By SALLY JEAN FOX

Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. —John Lennon

Few of us deliberately plan to become caregivers. We have lives, commitments, and passions that are important to us, all of which could be dramatically disrupted by a loved one’s illness, physical or mental challenges, or accident. While it might be difficult to think about how we would cope and provide care if the worst should happen, the time to consider it is now.

Susan Partnow’s life abruptly changed when she was 71 and her husband, Jim, received a diagnosis of laryngoesophageal cancer that required life-altering surgery. Then, two years later, tragedy again struck her family, and she added a new role to her plate—caregiver to a caregiver, this time supporting her daughter.

At the time of Jim’s diagnosis, Susan was enjoying new freedom after leaving her job as a consultant in a health care system. For 18 months, she had been planning a service project about which she was passionate, leading a citizen diplomacy mission to Kashmir, India. Unfortunately, the trip was scheduled to begin just two weeks after her husband Jim’s surgery.

Technically, she and her husband were separated and lived independently of each other on different floors of their house. Yet Susan knew she was the one person in his life who could be his primary caregiver and that this was how she was being called to serve.

But what about India? She could cancel the personal portion of the trip. But 24 people were depending on her to lead the mission. She knew that the surgery her husband was facing was grim, requiring the removal of his larynx (voice box) and the reconstruction of his esophagus. Even after the surgery, he would require months of rehabilitative care.

Susan said “yes” to caregiving and set to work to figure out how to lead the Kashmir mission before stepping into her new role. She was determined to make it work. “My whole being was clear—I needed to go.”

Unlike some of us suddenly confronted by complex events or tragedy, Susan had several assets going for her. She knew how to navigate the health care system and research appropriate care options for Jim, including rehabilitation hospitals. She had a strong network of friends she could ask for support. And she had developed many beneficial personal practices as a teacher of “Compassionate Listening.”

A plan for her absence emerged. Friends stepped up to help. One volunteered to “be Susan” in her absence. Jim moved into a rehab hospital the day before Susan’s flight to India. But the move didn’t go smoothly. The weekend staff wasn’t prepared for the level of care needed to support a man who couldn’t speak and had a tracheostomy. And Jim was scared. Hours before her flight to India, Susan held an emergency meeting with the rehab hospital director to try to improve the situation.

But when Susan woke up her first morning in India, she saw a text from Jim pleading, “Get me out of here.” Jim wanted her nearby. But she was thousands of miles away and had to rely on the friend she had left in charge, who was increasingly overwhelmed by the situation. Things did not go perfectly while she was away, but two and a half weeks after departing Susan was back in Seattle in her new role as primary caregiver. The long haul of rehab began. Jim could neither speak nor swallow and couldn’t eat on his own. After months of healing and speech therapy, Jim finally mastered his smartphone so he could text to communicate. Then, he learned to speak using an electrolarynx. (Sadly, he will always need a tube to eat.)

When he was finally able to return home, Jim required extensive care. Susan had to learn the mechanics of tube feeding with many messy mishaps. “I’m not a nurse, and I’m not good at feeding and wound care.” What she was good at, though, was finding help. Home health provided some. Other support came from friends who visited Jim, walked the dog, and did tasks, thus giving Susan breaks.

Susan’s “Compassionate Listening” training helped her face a heart-wrenching situation with more equanimity than many of us would have. She worked to have compassion for herself and Jim, and to practice returning to her heart, again and again, when challenges set her spinning. She could also ask the difficult questions some of us would avoid, like when she said to Jim, “Do you want to go on?” That question turned out to be a shocking wake-up call that helped him move forward.

Tragedy strikes again

Susan Partnow’s caregiving responsibilities would have been more than enough for most of us, but two years after Jim’s surgery, another tragedy struck the family. Her daughter, Jessica, and son-in-law, Kurtiss, were one year into a happy marriage when he, at 38, had a catastrophic stroke.  Kurtiss survived the stroke to face a life with disabilities affecting his mind, coordination, and movement. Impacted by severe ataxia, he can’t walk or coordinate his movements, nor can he sing or play piano, as he once had done so beautifully. His career as a software engineer is gone. Jessica must bring in income and continue her career in nonprofit management and journalism while trying to support her husband’s many needs.

It’s hard enough to be a caregiver. But watching those we love bear the weight of caregiving is also painful. Susan saw her daughter’s load and stepped in to help. She became a caregiver to a caregiver, spending time with Kurtiss so that Jessica could have breaks, earn income, and have some life to herself. Susan visits her daughter’s place three afternoons a week to be with Kurtiss and take him to appointments. “We’ve become great friends,” she says.

Susan is a lucky one. She has a strong community, a sense of purpose as a caregiver and activist, and well-developed inner practices. The need for care has stressed but not bankrupted her family. Still, there are painful times when she asks, “Why were we so unlucky?” or “It’s unfair.” At those times, she tries to redirect her mind toward gratitude and appreciation, while reminding herself that dwelling in suffering and misfortune, however understandable, won’t help her situation.

While Susan’s story is unique, it contains lessons for all of us who never know when we may be called to provide care:

1. Build your community now. Talk with friends about what you would do in an emergency and how you can support each other.

2. Develop positive mental health practices. Susan uses “Compassionate Listening.” You may use your faith or a meditative practice. Develop your resilience before tragedy strikes.

3. Research caregiving resources in your community. What do people do when they need help? Are there care groups? Home health options? What rehab facilities are good? You may not need this information yet, but your preparation might also help another.

4. Be willing to accept support. When we are exhausted, overloaded, or depressed, it can be hard to ask for help. But caregivers deserve care. We can learn a lot about accepting help by discovering what supports others in our communities and then offering that help.

5. Don’t bury your grief and deep feelings. Therapy, grief counseling, caregiving support groups, books, and conversations can help.

6. Practice self-care. Go outdoors, walk, be in nature, and notice what brings you joy. Make a list of delights—or things you can do when life takes a difficult turn. You may need it.

