Finding my “fit” – part 2 – keys to a new kind of success

In my last post, I committed to sharing with you the results of my renewed journey to fitness, post pandemic.  I described my results as being better than I could have hoped for or imagined.  But – the outcomes I want to share with you, the ones that matter – have nothing to do with the ones that I set out to achieve.  In the process of chasing one goal, I am realizing the reward of my efforts may never show up on any weight scale, or in the mirror. What do I mean? It comes down to a question I was asked when I took those first, tentative and hopeful pandemic steps to focus on fitness, seriously.  The question I was asked – and that we need to ask ourselves constantly – is what is my goal?  What did I want to accomplish?  Or, as I think of it now – what is “my” fit? 

Photo by Victor Freitas on

There are endless articles on how to get fit – some even talk about the dangers of being overly focused on exercise, muscle, body fat %, dysmorphia and addiction (yes, even healthy habits can become unhealthy obsessions!).   And, there’s just as many personal definitions of what “fit” should be; just look at the endless parade of bodies on television, websites, media and advertising.  There, it seems like the world is full of idealized bodies that few of us see on a daily basis around us; fewer of us still can say we approach those measures of physical beauty.  Perhaps for you as well, those images influenced my own goals and expectations, and not always constructively.  But before any of us can find the “how” that gets us the results we seek – perhaps we need to spend some serious time asking ourselves a little less about what changes we seek, and a little more about out why we want change. 

If my goal is truly health, well – my doctor told me I have the heart of a teenage girl (now, she meant it in a nice way!).  She didn’t know my history, which I mentioned in my last post; she wasn’t my doctor when I went through one of the most difficult periods of my life. About 3 years ago, at age 60, an intestinal parasite was attacking my body from the inside out – and no one knew it. Fact is, I was kind of happy I was losing weight – but other things seemed “off”, somehow. In January 2019 I was hospitalized, and when I got out, I weighed nearly 60 pounds less than six months prior; my muscle mass was lost to dehydration and other side effects. I had to retrain my legs to walk, and in time to drive.  I remember sending a photo of me waving, to let my niece and nephew know I was doing better – and my brother told me they had cried when they saw it.  When I looked in the mirror after my first shower at home – I almost cried myself. I have come a long way since that point – but still was fundamentally unhappy with where I was still.  

Photo by Markus Winkler on

About a year ago when I had my first opportunity to return to the gym – out of the house! – the only way to get “in” was to work with a professional trainer.  They asked me what my goal was – and I said what I thought was the best answer – to “be my best”.  The non-verbal reaction I got was, I think – this guy doesn’t know what he wants.  On the contrary – I realized that I needed to just get better.  Just get out, just get started. Essentially, I wanted to transform my body in a way that I never had been able to achieve, and I felt optimistic that this was the time, and training was the vehicle that was going to get me to the finish line – and beyond.  

Well, friends, to be honest – I am not entirely happy with the physical progress I have made to this point.  You might think looking at my photo in my previous entry that I am doing great; compared to a few years ago, yes, absolutely.  I practice being grateful for what I have received since I was wheeled out the hospital in early 2019; I know every day is a gift I might not have had.  But I am realizing that it isn’t enough to build muscle and lose fat;  more and more, I think the fitness that I want to grasp, and to evidence on the outside, has to start on the inside – with how I think about myself, and others.  As I waver between another cardio session or a box of chocolate caramels from Trader Joes – too often, the immediate self-satisfaction of something I should be avoiding has a stronger grip on my decisions than the awareness of its cost to me on this ongoing journey.  For many of us, short term happiness comes at the expense of long-term dreams. 

Over the past few months, as I have questioned my own focus and goals; looking outward on the gym members who more closely exemplify the physical perfection that I have never really even been close to achieving – I have asked myself why I haven’t gotten more results after all the efforts, the training, and yes, the whining.  And I have begun to think of myself beyond just how I “measure up” in comparison to that longed for ideal.  I don’t know how to explain it, or even describe it – but as I lift the barbell, and strain on the machine, as I grasp for just a few more second, really, on that cardio machine – I am aware that where I really need to focus is on my thinking. Thinking about my identity; who I am, really; and who I dream of becoming. 

