Parallel Dilemmas
I'm afraid to be old
there is so much life gone,
and a lot I was told
made me feel like a pawn.
Tell me, what can I do
to recoup wasted days?
Up ahead there seem few,
can I still change my ways?
While I mourn all I've lost
through the wisdom I've found
I will question the cost
of soul coming unbound.
You're afraid to be young -
there is so much ahead -
perhaps coming unstrung,
but consumed by the dread
that through days that await
your life may not improve
because no twist of fate
can all problems remove.
Will you end up alone?
Will you find all you want?
If a clear path is shown
will it beckon or taunt?
There are fears to be found
every phase of each life;
we will always seem wound
in a huge ball of strife.
each, encumbered by doubt,
has decisions to make
and will stall and reroute,
finding new roads to take.
I will fall, you will fail;
we'll both stumble and slip -
maybe hope can prevail
if some strings we each snip.
Tell me I'm not too old
and a string will be cut -
I'll remind you you're bold,
snip another string - but...
I can't promise you ease,
you can't gift me with days;
every answer you seize
will not mirror my ways.
You can say I am strong
and have wisdom to spare,
but your days are still long...
How I wish you could share!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 12, 2019
Ageism exists. It seems that no matter what stage of life we are at, we want what what we perceive as the "perks" that the generations ahead, or behind us, seem to have. Children want to be teenagers who, from their perspective, seem to be largely free of parental control. Teenagers want to be autonomous adults, truly free to make their own decisions. Adults, burdened by bill paying and parenting, long to go back to what they now perceive as their "carefree" youth. Middle-aged people look forward to retiring; the end of long days at work and more time for friends and family. Senior citizens, frustrated with the frailties of age, would do just about anything to go back in time to their "prime of life" - the stage where they were happiest and healthiest.
My experiences, as a mother, and as a host mom to international high school students - and friend to those who have returned home - have taught me that no matter where we are in life, we face common dilemmas. We all have the same basic needs, the same desires, and we all battle insecurities.
So many of the problems faced by humans transcend generational boundaries. My eighty seven year old mother craves friendship as much as my seventeen year old students do. Old, young, or in-between, we all want acceptance from others. We all want to feel confidence in our ability to make good decisions. We all want to feel good about ourselves; to know that we each shine in our own way. We all want to feel satisfaction; to know we are living meaningful lives and making a positive difference in the lives of those we care about.
It's easy to forget how many common struggles are shared across generations when our lives appear so different. One reason we may lack empathy for the problems faced by both older and younger generations is our lack of interaction with them. We tend to choose friends in the same age range as us, people who are going through similar experiences in the same time period. We forget that our experiences all invoke emotional responses, and that those emotions we feel in our particular situation are mirrored by those who are generations removed from us.
To exemplify this point, let's look at some parallel dilemmas that evolve from the decisions we need to make at various stages of life:
Teenagers are at a stage of life where important decisions need to be made. What comes next after they graduate high school? Will they go on to college or university? If so, where? What will they study? If not, where will they get a job? Will they continue to live at home, or find their own apartment?
To a teenager, every one of these decisions is huge. Each decision is filled with uncertainty and fear.
Compare those decisions to the ones made by someone facing retirement. What comes next when they no longer go to work each morning? Will a change in income level require a change of address? What will the retiree do with his/her days without a job to go to?
These are huge decisions too, and often accompanied by fears and uncertainties that could be remarkably similar to those felt by a teenager about to graduate high school. Unlike teenagers, most retirees have had a lot of experience with major life changes; they have moved into different homes and changed jobs. They have experienced life and loss more fully - but they will probably still feel uncertainty and fear. Change is never easy - no matter what stage of life you are in.
I've learned that my life perspective improves when I make friends across generations. I learn as much from seventeen year old friends as I do from those who are in their seventies. I am enriched by being mentored, and being mentor. I covet the wisdom shared by those who have amassed more than I have because they have experienced more life than me. And I envy all the days that lie ahead for those who are younger, as I try to dole out maternal wisdom to sons, and play Yoda to the teenagers who I have opportunities to influence. Through it all, I continue to learn and grow, and in doing so feel amazed by how much we all have in common - regardless of chronological age.
We all yearn to be accepted and valued by those around us - we all want love and companionship.
We all struggle with decisions that we need to make, and we battle self-doubt and fear at every stage of life.
We all want to feel satisfaction and happiness.