The challenges Susan and her family have faced, however difficult, have come with gifts. She and her husband have become closer, and she loves being connected and interwoven in the lives of Jessica and Kurtiss. Her life isn’t the one she expected, but Susan is grateful for what she has. Part of her path has always been service, and she has plenty of ways to serve. “Service is love and that’s what life is about. In that way, I have a purpose. I am needed. I am serving. I am both caring and feeling cared for,” she shares.

That’s not to say it is easy. Susan tries to have compassion for herself and others. “It’s the heartbreak I don’t like. That doesn’t go away,” she says. “There’s a deep river of sorrow under it all. And that’s how it is.”

Sally Jean Fox, PhD is the author of Meeting the Muse after Midlife: A Journey to Meaning, Creativity and Joy, a writer, artist, and creativity and transitions coach.  She lives on beautiful Vashon Island, Wash.

This story was made possible by funding support from AARP Washington and BECU. For more information, tips and resources for family caregivers in Washington state, go to: www.aarp.org/caregiverswa

Important! Your Vote Needed to Keep Long-term Care Benefit in Washington State

An initiative that threatens to eliminate the WA Cares program appears to be headed to the November ballot. Initiative 2124 would allow people to opt out of the public long-term care insurance program and would destabilize the funding it needs to succeed.

Seventy percent of adults 65 and older will require some assistance to live independently as they age. Still, most of our growing older population lacks the financial resources to pay for the care they need. While private long-term care insurance is an option, rising premiums make it too expensive for most, and many applicants are denied due to pre-existing conditions.

The WA Cares Fund provides flexible and meaningful benefits, allowing families to choose the care setting and services that best meet their needs, including help with personal care, medical assistance, home modifications, and more. The benefit can also pay family caregivers to help offset lost income while they are providing care.

If I-2124 passes, Washingtonians will lose access to this affordable guaranteed benefit to help pay for the long-term care services and support they need.

Are You a Caregiver? Check out these Resources:

• Sound Generations in Seattle offers caregiver support including “free, confidential and personalized servicesto unpaid caregivers residing in King County.” https://soundgenerations.org/

• The VA in Puget Sound offers support for caregivers supporting veterans. https://www.va.gov/puget-sound-health-care/health-services/caregiver-support/

• Washington State DHS Aging and Long-Term Support Administration offers caregiver resources: https://www.dshs.wa.gov/altsa/home-and-community-services/caregiver-resources

• Eastside Friends of Seniors provides volunteer-based services to older adults facing the challenges of aging. https://www.eastsidefriendsofseniors.org/

• King County Senior Hubs provides support, outreach, connection, and opportunities for social engagement to elders throughout King County. https://kingcounty.gov/en/legacy/depts/community-human-services/adult-services/older-adults-caregivers/senior-hubs

• King County Caregiver Support, a division of Aging & Disability Services for Seattle & King County, provides tailored support services addressing the unique needs of unpaid caregivers. https://www.agingkingcounty.org/help-information/caregiver-support/

Don’t Miss Our 4-part Series on Caregiving!

The Caregiver’s Journey—A Four-Part Series

The Caregiver’s Journey Part 2: Looking After Yourself

The Caregiver’s Journey Part 3: Getting Caregiving Help

The Caregiver’s Journey Part 4: When Caregiving Ends

Caregiver’s Journey

The post Susan Partnow — A Life Interrupted appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

“There’s more.”

In a moment of clarity, Sally Jean Fox realizes that the life path she’s invested so much in is no longer working for her. She has no idea what to do or what needs to change, only that there is more. Thus begins a journey of self-discovery told with courage and vulnerability, as Fox begins peeling back layers of self-judgment and starts to listen to her inner voice—the muse, Isabel.

It’s a crossroad many of us reach as we pass mid-life. Having checked all the boxes our culture tells us we must check—education, family, career—we come face-to-face with a life stage that, on the surface, appears to ask less of us and it can be deeply uncomfortable. Especially if we are carrying around unresolved baggage and limiting beliefs.

In Meeting the Muse After Midlife, Fox takes us with her as she faces her fears around growing older, and the realization that embracing creativity is a key to navigating aging with meaning and joy. This is the time for engagement, not retirement, and she must find the courage to experiment. First step is to embrace a beginner’s mindset and not hinder expression by seeking perfection. Being a beginner gives us permission to explore and try new things without judgment, and Fox throws herself at improv, speaking, performing, painting, and writing. When self-doubt arises, Isabel—and later her second muse, Marco—offer wise words of encouragement.

It’s not an easy journey, not for Fox, not for any of us. But having an inner dialogue with a wise muse of our own, the trustworthy support and encouragement of friends, and a guidebook by someone who’s on the path does ease the way. Meeting the Muse After Midlife is a quick and easy read and—as one of her cohorts—I could relate to many of Fox’s misadventures and challenges. I especially like how the book is organized into bite-size chapters, which provide an opportunity to pause and reflect before moving on. It’s a great memoir with helpful insights on living our next chapter.

Now, if only I could meet my own Isabel.

There is more. If you are a regular reader of 3^rd Act Magazine, you will be familiar with Fox’s wonderful writing. Over the years she has contributed numerous articles and essays related to aging with confidence. You can read all her essays at 3rdActMagazine.com. Just type “Sally Fox” in the archive window to retrieve her stories along with numerous podcasts she has produced on aging. Meeting the Muse After Midlife is available at Amazon.com.

The post Meeting the Muse After Midlife—A Journey to Meaning, Creativity, and Joy appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

There is a Gary Larson Far Side cartoon I have a clear memory of, but can’t for the life of me find online, that shows half of an astonished old woman coming through a hoop, held by a man in white robes. The other half of the hoop shows a youthful woman’s shapely legs. The caption: “That Old Devil, Time.”

Anyone who’s older knows this is exactly how it is. There are all the cliches—it goes by in a flash, seems like only yesterday, when I was young the summers lasted forever—and all of them are true.

But as we make our journey forward, measuring out the coming years more carefully than we ever have, there are ways to expand this precious time before us.

The first way to expand time as we age is a simple one:

Don’t consider yourself old.