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It is in our thoughts, not at the gym, that we first give birth to a vision of transformation; and it is in our thoughts, our practices, that we develop the habits that lead to true “success”, however we define it.  I realize now my thoughts have been defeating me rather than setting the stage for results.  My immature expectations of some miracle transformation, of being able to walk out post COVID and see people I have not met in a year or more and have them say – wow!  I didn’t recognize you – you look amazing! – have not been met, and in a way, the dawning awareness of that truth is a greater achievement than being able to say my body fat is down x % and I can lift this much.  Because the REAL growth that will help me move ahead is in adjusting my expectations and my focus on what I will, for the moment, believe are my key takeaways from this period to date.  If I had simply transformed my body, I would never had realized that it was my mind, my spirit and my whole being that needed to “find my fit”.  

I am absolutely still studying, learning, stumbling and rising again in my practices and workouts.  I am not “giving up” – rather, supplementing or expanding the purpose of why I want to grow in strength, in self-discipline, and in character.  The physical fitness will be a side effect of a renewed awareness and acceptance of not only myself – but extending that towards others; just as my weight loss after that first half marathon was a side effect of simply wanting to achieve a goal that I had never thought possible, by putting one foot in front of the other, step by step, day by day.  In the process, there are some insights that I have gained that help me maintain balance – just as critical as tracking reps, and weights, and getting the calories counts on the elliptical. I offer you these lessons – obvious as though they may seem, yet oh so difficult to embrace and stand on – hoping perhaps they will help you refine your own vision and goals into something that is the rocket fuel for your quest to success. 

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Discover your “Flow” – Make time your ally, your friend, your secret weapon. You can’t get lasting results without being consistent – by “showing up” over time, regularly, and sticking with it.  I look at it as every day I am planting seeds. It takes a long time for seeds to take root and grow, sometimes many years; I think of the old “Johnny Appleseed” cartoon from Disney, how this one man wandering through the emerging American states and giving seeds to others left a heritage that he never saw come to fruition. Whatever your age or physical shape, or “invisible” muscle fitness – change will only come if you move ahead. I try to remember to focus not on “where are the results” TODAY,  but rather, did I take the action that I needed to today.   I need to let taking the steps be my first priority – the results will come, whatever they are or are not. They certainly won’t come at all if I don’t keep on keeping on.  Plant the seeds of the life you want tomorrow – many tomorrows away – each and every day.    

Change your vocabulary – Reconsider what YOU consider to be success and failure – not someone else. Setting a standard for what you “should be” able to accomplish by looking at the people around you is POINTLESS and a WASTE OF TIME.  Success is a process, not a destination; failure is our coach, not our nemesis. I need to be open to learning; to not assume what I am doing is right, but study, share, try the new; dare to stumble and look awkward because, hey, that’s just how it works.  When we were children, it was easier – we didn’t have these facades of pride to maintain, we built those up and now they box us in – but if we break through, we can embrace the new, and discover, and create, something better.  Failure happens; success without failure is a myth, move on knowing that the next step is what matters now.  Embrace the rhythm and romance of the dance between striving, falling, and rising again, renewed. 

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Be your own cheerleader. All the coaching and training or encouragement from others cannot supplant what we must provide for ourselves;  beating yourself up for all the things you failed to do, to be, is kind of like being offered the “get out of jail free” card in Monopoly and saying “no, I think I would rather be unhappy”.  You have to be 100 percent on your side – no books, no apps or trainer or videos or diet can replace your choice to believe in your own potential. I didn’t grow up in a family of cheerleaders – most of us did not – so, perhaps like Genie in Aladdin, we all need to just build an army of inner voices saying “Yes I can” to find that boost.  So grab the pom poms and start your own squad!  Be your own torch bearer in your daily Olympic opening ceremony – hear those trumpets, listen to the cheers, and rejoice in what you can do. Only you are the judges, you hold up those numbers on cards, and you hand out the medals. 