We all want to free ourselves from our daily concerns; from the discouraging feelings that we might not be doing everything right, or making all of the right choices.
I think we'd all be happier if we spent more time dwelling on these commonalities, and snipping away - together - at that great ball of strife that keeps us all - young, old and in-between - from making the world a better place.
Wednesday 29 May 2019
Thursday 16 May 2019
Memory: An Amalgamation of Little Things - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Humans have a deep need to feel that they are connected with those they love most, and to try to make sense of how we form the bonds that unite us.
Sometimes when complimented, I want to understand why the other person would say something so nice to me. Usually I restrain myself from asking why I deserve praise (mostly because I don't want to be seen as emotionally needy, or as someone who is "fishing" for more praise), but occasionally I do give in to curiosity, if the giver is someone I feel close to. When I do this, I am often rewarded with greater insights about both myself and the other party. I catch a rare, soul satisfying glance at myself, through the eyes of another, and even if I can't entirely agree with their kind assessment of me, I feel encouraged by the fact that they saw me through charitable eyes. This boosts my morale, and makes me want to live up to the compliment that was offered.
This year I made an unusual request of my sons for Mother's Day. It was a difficult thing for me to ask for - I didn't want to seem insecure - but I mustered up the courage to ask each of them to simply send on a favorite memory of me, via Facebook messenger or email. It didn't need to be a full fledged, "Why I Love My Mom" essay, just a simple memory - a paragraph - describing a time we shared that really mattered to them.
Part of me worried that they would each find this hard to deliver; perhaps even hard enough to keep them from following through. (Yes, I did have to nag at one son, who would have rather just handed me a card and given me a pat on the back.) As a mother of sons, I know it can be hard it can be for the males of our species to express feelings, but as a woman, I know just how important it is to sometimes have sentiments expressed verbally.
What I really wanted this year was the gift of understanding how things I have done, or said, in the past, have made me an important fixture in my sons' lives. I wanted a written message I could look back on when I felt blue; an affirmation that I did a few things right as their mom. I also wanted to prove to myself that it isn't selfish or wrong to be assertive, and to ask for what you really want sometimes, which in this case was the gift of their words, expressing thoughts about me.
It didn't really come as a surprise to me that neither son could come up with one single, definitive moment or occasion that stood out in memory as "the best of my mother". As one son pointed out, being a good parent isn't about creating momentous occasions together, but about showing consistent love and support for your child continually, and giving them a string of small moments - maybe even playful and nonsensical moments - that bond in ways that might seem insignificant at the time, but create an impact on a lifetime once time has been taken to reflect on them. He cited an example of a silly thing we used to do - one that he says helped him understand what things he was passionate about. What was amazing to me, as a parent who knows what he truly loves to do, was making a simple connection that I hadn't made before. I finally saw that something I had done with him routinely had helped him discover what really feeds his soul.
The message from my other son was similar, and just as gratifying. He described his happiest memories of time together as an "amalgamation of blurred memories". Again, there was no momentous event that stood out for him. He simply expressed appreciation for the habit we formed of walking together. He talked about how much he especially remembers walks we took in places we both love; walks where we enjoyed the scenery Mother Nature provided for free. Once again I was deeply touched that a little, commonplace activity, that we still share, has become a series of happy memories for him.
My reflections on the messages both sons shared with me inspired the following poem:
Amalgamation
"The memories are blurred -
there isn't just one."
(The same explanation
from both my grown sons.)
No singular moment
stood out in spotlight -
just many small moments
we somehow did right.
Our long conversations
were pure goofiness;
to nonsense aplenty
I'm forced to confess!
The miles walked together
through forest and sand;
we'd find rock or feather
to carry in hand.
We took them for granted -
all those little things -
but memories planted
still pull at heartstrings.
by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 14, 2016
As parents, children, siblings, and friends, we may all fall into a mindset that tells us we need to be constantly "upping the game" as far as creating memories with loved ones is concerned. We snap more pictures to remind everyone concerned, and all of our "followers" on social media, that we are doing amazing, fun, important things. We become so busy memorializing our days that we forget to live in the moment and really enjoy them.
There are few, if any, photos in existence to prove that the best memories I made with my sons really happened. I didn't write about the walks and talks we had in my journal. Instead, we are all left with memory amalgamations of blurred images. We only remember how doing the things we enjoyed together made us feel happy, energized; satisfied in our souls. Would I trade those snippets of many moments for one big, momentous memory? Never!