The Rolling Stones, with Mick Jagger, 80, has just released what the critics are calling their best album since the 1970’s. Their last album of original songs came out in 2005. Adjectives like “astonishing” pepper the reviews. How did they do it? Jagger explained that they set themselves a deadline, and in under three months, it was done.

Set yourself an audacious goal.

This is how to expand time as we age. Time itself, of course, will be the same, but what you pack into it will be different. I can attest to this from my personal experience.

Two years ago, I moved into a small cabin in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and began to set writing goals for myself. I had always written consistently throughout my life—fiction, poetry, journalism—but I wanted to do more than I had previously. I was inspired by the words of Buddhist philosopher and educator Daisaku Ikeda:

            “Everyone has the same 24 hours in a day. However, if you use those hours wisely, you can accomplish a week’s worth of effort in a day, or 10 years’ worth of effort in a year. I have lived my life with that spirit.” *

Here’s what I did:

One can take this quote as a lofty statement that then proceed to forget about, or actually take it to heart and try to practice it. Which I did. The results are that in the two years I’ve been living here I’ve produced the following:

• A 50,000-word novel that I’m shopping to agents.
• Fourteen-thousand words in an ongoing journal on my life here in the cabin.
• From the journal, I sold an excerpt/story to New Hampshire Magazine **
• Seventy poems, three of which were published in journals.
• Thirty-two articles for my two Substack pages, Muddy Water and Philosoph-ease
• Ten thousand words of a new novel—a ghost story set in New Hampshire.
• Finally, I translated the first four books of Homer’s The Odyssey, using an “old Greek” software dictionary and referencing other English translations.

Lest you think I just get up, write, and that’s my day, I also have a job at the front desk of a lovely inn, four to five nights a week. One of those nights, I host an Open Mic Night, since I play guitar and sing.

So, did this take some herculean effort on my part? No. What it took was applying the principle laid out by American journalist Mary Heaton Vorse:

            “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.”***

I still watch a streaming TV series now and then and go out and do social things. I just keep going back to my desk. That’s all. In three hours before going to work, I can sometimes write 500 words, sometimes more. I find pockets of time I’d otherwise waste.

There are many creative pursuits.

So, what is it that you’d like to do? Perhaps you painted during your college years and have thought about picking it back up. Carpe diem. Seize the now. Right away. Go buy an easel and paints. Sit down in your workroom or studio. Start. Go outside, into nature, find some beautiful spot, and capture it on a canvas, with oil, pastels, watercolor. Don’t worry if it’s not great. It’s you, expressing what you see.

You used to quilt but don’t anymore. If your fingers still work, why not? I knew an older woman from Texas who made marvelous vests out of thrown-away neckties. She gave them as gifts. They were one-of-a-kind, lovingly made, and made people think of her.

At the Open Mic I host, one of our regular performers is 81 years old. People love hearing him sing and tell his humorous, wise stories.

Or maybe you want to teach young people, or do woodworking, or write a journal, or compile a history of all those family stories that otherwise will be forever lost.

Be bold. Dive in.

You can share this with people. It will inspire them. And it will make you feel eternally young. Guaranteed.

I’ll leave the last word to American author Kurt Vonnegut Jr.:

“Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.” 

William Routhier lives in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He writes fiction, poetry, essays, journalism, and children’s stories. He has been published in the New Hampshire Magazine, Salem Gazette, Atherton Review, Choeofpleirn Press, InterText Magazine, Shampoo, Light Magazine, atelier, Happy Magazine, Living Buddhism, Substack and others.

Here are articles offering suggestions on being creative and setting goals:

Everyone is born creative. Over time, many of us are ambushed by a set of critical gremlins who want us to believe that we don’t have the talent or capacity to do what we love. Self-judgment, comparison, and competition form a wicked trio that squashes our innate joy in expressing ourselves creatively. Get tips from contributor Sally Fox on how to express yourself creativity in “Express More of You Creatively? Yes, You Can!”

So, you want to write a memoir. Where do you start? Start in the middle. Start with something that tickles your fancy. Learn more in Writing Your Life Story? “It’s OK to Start in the Middle” by Frances Dayee.

Learn and perform music as passionate amateurs—even if you’ve never plunked a piano or strummed a guitar but would love to try. In “Make Your Own Kind of Music,” we offer local Seattle area programs that will help you get back to speed, pick up a musical skill for the first time, or just meet some new friends to jam with.

The post How to Expand Time as We Age—Create appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

Music can reach us in a way that words alone cannot.

My sister died last May. The family knew her death was imminent, but we hoped that she’d make it, at least, to her 70 birthday in June. The cancer, though, wouldn’t wait.

Although expected, the news of her death toppled me, and I fell to the floor, where I lay keening for some time. But after the initial rush of tears slowed, I needed to work on my about-to-be-published book and continue with my day. I slipped on a cloak of numbness and put my grief on the back burner.

A month later, working in the garden, The Wailin’ Jennys’ version of “By Way of Sorrow” came through my earbuds. The melody and lyrics slipped a shawl of comfort and compassion around me, and my tears gushed forth. I kept hitting rewind so I could continue to sob. My numbness melted away, and after 15 minutes, new feelings surfaced. I found, hidden amid the sorrow, a pearl of joy. I knew I loved my sister deeply as my heart filled with gratitude.

Sad Music

Beautiful music and art can carry us through sadness and profound loss with a redemptive power. Sad, even tragic-sounding music offers a paradoxical gift—a pleasure often living in their beautiful poignancy. Brain scientists even have a word for this phenomenon: “pleasurable sadness.”

Often, music can reach us in a way that words alone cannot. Choral composer Jake Runestad wrote the piece “Please Stay” as a message to those contemplating suicide. At the end of the composition, chorus members speak words of encouragement taken from the writings of survivors. The piece moved me, as did the comments that followed the YouTube video. One person wrote, “My choir teacher told me to promise I would listen to this tonight. I did. And it saved me for one more night.” Listeners left similar remarks after a video of Peter Gabriel’s megahit, “Don’t Give Up.”

