to accept and help me
keep doing the things I need to do and then let me know the difference between
the two.
That, it seems
to me, is what wisdom is about.
© May 2014
About the Author
Nicholas grew up in
Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He
retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks,
does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.