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See the dream, not the chasm. The gap between where you are and where you wish to be has a strong gravity, and an endless hunger; if you let it, it will suck you in, you will wallow in darkness and discouragement, and you will never be able to enjoy the progress you made to date – or to build on it and move ahead.  It’s so easy to fall in; to see something you cannot get beyond. Instead, see the next step, and take it in faith. Let that step be enough! Some days just let it be enough to celebrate being where you are, knowing every day offers a new starting line, and holding on to certainty you can move ahead. Goals and dreams are wonderful but be realistic and celebrate every victory (just not with ice cream).  If there was not a gap between where you are and where you want to be, we would never learn to stretch, to gain strength, to get up and keep going.  The bridge between you and your destination is built one step at a time.

Photo by Trace Hudson on

Find joy in yourself as you are today.  No, this does not contradict the power of dreams; but yearning only for a different tomorrow robs you of celebrating the imperfection of today.  Guess what? You are ALWAYS going to have something that isn’t what you wish it to be. And no matter how you grow or what you achieve, there will always be something beckoning beyond.  Your dreams and goals should be a beacon for hope, inspiring you to reach forward – not a burden of guilt and shame that buries you in a bleak despair. Whatever “fit” means for you, this journey does not have a finish line; you are building a way of life, not to “arrive” but to travel on. This is not the Olympics, or even high school PE; there is no clock timer at the end of your run reporting “the final result”.  We only, ever, have the now, blended from what we were given and that which we created; tomorrow offers the yield from those seeds we plant today;  and yesterday is just an old photo album with memories, some good, some bad, but none as alive as the moment that we are in right NOW.  Look for, discover, and share today’s joys. 

Photo by Bekka Mongeau on

Those are the lessons I am learning each day as I get in the car and drive to the gym, and struggle through my workout, going home exhausted.  It’s funny, perhaps, and I have no idea how many other people might have felt this way – but I never really felt “at home” in my body.  Surely not in those junior high PE classes; decades later, still, not in the gym where bodybuilders seemingly have achieved Adonis physiques and Hercules strength.  I hate to admit it, but Olive Oil might beat me at arm wrestling!  Still, somehow, this process of exercising has helped me sense a greater integration between body, mind and spirit.  A weaving together as I accept the limits of who I am, while still reaching to achieve what I can.  That scared, hurting little boy is finding new wings, and you can too.   

I am still “finding my fit” – and I hope my wandering thoughts give you some encouragement to keep looking for your own.  It’s worth the quest – even if at 63 I am beyond being able to achieve the outward results that my quest initially saw as the goal. It’s kind of exciting to realize the true treasures awaiting me will not be visible to the eye but will be of far greater value.  I will talk about that a little bit more in my next post.  In the meantime – I’ll be at the gym tomorrow, and many thereafter. Growing in mind, spirit, and body – together. Perhaps I will see you there – let’s give each other a boost.  Keep on keeping on, friends. 

Finding my fit part 1 – Reaching for a dream ….

I am old enough to remember seeing the then famous, and ridiculed, “90 pound weakling” ads in my childhood comic books.  I kind of remember being skinny as a young boy, but after puberty – and all the associated issues – I ballooned up.   Still, for many like me, ads like those of Charles Atlas showing a muscular man awakened a sense in me that I was – inadequate. 

I was not the only boy in the 60’s who saw these ads and began to feel there was something wrong with me …..

Our culture has only exaggerated those messages over the subsequent decades – now, there are so many standards for “measuring up” that the media touts incessantly.   I certainly absorbed it all – being a typical “picked last” guy for the PE class teams, uncoordinated, and ignorant.  Everything about my life marked me as not belonging – I had no father to teach me how to play games, I turned to my intellect for achievement – it serve me well financially, and in employment – but I always felt like the outsider.  For the most part, those around me reinforced that belief.  In time, I knew my attraction to other boys was not mainstream either – so my sense of not fitting in, not measuring up, only intensified.  

Skip ahead from my teens to my late 40s – I was severely overweight, used food to deal with my emotional needs, and still deeply closeted.  One of the ways I escaped reality, besides food, was seeking happiness at the happiest place on earth – Disneyland.  I had many wonderful memories there – and when I learned that they were going to have their very first half marathon in 2006, 15 years ago, I decided to start training.  I figured if I couldn’t lose weight by trying to lose weight, maybe I could do it as a side effect by just taking on the challenge! 