A talk is less likely to have that kind of impact. Songs lure us into listening when we are feeling broken so that we can hear the lesson: “No matter what you are feeling, you are not alone.” Sadness and depression can be devastating. Often, they leave us feeling cut off from others. Vivek Murthy, the 21st Surgeon General of the United States, writes about the epidemic of loneliness in this country, isolating many. Songs like “Don’t Give Up” remind those struggling, “Others have faced similar pain. You’re OK and you’ll make it through.”

Visual art can reach us in similar ways. I was spellbound when I viewed Käthe Kollwitz’s statue in Berlin, “Mother with Her Dead Son.” Without needing words, the work speaks to the heartbreak of war and a mother’s devastation. My experience of the piece left me sad but connected to all who have endured great loss or had their lives torn apart by war. I felt compassion for our great human community.

Great art invites us to view or hear it with all our emotions without judging ourselves for what we are feeling. Others have experienced similar, complicated feelings. Knowing that may allow us to reframe our circumstances and find meaning even in the worst times.

Holding Paradox

Beauty is always available to us, shining through both joy and sorrow. Like light and darkness, or happiness and sadness, joy and sorrow live as polarities or paradoxes—opposites that always come together. Try to eliminate or suppress one side of a polarity, like sorrow, at your peril.

In this country, many act as if they can make happiness “win out” over sadness. The result can lead to a false universe like that in the movie Pleasantville, where negative emotions were suppressed and the world went colorless. Our current cultural bent toward promoting happiness without welcoming sadness, grief, loss, or melancholy can be damaging. It compounds the already complicated feelings of those who are unhappy by suggesting that they are failures, defective because of their sadness.

We aren’t meant to always be happy or sad. Sometimes, we may need to turn around our mood by putting on an upbeat song when we’re blue. Who can resist the cheery song “Happy” or the viral video showing people around the globe dancing to its beat? “Happy” almost always brings me to my feet and gives me another mood enhancer—movement and dancing.

Feelings are designed to flow. Finding the beauty in the sad as well as the glad keeps us from being stuck in any one emotion.

Becoming a Maker

By creating beauty, we gain a way to use our experiences as fodder for our creative expression. Artists, composers, writers, and choreographers have channeled painful feelings into pieces of great beauty. We can use all our feelings when we create.

We don’t need to build masterpieces to take pleasure in the process of expressing ourselves.

For example, I like to improvise sounds when I’m stressed or agitated. Often, I hum. Even five minutes of humming can reset my body’s nervous system and decrease my anxiety. My vagus nerve, which regulates my parasympathetic nervous system and helps me rest and relax, loves it when I hum.

I also sing. There’s no sorrow too big or grief too deep for the voice to hold. Whether sad, angry, depressed, listless, or ecstatic, I can turn my feelings into sound. Who cares whether I sound good when singing has so many benefits, such as deeper breathing, relaxation, and stimulation for my imagination? When we raise our voices, different emotions can flow naturally through us. If we’re singing in a group, we benefit from social interaction.

Writing stories about our lives is another way to heal ourselves, as I discovered in writing my book. Dr. James Pennebaker and others have documented the power of writing about our experiences. No matter what trauma we have experienced, journaling about it allows us to become a witness to our lives and reshape our stories about the past. Putting our thoughts on paper can be healing even if we never show anyone what we write. Sharing our stories, though, can be a way of connecting our experiences to those of others.

Making art can also be transformative when we give ourselves space to express what we carry within. Whether we paint detailed oil landscapes or roll out clay worms, we invite our creative spirit to join us and help us channel difficult emotions into generative activity.

This past summer, I discovered the power of creating art. Over a period of five months, I lost eight friends, including a sister-in-law. Not surprisingly, I didn’t feel called to socialize or be part of large gatherings. Instead, my studio beckoned, and I found a sanctuary at my art table. There, I let myself be enchanted by the flow of paint and fascinated by colors, lines, marks, and shapes.

Often, two hours in the studio passed in a flash, and I emerged restored. I still missed my sister, sister-in-law, and others. Yet, in creating some small thing of beauty, I found a sense of agency and stayed out of depression.

Beauty Brings Hope

When we find beauty, whether in a piece of  music, an artistic masterpiece, a fallen leaf, or our creations, we touch into something bigger. Beauty can transport us to a deep part of ourselves where we may connect to the eternal and discover an ember of hope at the heart of whatever we’re facing. In that hope, joy and sorrow can live together. Realizing that hope, we gain the courage to face a challenging world.

Sally Jean Fox is the author of Meeting the Muse after Midlife: A Journey to Meaning, Creativity, and Joy and is a creativity and transitions coach. She lives on Vashon Island, Wash..

Read more on 3rd Act stories on the bittersweetness of aging:

Jennifer James on the Bittersweet Reality of Being 80—James shares how the “Acceptance of who we are and how we have lived … is the supreme gift of aging that eliminates any fear of death. Examining regrets, choices, fixing what you can, making amends when you can, opens the door to a special kind of peace of mind.” Read more.

Book Review: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole—Cain weaves stories from her own life—some heartbreaking, some funny, all of them poignant—throughout the book, which gives Bittersweet an intimacy and feeling of deep honesty.

Aging is Bittersweet … It Giveth and Taketh Away—”Fact is, longevity takes its toll on all of us and it manifests in many unpleasant and painful ways. But, when we find ourselves griping about our various age-related woes, all it takes is for someone to say, “Hey, consider the alternative,” and that’s it. End of discussion. ” Read more.

Bittersweet Moments—Past, Present, Future: Life is filled with bittersweet moments, times of pleasure that at the same time may be accompanied by suffering or regret. Although we may be more aware of such occasions as we get older, I am convinced that since we are constantly aging, we will experience many such moments in each decade of life.

The post Finding the Joy in Sorrow appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

I adapted the idea of five feet of good from the words of David Spangler, a friend and spiritual teacher who works through the Lorian Association in Issaquah, Washington. Spangler offers “the five-foot rule” to encourage us to work within the sphere of energy closest to us and then influence the world from there. Inspired by his idea, I started noticing all the ways I could support change, in both practical and subtle, energetic ways, even if confined to my chair. During the last election cycle, whenever I heard friends say, “All I can do is write checks,” I thought, “That’s good—but there’s so much more you can do from right where you are.”