Age is granting me just enough wisdom to understand that the "little things" add up. A memorable lifetime is perhaps nothing more than a huge ball of incomparably glorious minutia, and love perhaps nothing more than an amalgamation of small things.
Sometimes when complimented, I want to understand why the other person would say something so nice to me. Usually I restrain myself from asking why I deserve praise (mostly because I don't want to be seen as emotionally needy, or as someone who is "fishing" for more praise), but occasionally I do give in to curiosity, if the giver is someone I feel close to. When I do this, I am often rewarded with greater insights about both myself and the other party. I catch a rare, soul satisfying glance at myself, through the eyes of another, and even if I can't entirely agree with their kind assessment of me, I feel encouraged by the fact that they saw me through charitable eyes. This boosts my morale, and makes me want to live up to the compliment that was offered.
This year I made an unusual request of my sons for Mother's Day. It was a difficult thing for me to ask for - I didn't want to seem insecure - but I mustered up the courage to ask each of them to simply send on a favorite memory of me, via Facebook messenger or email. It didn't need to be a full fledged, "Why I Love My Mom" essay, just a simple memory - a paragraph - describing a time we shared that really mattered to them.
Part of me worried that they would each find this hard to deliver; perhaps even hard enough to keep them from following through. (Yes, I did have to nag at one son, who would have rather just handed me a card and given me a pat on the back.) As a mother of sons, I know it can be hard it can be for the males of our species to express feelings, but as a woman, I know just how important it is to sometimes have sentiments expressed verbally.
What I really wanted this year was the gift of understanding how things I have done, or said, in the past, have made me an important fixture in my sons' lives. I wanted a written message I could look back on when I felt blue; an affirmation that I did a few things right as their mom. I also wanted to prove to myself that it isn't selfish or wrong to be assertive, and to ask for what you really want sometimes, which in this case was the gift of their words, expressing thoughts about me.
It didn't really come as a surprise to me that neither son could come up with one single, definitive moment or occasion that stood out in memory as "the best of my mother". As one son pointed out, being a good parent isn't about creating momentous occasions together, but about showing consistent love and support for your child continually, and giving them a string of small moments - maybe even playful and nonsensical moments - that bond in ways that might seem insignificant at the time, but create an impact on a lifetime once time has been taken to reflect on them. He cited an example of a silly thing we used to do - one that he says helped him understand what things he was passionate about. What was amazing to me, as a parent who knows what he truly loves to do, was making a simple connection that I hadn't made before. I finally saw that something I had done with him routinely had helped him discover what really feeds his soul.
The message from my other son was similar, and just as gratifying. He described his happiest memories of time together as an "amalgamation of blurred memories". Again, there was no momentous event that stood out for him. He simply expressed appreciation for the habit we formed of walking together. He talked about how much he especially remembers walks we took in places we both love; walks where we enjoyed the scenery Mother Nature provided for free. Once again I was deeply touched that a little, commonplace activity, that we still share, has become a series of happy memories for him.
My reflections on the messages both sons shared with me inspired the following poem:
Amalgamation
"The memories are blurred -
there isn't just one."
(The same explanation
from both my grown sons.)
No singular moment
stood out in spotlight -
just many small moments
we somehow did right.
Our long conversations
were pure goofiness;
to nonsense aplenty
I'm forced to confess!
The miles walked together
through forest and sand;
we'd find rock or feather
to carry in hand.
We took them for granted -
all those little things -
but memories planted
still pull at heartstrings.
by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 14, 2016
As parents, children, siblings, and friends, we may all fall into a mindset that tells us we need to be constantly "upping the game" as far as creating memories with loved ones is concerned. We snap more pictures to remind everyone concerned, and all of our "followers" on social media, that we are doing amazing, fun, important things. We become so busy memorializing our days that we forget to live in the moment and really enjoy them.
There are few, if any, photos in existence to prove that the best memories I made with my sons really happened. I didn't write about the walks and talks we had in my journal. Instead, we are all left with memory amalgamations of blurred images. We only remember how doing the things we enjoyed together made us feel happy, energized; satisfied in our souls. Would I trade those snippets of many moments for one big, momentous memory? Never!
Age is granting me just enough wisdom to understand that the "little things" add up. A memorable lifetime is perhaps nothing more than a huge ball of incomparably glorious minutia, and love perhaps nothing more than an amalgamation of small things.
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