At Disneyland, December 2005 – singing in the annual Candlelight Processional.

And I needed something to focus on – because my world was crumbling, in a way.  By the end of 2006 my mother and two other close family members had passed; a few months later, my father joined them.  I worked with a trainer, who endlessly encouraged me to just go a little longer every week – it was a goal, a task I could do, gradually.  I didn’t have to set any records – and I thought about my family cheering me on, there on the sidelines, in spirit.  I crossed the finish line in October 2006, after losing 40 pounds, and a lot of tears.  I followed with the half marathon in 2007 and 2008, and several others – but with age, the physical strain reached a point of more cost and less benefit, so I gave that up.  Like any major goal that takes time and effort – it built my confidence.  It showed me I could do something new, something no one expected – maybe not perfectly, but well enough. 

I have written before how it was the loss of that family dynamic that in time led me to realize I needed to accept myself, and find a way to live, with being gay, and being out.  That process too was a different kind of challenge – one that continues.  I continued to have periods of success with my fitness and weight, and was doing pretty well – until a very unexpected and uncommon health issue emerged and gradually put me into the hospital at age 60, and when I got out, I was emaciated and weak.  My priority was just regaining the ability to walk, and getting back to being able to live – it was frightening and traumatic.  Without the love of my husband, family and friends, I would not have made it.  So it was a little more than 2 years ago that I decided having time to enjoy life was more important than my career, and I ended my professional pursuits, looking forward to enjoying time in my new home, with my husband, building new friendships, travel – all those goals we tell ourselves we can look forward too. 

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Well, of course … it was just a few months after that we started hearing about Wuhan and strange reports of infectious disease, and before you know it – all those doors were shut for everyone, not just me.  I had already been slowly returning to working out at a local gym, with mixed results – I felt inadequate, barely able to lift the barbell itself, and there were lingering health concerns as well to take into consideration.  As an early birthday gift, I had ordered some adjustable home weights to supplement my gym visits, which was helpful in hindsight as they soon became unavailable as millions of us learned we could not continue to attend gyms or work out together.   Little did we know, of course, how long that would continue.  

Working out on the back patio with intermittent breaks for gardening was my only outdoor escape for several months.  I thought I was doing pretty well, researching workouts online – there are zillions of workout videos and websites with advice, often contradictory, and variations galore.  I have never felt at ease with my body – a kind of innate awkwardness that I wasn’t doing things “right” – but I was at least regular about it.  I learned, sadly, my gym that I had enjoyed prior to all these events went out of business permanently, like so many small companies.  When the larger regional chain gym announced in August that they could now permit trainers to work with clients – at a hefty price – outdoors on the sidewalk, I was one of the first to sign up. 

What I imagined I could become during COVID …..
Photo by Anush Gorak on

It was weird, to say the least.  I couldn’t go into the gym; my trainer, who I picked solely because he was the one on site when I signed up, would bring out the weights or bench or whatever for each exercise and we would be on the sidewalk where cars, bicyclists and pedestrians (including the occasional “unhoused” as they say here in SF) would glance over and wonder what on earth we were doing there.  But it was an outlet, one I desperately needed, and a confidence booster in a way.  Eventually, the state and city relaxed their restrictions, and put in more equipment on the parking lot, fenced and covered; then, allowed members to work without trainers – so more bodies competing for the equipment – and finally, indoor workouts with masks and sanitizers.  I was truly impressed with how the gym management functioned through all these changes, and the employees were nearly always positive and responsive, when everyone was dealing with the same stress and uncertainties, constant change, and upheaval.  I previously wrote about how I actually received my vaccination because of the kindness of a stranger at the gym.  Finally, just a few weeks ago – masks became history, and going to the gym is not really all that different from what it was two years ago, although trailing evidence lingers.  