One of my favorite role models for elder activism is my friend Anne Stadler from Lake Forest Park near Seattle. Since she was a teen, she has worked for peace and justice, and to support and build thriving communities. And she’s not stopping that work now, although, at 92, she has to watch her steps, care for her energy, and avoid driving in Seattle’s miserable downtown traffic. When I asked Stadler, “What’s changed with your activism after 90?” she replied, “Nothing.” She clarified, “I’m still doing what I’ve always done.” Observing her filled me with ideas about what we could all do support change within five feet of our chairs.

Connecting

 Stadler has always been a connector to whom people are drawn toward because she listens, cares about what they are doing, and almost always sends them off with a list of “who you should know.” “Because I stay in touch with people,” she says, “I can connect them.”

As people share with her about their activities over the phone or via Zoom, Stadler learns what’s happening in the community and gains information to pass along to others. Friendships, actions, and organizations have been born from her connections. When she tells me, “You have to meet Peter (or Audrey or Alice),” I’m right on it.

Staying connected to our communities as we age helps us feel less distant from the change efforts around us.

Mentoring

 Stadler doesn’t like the word mentoring because it evokes for her the picture of the wise elder “bestowing” information on others. I still call what she does mentoring, in the best sense of the word, the kind of mentoring that is a two-way street—you learn as much or more than you give. Her mentoring has helped many to amplify their impact in the community.

We may not feel like working on the frontlines anymore, but through mentoring, we can support those who are—our friends, grandchildren, and others in the community. Our listening is still a powerful tool for change.

Writing

You don’t need to write a book or Huffington Post article to share your thoughts with the world. The local press will welcome your Letter to the Editor or an Op-Ed piece. Or you can write your position on an issue in a thoughtful email to your circle of colleagues. I’m often informed by friends who take the time to research topics and share their results.

Influencing

You don’t have to speak to thousands to have an influence. Your Aunt Mabel and Cousin Charley trust you. Perhaps you, in a kind way, can nudge them to question the source of their conspiracy information. Or open the door a tiny crack to another point of view. We influence the people who trust us. Love can even jump party lines if we take the time to listen to opposing viewpoints, and then offer our thinking without imposing it. Realistically, Aunt Mabel may not be ready to question what she heard from her favorite pundit but remember, it took years for the Berlin Wall to come down. And you can always use your influence to share questions and information with those whose perspectives are closer to yours.

In addition to these concrete actions, you can support change from the inside out from a place that is both deeply personal and energetic:

Beginning with ourselves

 It’s not difficult to decry issues such as racism, ageism, or homelessness. It’s harder to do the work to see where white privilege and false concepts about the elderly and unhomed live in us. But as I do so while sitting in my five-foot space, I have a more powerful place to stand in talking about social injustice.

Sharing joy, kindness, and delight

 We influence through the energy we project. Ever been in the presence of someone who brightens you up? True joy is uplifting—and don’t we all need that? Kindness is way more contagious than COVID—and a great antidote to cynicism. And delight is equally infectious. When you love what you are doing and share about it, you help counter the depletion many of us are experiencing in our lives. Joy, kindness, and delight radiate to others with a hopefulness that makes the challenging work of change possible. Yes, the climate is in peril. Yet, it still matters that we adore attending our watercolor class, walking with friends, or arranging a rose in a vase.

Staying calm

 The media world stokes our national agitation. While we urgently need to address climate issues, too much anxiety can leave us spinning and unable to act. Calmness always helps, especially in an emergency. By staying calm, we can steady and support others. The Vietnamese Buddhist priest Thich Nhat Hanh frequently told stories about what happened when the Vietnamese refugee boats met storms or pirates. “If the people on board panicked, all would be lost. If even one person on the boat stayed calm, it was enough. It showed the way for everyone to survive.”

Sending good thoughts and prayers

 We don’t have to become certified energy healers to send good thoughts, blessings, and prayers into the world. Prayers for peace are a part of many great traditions. Researchers have documented how healing thoughts can impact others—even thousands of miles away from the sender. We can send our good energy toward change leaders we admire, friends in need, and others doing good work. Will our thoughts change the world? We may never know, but spending a few minutes sending out loving support for peace, justice, and what we care about will likely change us.

That’s where it all begins. With each of us. And the amazing potency we have to change ourselves and influence the world as we activate our five feet of good.

Sally Fox, PhD, is a life transitions and creativity coach, and author of Meeting the Muse after Midlife: A Journey to Meaning, Creativity, to be published this summer. Find her at www.engagingpresence.com.

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1. Saying “Sorry.” This might be a woman thing, but I’m so done with offering apologies to jerks who inconvenience me. The word “sorry” can still work for heartfelt apologies and showing compassion, as in “I’m so sorry for your loss.” But no more knee-jerk sorrys to the dude who ran into me while crossing the street texting, or the bicyclist who practically knocked me over while riding in the walkers-only lane.

2. Self-judgment. This is one of the GREAT gifts of getting older. We’ve all been given a free pass with the words “there are no shoulds” on one side and “you’re doing the best you can” on the other. My skin may be sagging but my self-confidence has gotten a boost. I can do less, walk at my own pace, and occasionally forget a birthday. Perfection is not a requirement for happy aging, and I can still grow without critiquing myself for every blooper. Eliminating negative self-talk takes some practice, but it’s worth the effort!

3. Entitlement. I am letting go of this one because 1) It’s incredibly ugly and 2) It’s so last century. Entitlement means believing that my people are better than yours—and that the world needs to arrange itself to fit my needs. The world never signed on for this, and life becomes richer when I stop believing that things should “go my way.” Without the burden of entitlement, I can explore and enjoy the world as it is.

4. Waiting to dance. I used to hold back before stepping onto an empty public dance floor. I didn’t want to look “conspicuous.” But at age 71, I ask myself, why not? Do I think things will be more conducive to my self-expression next year? Or that my butt will be slimmer? Both are unlikely. If I want to dance—and I do—I have to stop waiting or trying to hide. As I think about it, I’m also letting go of hiding.

