Thoughts ruminate and remind me of how to breathe into the knowledge of my learning. I did not have clear words of articulation at a young age, I can still struggle. I have worked to continually redefine who I am. “This is not as good as it gets”. For me my struggle is over thinking about my aging life. I refused to poke fun at being in this body for 70+ years. I am less serious at this point, yet aging still finds wholehearted contemplation. As fun loving as I like to be, I now ask another set of questions of myself: Questions never answered or felt, before. My inquiry of how I want to be old continues. Most of all what does old look like, how do I breathe into life stuck in a Pandemic. A sinus infection tells me to free my Oxygen flow in life and sing the written word.
Why do I want to be empathic in examining myself, I will honor this need to do so. Working at loving who I am at any given moment. I feel when I go through these serious rumblings in a lack of humor about age, there is something to be learned. What makes my aging life uncomfortable or not? Is it the same as saying you can’t wear pajamas into the street at this stage, still wanting a fashion statement outside. I used to care deeply. Now there’s a random thought. Yet judgements are dangerous from my experience, unless they add to my life. Why do I know now I don’t like poking fun at myself. I do like finding healing humor though expressive interaction. It used to be so easy for me with expressing so glibly. I am stuck in the truth of not breathing well. under pressuring questions, still wanting to be heard. I will redefine this knowledge over and over I am sure.