I had signed up for training – and spent a healthy sum – in part as a kind of therapy during the isolation of pandemic.  But I also had, admittedly, a dream – maybe even more of a fantasy. We need dreams to cope with darkness; I am a goal driven individual, and I needed something to work towards – to “redeem” this era, to come out of with some result, something concrete to show for the time lost, in a way.  As the gym reopened, and even just during the months where we were limited to outdoor equipment for 50 minutes, waiting in line – I had seen the men who were like so many of the others over the years.  Men with defined bodies, muscles to spare – all the hallmarks that my own peculiar history had engraved in my thinking represented the masculine ideal.  

Actually, I never feel like whoever that is on the left – but he would fit right in at my gym!

As a lonely, shame filled and isolated teen who never really grew out of that mindset – they were everything I aspired to be. Seeing them was partly inspirational – but to a greater degree, discouraging.  Another reminder of my “differentness”, in a way. And I wanted to come out of this experience looking just like them.  It may be a stereotype that gay men are obsessed with physical appearance, but that doesn’t make it false – and culturally the message is still, regardless of sexuality, that your appeal to others and your worth is often perceived as related to your physical appearance – first impressions are based on visual data, of course! 

Would it surprise you to read that things did not go as planned?  In my next post, I will share the results to date.  In a way, they were better than I could have hoped for or imagined, as I began moving on from dream to reality.  

The New NormL, December 2020 – not the end of the story! To be continued …….

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Seeking directions

Friends, I want to apologize right off the bat.  This is not a “well written” blog post (if any of mine are, but this certainly is not).  It lacks structure and focus; it has no theme; it is more for me, than for anyone reading it. But my feelings are jumbled, my focus blurred, my questions drown out the answers that used to be enough; and if it has no worth to anyone but myself, well – no one paid for this blog but me. So, I added this paragraph at the beginning, just to say – I am not editing this. I will not screen my feelings, my wandering mind, or my questioning heart.  This is where I am today; read on. 

Summer is opening its doors, two months since my last post – about my relief, and gratitude, at getting a COVID vaccine, due to the kindness of a stranger.  Miraculously, perhaps even incredulously, in those few weeks demand for vaccines has dropped;  state regulations have been withdrawn; infection rates are down, while some cling to a kind of hope, I guess, that the Delta variant will come and wipe out more, justifying their suspicions of the end of restrictions.  Sadly, I have friends that seem to almost want COVID to resurge to justify their fears and precautions, and to enable them to gleefully declare they were right, and we got what we deserved.  Perhaps we will. 

In many groceries and other stores I visit, there is a mix of folks with masks, and those without – it is kind of eerie.  The same with restaurants, the gym, and I suspect bars and theaters, although I haven’t visited either lately.  Many just want it to be “over” – I saw a headline implying that, like the AIDS pandemic, this will be with us for years to come, but people just don’t want to make it their focus anymore.  And, the finger pointing and blame shifting will be with us interminably as well, I think. 

Regrettably, I haven’t been very disciplined about writing, instead, kind of swimming in thought and reflection, mostly alone. I do talk with friends, my husband, and family, a bit – but somehow, it’s like being in a big indoor pool at night, alone, just feeling the water envelop you, the quiet, the darkness.  Perhaps it makes the shadows bigger and the silence deeper.   Perhaps it is not the best place to go swimming right now, that sea of uncertainty – but I think avoiding it is worse.  To pretend we are all just going to shake off what happened, collectively and individually, is to both fail to grasp the opportunity to find and create new meaning – and, to embrace denial and avoidance and just pretend.   Pretend is comforting – but it is not life. 

I talked with my husband last weekend about how he felt COVID had changed him, or us; I don’t know that I can provide any better answer than he, or someone else.  But I do feel changed, somehow, and if I am changed, so are my relationships, and my heart.  So I have been quiet here on “The New NormL” because ….. Norm L is feeling a little bit unanchored as I survey the waters around me, like a sea captain of old, but lacking the compass and the knowledge of the stars to guide him. 