5. Enlightenment. I know the word sounds noble, but in my book, it’s a distraction. It assumes there’s some higher place I need to get to. I, on the other hand, am more interested in conserving my energy and enjoying being here. It’s time to smell the dandelions, the spring mud, and my horse’s poop. Plus, I often confuse “achieving enlightenment” with “fixing myself”—the next thing on my list of ideas I’m ready to ditch.

6. Fixing myself. I am done with this, even after spending a minor fortune trying to improve myself through therapy, personal growth seminars, spiritual retreats, and tons of self-help books. Granted, fixing myself is an addiction that may always tempt me. But here’s the truth: I can only fix myself if I’m broken (not true) or believe there’s a gold standard for being human. I can still attend to my well-being, think good thoughts, eat kale, and spend plenty of hours in front of my lightbox in winter. But I will never be fixed. Consider me a work-in-progress.

7. Matching earrings. Letting go of self-judgment has opened up creative possibilities for what I can do with the stuff in my closet. I don’t have to feel guilty for preferring comfort clothes (thank you, pandemic). And there’s no rule I know that says things (clothes, jewelry, accessories) have to match. I’m saving money by putting pairs of orphan earrings together. Just don’t call me “uncoordinated.” Call me “artistically inclined.”

8. Having to remember things. I still want to remember words, people, and where I put the bus schedule, but I’m letting go of having to remember stuff and then judging myself for forgetting. I’m also letting go of assuming that I will remember, even though, invariably, I won’t. I’ve started a new hobby called “making lists.” Now, if I could just remember where I put them.

9. The words “nice” and “fine. Words are precious. Why waste them on ones that are meaningless? A lot of the world is not nice right now, thank you very much, so why not acknowledge this fact? And saying “I’m fine” is a way of smoothing things over and avoiding deep conversations. I want my remaining interactions to be raw and real and to let my friends know that I’m both great and sad, confident and anxious. “Both/and” is my expression of the year—as a human, I have the right to be complex.

10. High standards. The poet William Stafford, when asked how he managed to write a poem a day, is reported to have answered, “I lower my standards.” Why am I holding myself back when all the world’s a stage and there are so many ways to play? Often, it’s because of my fear of not doing things right, not being good enough, or not clearing the high bar that I myself put in place. It’s time to let all of that go. Aging is my official permission to experiment, explore and screw up— then play some more.

This list of ideas I’m letting go could go on, but I think that’s enough. I hope it inspires you. By the way, “enough” is a great concept and one I think we all should keep.

Sally Fox, Ph.D., is a life transitions and creativity coach and author of Meeting the Muse after Midlife: a journey to joy through creative expression, to be published in summer 2023. Find her blog and podcast at www.engagingpresence.com

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Imagine if you could experience deep relaxation, reset your nervous system, and heal your brain while lying comfortably on your bed or in a chair at home. And what if you could extend your longevity, protect your mind, and improve your quality of life by just opening your mouth?

Welcome to the world of sound healing and the magic made possible by music, rhythm, and sound. Our human connection with music dates back at least 42,000 years, as evidenced by flutes made of bird bone and mammoth ivory discovered in Southern Germany. Our ancestors used song, drumming, and chanting in healing rituals. And Indigenous Peoples and religions around the globe have incorporated music, singing, and chanting into their ceremonies.

While the uses of music and sound in rituals and ceremonies go back many millennia, science has been slow to discover the how and why of sound healing. Today, that may change as doctors and scientists search for non-pharmaceutical ways to improve our health and support the brain.

Given the stresses of the world, the brain benefits of sound are more needed than ever. The aftereffects of COVID, worker shortages in many industries, and economic and environmental challenges have led many to depression, burn out, and brain fog. Could music and sound help restore a sense of balance and brain functioning? The evidence suggests yes. In one Swedish study, a group of burned-out employees achieved more significant, longer-lasting results listening to a specially designed music program than a comparison group receiving the standard psychotherapy intervention.

Other studies suggest that music may stimulate neural activity among Alzheimer’s patients and older adults who learn to improvise on the piano may improve their cognitive flexibility and executive function. Singing may help improve cardiovascular health in older patients with cardiovascular disease. And music may be useful in pain control.

To expand the scientific understanding of the health benefits of sound and music, the Sound Health Initiative was launched in 2016 under the leadership of the internationally acclaimed soprano Renée Fleming and Dr. Francis Collins, then-director of the National Institute of Health (NIH). In 2019, they were awarded a $20 million NIH grant to support a clearinghouse of existing cross-disciplinary research on sound healing and new studies in the field. Given the potential applications of this data to older adults’ mental and physical health, we owe a “Bravo!” to Fleming and her colleagues.

On the trail of sound healing

My exploration of sound healing began during the pandemic when I learned about the work of the late Alfred Tomatis, a French doctor who explored the importance of what we hear on our brains, behavior, and voices. For him, sound was a “nutrient to the nervous system.” Reading about Tomatis and the field of psychoacoustics he helped found, I wondered if my non-correctable hearing loss might affect my attention and focus. I purchased a Tomatis-inspired music program online called “The Listening Program” from Advanced Brain Technologies (ABT).

To use it, I put on a headset for a short period daily and listened to classical music modified to support brain performance. The experience was enjoyable, and my coordination and focus improved within a short time. ABT’s rhythm program, called “InTime,” helped tune my internal sense of beat and balance as I listened to original percussive sounds from around the world. Even after completing the programs, I used them as go-to tools when I felt stressed.

I asked Alex Doman, founder of ABT, how their programs and other sound healing approaches compared to meditation when it came to brain support. Doman was quick to endorse the benefits of meditation but reminded me that meditation requires effort, and for those who are very stressed, any extra effort may feel like too much. Listening to sound and music, however, is relaxing, rewarding, easy to do, and may enhance our ability to meditate.

Doman further suggested that working with music and sound healing is almost always safe, unlike some pharmaceutical interventions. So even if research hasn’t yet pinpointed how sound and music affect the brain, you can experiment today and discover what works best for you.

