Today I am the youngest I will ever be. So why do I feel so old? Why do I feel so hobbled. Two brain surgeries can go a long way towards hobbling a person. My vision is impaired. My hearing is gone in my left ear. These are hard things to adjust to. I am off balance. Both literally and figuratively.
Where is the center? Where is the joy? If I am the youngest I will ever be, I want to find the joy and exuberance of childhood. I want to find joy in the here and now. This is why I have so loved working at my camp. To be surrounded by little girls, living their best life, helps me to stay in the present. I watch them throw themselves into activities. I watch them shriek with delight when the once-a-summer special dessert, Mississippi Mud comes out of the kitchen. I watch them bravely showcase their “talents” in the talent show. There is no shortage of exuberant fun at camp.
This is also why I love working in the theatre. Actors are like children. They are brave and present and willing to take risks. They are trained to open themselves up to those around them. I have often told young people that I have directed that they need to just go for it. Take the plunge. Don’t overthink things, just be in the moment. And when they do, wonderful things happen.
And finally, this is why I spend time with my dog and her friends. If ever there was a creature who lives in the present, it’s my dog Smooch. I think I want to come back as a labrador retriever in my next life. No spreadsheets, no cable news, no complicated relationships to sort through. No worries about the future, just a steady, simple view of the world and the persistent question about where my next snack will come from. Nowadays this world view seems more and more enlightened.
So if this is the youngest I’ll ever be, I guess my recipe for finding joy is doing theatre, going to camp and hanging out with my dog friends. I could do way worse.
What a great perspective!
My mother has the same wish, to come back as a dog. Of course, that means one of HER dogs, with a bed near the wood stove, or where the sun hits the floor, a pond, two squares a day, plus table dividends, morning and afternoon naps. Zero responsibility except not pooping indoors and maybe meeting the children at the bus stop.