I imagine you, like me, had some very painful experiences during the past 18 months or so.  For me, the repercussions, the reverberations of those moments, those feelings, those encounters, are still echoing, perhaps a little quieter but not silent, in my thoughts, my feelings.  Returning to the seafaring analogy, I am trying to get my bearings.  I got knocked off my feet here and there, and as I write, I think – I need to find a way to “shake it off”.  To say, yes, those things happened, and I didn’t like them, and I can’t do a thing about it.  As the British bobby in the old movies used to say, “Move along, move along – nothing to see here”.  And the crowd may move on … but I am still trying to get my feet back on the ground, and walk again. 

When I started this blog, early in the confinement imposed by COVID, it was a response to a longer held calling in my heart – a sense that, somehow, by writing, my experiences could maybe add some hope or insight to someone else’s life – the way I wish someone could have reached out to me during the years my heart cried alone.  I honestly know only a few of the people who read my blog – I am not even sure where the other followers come from, why they read it or follow it – I don’t hear from them, mostly.  And they are all few;  so when I take the time to write, I wonder if I am using my time well, or wasting it.  I wonder, too, if I am just spilling my guts, so to speak, for a kind of self therapy as I try to make sense of my existence, and sift through all the promises and certainties made to me by “those in the know” over the decades, not always finding many that I can still cling to for reassurance; for comfort.  

I have thought often about what I would like to write here – but I always end up thinking it won’t mean anything to anyone.  I don’t start out trying to be negative; perhaps it is a function of the lingering effects of isolation, but I think it goes deeper than that.  I have written about how I struggled to come to terms with a lifetime of alienation and shame because of my “differentness” – there are lots of people with those feelings, not just repressed gay men of the baby boom generation.   When I share my heart, I feel exposed;  yet, as I often tell friends, and sometimes strangers, I do believe that the struggles we each have offer the most for others to learn from. 

In many cases, I think about my ongoing exploration of what I term spiritual understanding and growth.  I readily admit greater minds than mind over centuries and throughout many cultures have done more on that front than I could ever offer;  but I often reflect on what I was taught, and what I know to be true, and how they differ.  I ponder what prayer is about; I question the tendency that many people of faith have to avoid questions, to want certainty, and their – our – willingness to cling to just about anything rather than open the door a crack to the possibility that the answers they embrace might dissolve and they would be left with nothing to hold on to.  That fear has driven much oppression and ugliness, and still does – not just in the form of traditional religion, but in new forms, technological battlefields and socio political shouting matches. 

About two weeks ago, I had the opportunity to drive a few hundred miles and see the faces, and touch the hands, and hug quietly, friends and family who I left behind, physically, when I moved north.  The drive seemed longer; I was alone, my husband of nearly 3 years now stayed behind to tend to things at home while I reconnected.  We had spent a great deal of time together, with occasional interactions with others, mostly very limited; in a few weeks, we will travel together on a farther journey by air, to see his family on the other side of the continent, and then he will have a similar trip away while I tend to the cats demands here. 

I thought about writing a column on that trip, called something like “Lessons from old men” – because I spoke with several during the visit, and I have to admit, I am becoming a bit of one myself. I knew that this was possibly the last time I might see any one of the loved ones I was hoping to visit; but some, more than others, have been facing health issues and uncertainty. Yet as I talked with them, rather than the stories they shared or the feelings that they expressed, I was struck more by the silences.  The words they did not say; the questions I did not ask; somehow, it was the silences that brought us closer together, perhaps for the final time.  That which is unspoken is perhaps more deeply felt, and more rarely sensed – but most powerful.

I think the disruption, the chaos that COVID created for so many of us – really, all of us worldwide, but everyone has their own story – has been hellish.  Many of us are still dealing with a kind of shock, and fear – it was drilled into us incessantly, and as we learn where that fear was justified – and where it was not – resentment boils up for some.  Who to blame? Who lied? Who can we trust?  We want safety and certainty – but perhaps the most valuable lesson might be that those are illusory.  As the “Serenity prayer” of many twelve step recovery groups states – we need to be able to accept what we cannot change, know what we can change, and have the courage and power to focus on the latter while giving up on the former – even though we may hate that truth. 