Here are other approaches I’ve tried and recommend:

Listen to your favorite music

While using neuro-acoustically modified music like The Listening Program may have particular benefits, many of us find happiness just listening to a favorite piece of music. Studies have documented the benefits of allowing dementia patients to listen to a playlist built from their favorite tunes. When we’re feeling down, music can offer us emotional support. Perhaps we pick pieces that match our mood and give us comfort. Or maybe we choose tunes that help us shift our mood. Either way can help.

Relax with sound baths and sound ceremonies

You can search YouTube for “sound bath” recordings, offering deeply relaxing environments created with crystal and Tibetan bowls, gongs, and other instruments. Put in your earbuds, cover your eyes, and enjoy an effortless, meditation-like experience. After reading The Healing Power of Sound: Recovery from Life-Threatening Illness Using Sound, Voice, and Music by the late Dr. Mitchell Gaynor, an oncology physician, I became fascinated by how he used crystal bowls along with conventional therapies to improve outcomes for his cancer patients. Inspired by his success with the bowls, I bought one to enjoy at home.

Tune up your rhythm with drumming

Our 24-7 Internet-obsessed world can lead us far away from the natural rhythms of life. From my experience, listening to beats or drumming provides a natural tune-up and system synchronizer. Parkinson’s patients were shown to improve their gaits and motor skills by working with a metronome or drumbeat. You can enjoy the benefits of rhythm by joining a drum circle or buying a small drum and studying drumming online.

Reset your nervous system with humming

Everyone can hum, and humming has some surprising benefits. According to authors Andi and Jonathan Goldman, humming may help lower blood pressure and heart rate, increase lymphatic circulation, and release endorphins and oxytocin. I find 10 minutes of humming in the car much better for my nervous system than listening to the news!

Find joy through chanting

Spiritual groups have practiced chanting over centuries. Still, I never understood the healing benefits of chanting until I had an opportunity to join a kirtan, a session of devotional singing. After about 15 minutes of chanting, my voice melded with others in the room, and I was lifted into an experience of collective joy. Try a round of chanting online with vocalist Krishna Das or others who lead kirtan singing.

Sing your heart and lungs into better health

The benefits of singing include improved breathing and better use of respiratory muscles—and it has been helpful to people with conditions ranging from asthma to cancer. Singing may help the speaking ability of people with Parkinson’s or aphasia following a stroke. Singing is my favorite mood booster. I can’t feel stuck or cynical after singing.

Research has shown group singing can reduce stress levels and depression, regulate heart rate, release endorphins, and lower pain thresholds, among other benefits. Choral singing also increases feelings of social connection.

All the above activities are pleasurable, available at low cost or no cost, and no further away than your voice and body. They may help speed recovery, protect your brain, and increase longevity. We may not yet know precisely how music and sound healing works, but if Renée Fleming and her colleagues at the Sound Health Initiative succeed, science may start catching up soon with what people have known through the ages. Sound heals.

Sally Fox, PhD, is a life transitions and creativity coach and author of Meeting the Muse After Midlife: A Journey to Joy through Creative Expression, to be published in early 2023. Find her at www.engagingpresence.com.

More on how music can heal in 3rd Act:

The Healing Harmony of Music—Music is good for the spirit. From the lullabies we sing to quiet fussy babies to the tunes of old played in Alzheimer’s Care communities across the Pacific Northwest, music has the power to heal, calm, inspire and energize.

Finding the Joy in Sorrow—Beautiful music and art can carry us through sadness and profound loss with a redemptive power. Sad, even tragic-sounding music offers a paradoxical gift—a pleasure often living in their beautiful poignancy. Brain scientists even have a word for this phenomenon: “pleasurable sadness.”

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The good news is that with age, we can change that. Our third act comes with a permission slip to abandon the old messages that were never true. Were you told you couldn’t sing? Time to open your mouth. Or couldn’t make art? Bring out the pencils and fingerpaints. Or not to tinker in the garage? Tinker away. Today is your best time ever to create if you’re willing to try.

I’m living proof. For years, I belonged to a million-member chorus of people who believed they couldn’t sing, at least not in public. When we were children, someone probably said, “You can’t carry a tune,” “You’re off-pitch,” or “You call that singing?” Humiliated, we believed what we heard. We retreated, closed down, and started apologizing for our voices.

Nobody was there to remind us that anyone can sing if they can talk. All babies are born cooing and crooning. No child says, “I can’t sing,” until something discouraging happens.

For me, that moment occurred in third grade. I was standing in our class chorus, front row right, as the teacher, Mrs. Johnson, conducted. As I sang my heart out, too enthusiastically for her taste, she stopped the class and said, with an over-sweetened smile, “Dear, I think you’d be better suited as a soloist.” What a great compliment, I thought, until the real meaning hit: “Your voice sticks out and not in a good way.” After that, I only sang when hidden in church or among Christmas carolers.

I returned to singing 50-plus years later when, during the pandemic, I decided to take an online course with Chloë Goodchild from England. Goodchild believes everyone can sing once they find their natural “naked” voice. I learned to stop judging every note and instead learned to witness my voice. I enjoyed the power of silence. As I practiced in triads with classmates, I didn’t worry whether my voice would warble, break, or miss a pitch. My voice blossomed. Soon, I even dared be the one who started the “Happy Birthday” chorus—small for some but big for me. Now you can’t stop me from singing.

Many children have had similar, discouraging experiences in art class. In grade school, “artistic students” are often singled out while others, like me, go into the “no talent” pile. Why try when we’re sure we’ll never make “real art?” According to Dana Lynne Andersen, director of the Academy for Art, Creativity and Consciousness at Awakening Arts, this often happens to children by age 10. The good news is that once her students open the door to creating again, they always find an inner seed ready to sprout.

I’m the poster child for someone who believed she couldn’t paint. Then, at age 69, I was introduced to an older woman who taught watercolors at the local senior center. “Try my class, you’ll love it,” she said. I responded with my standard-issue remark, “Sorry, I don’t do art.” She refused to accept that, and soon I tried her class and found myself enchanted by the world of color. I learned:

1. Talent doesn’t matter (at my age, who cares?) but trying does.

2. “Do I like it?” works better than, “Am I good?”

