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Ordinarily I get out of bed with an attitude of gratitude, thinking positive thoughts and planning a day that includes more than becoming a lump on the sofa.  And then there are the occasional days when my inner spirit and higher purpose simply do not show up!What do I do then, when my Better Self is stuck in the toilet and sitting on my meditation pillow feels like a method of execution favored by Vlad the Impaler!I use the practical tools that a disengaged, disinterested and disagreeable old man can use without a single ‘deep’ thought.First, I breathe, taking full advantage of my pot belly. I inhale, watching that Pillsbury Doughboy fill up like a big red balloon, then slowly exhaling until the tire is flat. I do it five times, consciously, fully focused on each breath.&...

My head is not in the sand; I recognize the steady downward slide of the dumbbell weight and fewer number of reps during my occasional visits to the condo’s health club.But I refuse to classify locker room vanity as a measure of who I am.  Scrawny pectoral muscles are not indicative of a protracted slide into dotage.To the contrary, by recognizing the changes as normal variants rather than measurements of loss, accepting the aging process can be the catalyst for living a life more fulfilling and joyous than when you were in your prime.I stopped struggling to hold on to the traditional approach for determining self-esteem.  In its place, I surrendered.  I realized that giving in to the pressures of maintaining a lifestyle that no longer came easy to me kept m...

Not too long ago, when I was asked if I had any children, I answered, “Yes, I have two, a boy and a girl.”But that’s not true now.  I no longer have kids.It’s been that way for some time now, considering both my son and my daughter are closing in on fifty.  But it took a regretfully derisive laugh at someone else’s expense to bring that realization home.I was attending a meeting with a colleague, a man in his eighties, when the conversation strayed to the troubles he was having with his son.  I was taken aback because the problems he described – asking for money, anger issues, irresponsible behavior – suggested he was the father of an adolescent, which was surprising considering his advanced age.“What does your son do,” I asked?“He’s a psychiatrist,”...

Odd how I see you both so clearly, composites of the few photographs stored away in the carton that has moved with me for fifty years, occasionally opened, a provocateur of tears that continue silently as the worn cardboard sides are interlaced and you are shut away once again.There is a link missing from the code of memory that stretches from your demise to this day of the lighted candle and quiet incantation. I remember the day you died… and astonishingly, nothing more.The memorial at the temple, the burial at the section of the cemetery purchased with four graves, your eldest son already there, the plot in the corner waiting for me… where are those recollections, so vividly etched in the memories of all good sons.  And lost to me.The Buddha is the guide who brings ...

“I will end hunger on this planet by the end of the year.  That is my solemn commitment.”I watched the speaker, a well dressed man in his late twenties, emote with passion and conviction.  It was the final hour of a three day workshop described by the promotional flyer as a new level of mastery in creating a future that fulfills what matters most to you.  Clearly, I thought to myself, he had taken the blurb literally. But still, he was earnest and meant well.  That counted for something, didn’t it?After the ovation died down, next to speak was an equally stylish young woman who in a tremulous but determined voice, promised “I am going to make poverty disappear and eliminate homelessness in our country.”Plainly, she meant what she said, and the audience clap...

“There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”–Washington IrvingLearning to gently reveal who we are at the core of our identity is the path to opening ourselves up to love and intimacy in our relationships. Yet it is so difficult to do!Typically we hide behind a protective shield, preventing others from fully seeing us.  We are wary of exposing our feelings.  We do not want others to see who we really are because we are afraid they may judge us harshly.  Being vulnerable can be frightening, especially if we have a childhood history of being unappreciated.  We withhold, omitting w...

You’ve heard the saying about aging athletes – he’s lost a step but he more than makes up for it with experience. It’s true in life as well. At about the time the first Social Security check arrives most of us have recognized the transition from the person we used to be to the person we have become.I’m not talking about the wrinkles.  Senior citizen is not a synonym for old person!  Being old is a function of age; being senior is a subtext of attitude.  It depends on how you look at the term; seniors in high school or college for example, are student leaders, the respected upperclassmen called upon to pass on their experience to the younger undergraduates.It behooves us to ignore society’s perception of “old people” as obsolete and irrelevant. You do not lose the be...

I admit to being creaky and making funny noises before I get warmed up but I fiercely dispute the societal assumption that Senior Citizens are like used cars ready for the junk heap.An odometer does not measure experience, wisdom and perspective.As the venerable lexicographer Peter Roget tells us, being a ‘senior’ is not solely synonymous with being older.  Borrowing from his lexicon I suggest a new term to replace Senior Citizen.  How about Chief or Superior or Leading Citizen?Being retired does not have to morph into one long nap. Slowing down does not equate to becoming ineffective and irrelevant.  To the contrary, my octogenarian’s eyesight is an Optometrist’s nightmare but I see things infinitely more clearly now.  I have acquired the ability to look i...

Aging gracefullyI had the good fortune to renew a relationship with a friend I had not seen for many years.  He knew me during a rough patch and curious about my current frame of mind he asked me, “Are you happy?”His memories of me were fraught with personal and business crisis so it surprised him when I answered that I had never been happier; that my so-called elder years were filled with joy and meaning.Later that day my words sunk in for me as well; never been happier? That was quite a statement.  How could it be that in the twilight of my life, decades from the top of my profession, a tenuous retirement fund reminding me of a hundred capricious decisions, a body dealing with an expanding waist and a brain with shrinking neurons -  how did I ever conclude, ne...

Amanda Gorman’s poem, “The Hill We Climb,” was a highlight of the 2021 inauguration. It inspired both sides of the political spectrum with its lyrical vision “to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.” Who would have thought that poetry could be the force that unites a country and prompts its populace to embrace their better angels.  I’m going to give it a try.Madelyn is five and a half going on six,Playing in the park with a group of kidsLaughing and giggling, absorbed in their games,Exultant, spontaneous, and guileless.The afternoon light is filtered by smiling clouds.A photographer’s golden hour without scrims or gelsCreating halos around glowing curls and lustrous braids.Angels at play.She is fr...