I’ve lived through more than a decade of disruption in my life, career wise, relationship wise, spiritually, economically and endured a severe health crisis.  Yes, Covid, but also another – dating back more than 4 years now, and at its most terrible point almost 30 months ago.  I have been gifted at the same time with undeserved love, tolerance, encouragement and support – by my husband, my family, and friends – and strangers;  I have also been kicked down by people who claim to care about me, and experienced selfishness on almost unbelievable scales by those who would label me as the one to blame.  In have been beaten down and lifted up, I have had dreams and seen them crumble, I have opened my heart and have been wounded, and I have asked questions without finding answers.  Join the club, as many might say. 

I am sure that many brilliant minds and more loving hearts have written inspiring words that shake the clouds themselves from the sky; that songs have been sung and legends told about heroes facing peril, seeming doom, and rising above.  I think often of the versus from the Bible, in all its translations – that among the spiritual gifts are many to be desired, but the most desirable, the most precious, the most sought after are faith, hope and love.  These words, documented as written to an early group of believers in what was then a radical and heretic belief in a deliverer who most never met in person, by a convert to that belief who previously had prosecuted and hunted down its proselytes, were trying to communicate that within a body of believers – a church, a family of people who were coming together in faith – the most important things were not certain abilities, or powers, or strengths.  Much is written about faith; even more about love; but perhaps we need to think a bit more about hope. 

I am not sure what my own definition of hope might be;  it would not be traditional, as of course my strange way of looking at life doesn’t ever take the simple route.  Hope is, perhaps, a force – no, not like star wars.  A force we channel, that we let ourselves step into, that we tie a string to like a kite and as it soars it carries us along, rather than we anchoring it to our gravity.  Does that make hope a fantasy?  Perhaps, or at least certainly there is that risk.  But without hope, can we really have faith -whether in a loving power beyond our knowledge, or in another human walking alongside us?   Without hope, can we really know, share, or receive love?  

Where do we get hope?  Some would say, from a belief in ourselves.  From acceptance, from a certainty that “we can do it”.   I have heard that is how some cultures see Americans – as confident, self-sufficient, and building through teamwork.  Well, friends, that is not me, I have to look for hope not in myself – not solely, anyway, but somehow, along with faith, and clinging to love, as coming from beyond me, and yet awaiting me, like a laughing breeze swaying the blossoms in my window box, crying – come play.  Come be my friend, come dance in the sun.  Yes, the moon will be back tonight, the rain and wind will return as well – but the sun remains still, and we dance.  

I am looking for hope; I am trying to offer hope to others, with a smile, with a hug, with a kiss, or other small kindnesses, even to strangers. Hope is not to be kept to oneself, but to flow.  My hope needs an anchor outside of myself, just like a pipe needs a connection to a water supplier to be functional when the knob is turned to on.  I am not the water; but I can share it, when I have it.  But if I don’t have it, I don’t seek it, I don’t conserve it and treat it with respect – there is nothing to share. 

I realize that much of what I turned to in the past for hope – much of what I defined as faith, and more of what I saw as love – were not what they promised.  Surely, in a few cases, I was deliberately deceived, but not the majority.   What I was shown as truth, was the best that others had to share, and the best I could find, then.   Today …. I need to be open to a better way.  I can cling to the old – or I can at least open my heart, mind, spirit and body to the possibility that what I held as certain was only an illusion;  and that my ability and willingness to ask questions without knowing answers, without being the one sitting in class waiting to be called on to show I am right.  

The elders I saw – some in person, some only in shadows of times past and images on paper seen again – they know a truth that they cannot share with me, yet. May I suggest that you avoid anyone who claims to have the certainty to know answers that they cannot be certain are true?  I am not old by some standards, but ancient by others; I have lived a longer life than most statistically will know, not always happily, and sometimes clumsily and perhaps somewhat wasted as well.  But, like you out there, strangers perhaps reading my meandering thoughts, I do not know how many days are left.  And so now that the shadow of Covid, not vanquished but perhaps pushed farther away, does not loom so large as to darken all that I see – I need to find that compass.  I need to read those stars and guide my ship to shore.  And there, to dance with the breeze, and sing with the flowers, in the sun.  Will you join me there? I will save a place for you.  I think there is room for all of us.  Let’s go looking – I will see you along the path. 

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