3. The best question of all: “Is this fun?”

If you have even the smallest hankering to do something creative—art, music, or a form unique to you—you can if you allow yourself to try. I can’t promise that if you sing you’ll make it to the stage of the Metropolitan Opera. But at age 70, that’s not where I’m headed. Rather than worrying about how to jump through the hoops of other people’s standards, I’m learning what pleases me and brings me joy.

Here are some ideas to help you express more of the creative you:

• Drop the old messages. Identify the self-confining “you can’t” baggage you received—it was never true. Or, if you were told that you were talented and “should” make art, drop that, too. This round’s for you.

• Enjoy being a beginner—and cultivate beginner’s mind. If you were once discouraged, wipe the slate clean. We may be getting older, but it’s never too late to say, “This is my time to create.”

• Team up with a friend for mutual support. Encouragement is golden, especially from friends who like to learn and grow. When my old “I can’t” or “I’ll never be good” messages surface, a friend will remind me how far I’ve come. Friends who share my creative interests in writing, singing, gardening, and painting make my journey more fun. We applaud each other’s successes and lift each other after a stumble.

• Start small. Pick something you’d love to do and jump in. One tiny action is better than a thousand “somedays.” If you want to sing, hum. If you want to make art, doodle. Easy is good.

• Use courses, online and in-person, to give yourself some structure. Classes can provide an opportunity to be social, motivation to do assignments, and tools to help you grow.

• Discover what you like and do what pleases you. You set your own gold standard. When you enjoy what you’re doing, you do more of it—and then, improving your craft comes naturally.

• Accept the occasional discouragement. I still struggle with the gremlins of self-judgment who want to put the kibosh on my projects. My best tip for when gremlins say mean things like, “Well, that wasn’t so good” or “You’re wasting your time” is to look straight at them and announce, “I’m doing what I love.”

It works. Gremlins do not know how to counter love. So, yes, you can create your heart out! Do what you love, and the magic will follow. I guarantee it.

Sally Fox, PhD is a life transitions and creativity coach and author of Meeting the Muse After Midlife: One Woman’s Journey to Joy through Creative Self-Expression, to be published in winter 2022. Find her at www.engagingpresence.com.

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We can’t alter the facts about our lives. We can reshape our stories about our past and experiences—like those hard times in our lives when we were younger (and not so wise!), periods we’d rather forget.

For me, it was my two years in business school nearly 40 years ago, memories of which I’d mostly ignored. Attending the Yale School of Management had been an incredible opportunity, an intellectual stretch, and a preparation I thought I needed for the next stage of my career. I entered as an ambitious, take-on-the-world 28-year-old. Then, I hit a wall of loneliness that led me to believe I was a misfit.

My classmates had extraordinary talents, fascinating backgrounds, and ambitions. I struggled not to compare myself to others who had worked at the White House, managed companies, or directed theatre companies. Most classmates seemed to be aiming at corporate careers, and I knew that wasn’t my calling. I felt isolated and out of place.

When graduation came, I packed my goods, memories, and shards of self-esteem and moved west. Arriving during a Seattle-area recession, I struggled to find work, trying hard not to think about my classmates and their six-figure jobs. I reminded myself that I wanted a different life.

As the years passed, I rarely thought about the time at Yale and kept my story about it locked away. Yet memories of that time still haunted when they surfaced. Thus, it surprised me when, nearly 40years later, I decided to join a group of classmates who had begun meeting on Zoom during the pandemic. My interest, I rationalized, was academic—a chance to learn about life transitions, part of my field.

The group, which began with 10 members, soon blossomed into a group of 60, and meetings averaging 25 participants. Because of the group’s size, new members joining for the first time had just three minutes to update the group about their lives. I wanted to know more.

Several of us sought a way to hear each other’s stories in more depth, so we created an eight-person subgroup we called the “Story Group.” Every month, we shared our individual stories in response to a common prompt. We talked about our family backgrounds,the challenges we’d faced, and what had brought us to Yale. We talked about the past and future. As we shared candidly and vulnerably, we quickly went beyond reporting our “good news” to speaking from our hearts.

After each member shared a story, others offered a few appreciative comments. “I never knew this about you.” “OMG, you’ve been through so much.” “My grandparents were also immigrants.” Or, “Your situation with your child sounds so challenging.” For some, time at Yale had been “Some of my best years,” and “The turning point in my life.” For others, it was “A time I would rather forget”and“Really tough years.” We embraced our differences with non-judgmental acceptance.

Age was our friend. No longer did we have to plump our egos or prove our greatness. Status and salary no longer mattered; daring to follow our hearts did. We talked about grandchildren, creative projects, contributions, and choices. I no longer felt the need to compare myself to others. I had found the life I wanted.

As we continued to meet,the magic of storytelling bonded us. Hearts opened. A group of classmates who had barely known each other at Yale became real friends. No one missed our meetings. We often commented, “How is it that I never really knew you? You are incredible.” We regretted how, in the academic pressure-cookeratmosphere of Yale, we hadn’t taken time to know each other better. But now, we had more time and could enjoy our shared connections and the camaraderie of having experienced an important stage of our lives together.

My story about Yale shifted. I wasn’t the only one who had felt like a misfit, and the truth was I had always belonged. And now, all these years later, that Yale experience paved the way to new friendships.

Old stories can bind us to a past that feels dark and restricted. Yet stories can change and open doors to new possibilities. When we share our truths open-heartedly, our stories can help us heal the past.

Thankfully, the past is never past. It might even be the source of new friends.

Sally Fox is a coach, speaker, podcaster, and owner of Engaging Presence, a firm that helps individuals and organizations develop and share their best brand stories. She is currently working on a book about finding your creative work in thethird act of life. Find her blog at engagingpresence.com and listen to her podcasts at 3rd ActMagazine.com.

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Having a purpose leads to better health and more longevity. Are we risking our lives if we don’t know ours?

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