Where Focus Goes, Energy Flows

For several years, Mrs. Wren has elected to use (what was supposed to be) a decorative birdhouse that hangs right by our patio door.  Each year, she returns to hatch a new batch of babies. We always know she's back because wrens have a distinctive musicality.

Anyway, once the babies have hatched, her sole focus is food.  She is back and forth and back and forth, feeding her babies.  And no matter how long she is gone, they always act like they are starved, pushing to the front/top so they can get the juiciest bits of wriggly creature in Mama's mouth. 

Everyday, competing thoughts, worries and emotions wrestle to the forefront of our minds, wanting to be fed by our time and energy.  Like Mrs. Wren, we are in constant motion - if not physically, then emotionally - feeding those thoughts.  Similar to the baby birds in the nest, our thoughts, worries, and emotions all compete for attention, jockeying for prime real estate in our minds. Not surprisingly, the noisiest, pushiest, and most demanding of those are fed first.  From what I can see, Mrs. Wren's decisions about whom to feed first is not based on priority or hierarchy of need.  She just does what she is programmed to do: Find the food and dump the food into an open mouth.  

I think we do the same thing.  Our time and energy is sopped by whatever has pushed ahead in our minds: A worry about a child, friend, or situation? A repetitive thought about a financial issue, something dumb we said, or a job task? Shame? Guilt? Irrational fear? And of course, the noisiest, pushiest, and most demanding (and destructive) of all: Anger. 

At least, that's the most frequent, uninvited guest in my head these days - anger.  The past year and a half have been personally challenging, with a steady flow of unexpected criticism, accusations, and meanness in my direction.  The result has been strong feelings of betrayal, mistrust, and of course, anger.  Operating under the premise that my actions and reactions are my responsibility, I have moved forward, trying to counteract the unkindness towards me with kindness from me. Still, the anger simmers below the surface, and I generally keep a tight lid on it.  Even so, that's maintenance of a problem, not a solution.

And then, as I was watching the Wren family, I started thinking.  Whatever you feed is what grows and gets stronger.  The babies in the nest who push forward are getting fed more and more frequently; they will leave the nest first.  If Mrs. Wren doesn't feed the others, they will die.  

What you feed, grows.  What you don't feed, dies. 

What you focus on, grows, becomes bigger and stronger.  

Eventually, just like the baby birds, it will all fly away. It just won't matter anymore.  But for now, "where focus goes, energy flows." 

So I guess the decision is about what to feed - determining the focus and subsequent energy. . .goals, joys, daily "glimmers," relationships of my choice. . .

and what not to feed. . .insecurities, negativity, disappointments, and yes, anger. 

Where focus goes, energy flows.

Thoughts on 50+

There are some false assumptions about 50+ year olds that have been on my mind. 

One assumption is that we have found the lifetime career of choice, have no interest in changing that career, and are just waiting to retire.  In the world of work, it often feels as though age is more of a liability than an asset. 

Nothing could be further from the truth.  

In my 50s, I am taking stock of what I like and what I don't like - something I have never had the time or bravery to do.  I am taking stock of what I'm willing to do and try, and what I'm fine to let pass by or out-and-out reject.  

When a person is young and/or in the thick of raising kids, you tend to be self-conscious about just about everything: Work performance, child-rearing, appearance etc.  Either that, or you are too busy trying to please or prove your value, and/or are just too busy to think about what you want. 

Finally, in your 50s, you have the opportunity to take a breath and really consider what brings you joy and want you actually want out of life, or even just a day.  

The irony is that the world puts up a hand and says, "Whoa, there.  Don't get too big for your britches.  You're a ______ (whatever they have decided you are). Just stay in your lane, take it easy, and soon, you can retire."  

Like, retirement is the ultimate golden ticket? Maybe it is; I'm not there yet, so I don't know.  But I know that even when I "retire," I won't retire.  I will just stop doing THAT and do something else.  I like to work.  I find meaning, purpose and fulfillment in working, even if it's just cleaning out a drawer.  

Dismissing 50+ people like me is a mistake.  People in this age bracket have an incredible work ethic (and I am NOT saying that under 50s don't). There are a lot of reasons for that, but suffice it to say, we go the extra mile. Likewise, 50+ have a lot to bring to the table: knowledge, skill, and experience. While this is good, it also means that, as a result, I am pretty vocal about what's on the table, what I'm asked to do at the table, and how long I am expected to be at the table.  This makes me unpopular at times.  In my 20s, I was more willing to shut up, put up, and be wrung dry so that I could please employers and keep a job that I thought would somehow go away.  Age and experience has made me wiser (and mouthier). 

Another assumption is that we have our friend groups, routines, and habits established, and therefore, are not interested in anything new.  Again, this is a false assumption.  While it's true that we have carefully curated friendships/relationships (because we now know what we want and value in relationship), to assume that we have closed the door to socialization is false.  

For example, an erroneous assumption is that the church you started attending and relationships you established in your 20s and 30s is your church for life.  While it may be true for some, it is not true for everyone. If you are a 50 something walking into a new church, you need nerves of steel.  First, most programming is geared toward families and kids, and rightfully so.  I support that 100%. Raising kids, growing a young marriage/family, and surrounding your kids/family with Godly-values and influences is super-important.  For a 50 something, however, it's a tough landscape to navigate.  Most friendships have been long-established and set. If you're an extrovert, you inwardly tell yourself, "Challenge accepted," but for an introvert, it can be daunting and difficult. 

All right. . .that's enough about assumptions.  Here are some facts about people who are 50+ (feel free to dispute or add to): 

1. We have dreams, as we always have.  Dreams are not just for the young.  These days, we reevaluate previous dreams in terms of "Is this still important to me?" and "What is the likelihood this will happen, and am I ok if it doesn't?" We consider new dreams and ask, "Ok, what are the steps I need to do to make this happen?" If anything, our dreams have more shape and definition than they ever have, since we have a clear and realistic focus/target.

2. We are a career goldmine.  Not only do we have refined skills of both depth and breadth; we have experience to go with it.  We have both common sense and wisdom.  Employers would be stupid to dismiss us.

3. We say yes just as much, if not more, than we say no.  We are no longer (or less) encumbered by the self-consciousness and self-doubt or frenetic lifestyle of the 20s, 30s, and 40s.  So we say yes - a lot.  If we say no, there is usually a damn good reason, and you best be paying attention to the why.

4. We generally want to meet new people and try new things.  Likewise, we are learning all the time. Fifty plus is a time in which we get to try all the things we never had time for before. We have a firmer grasp on what we value and what we consider to be non-negotiables, both in people and activities.  We know what hills we are willing to die on and what to let go by. Likewise, we understand and listen to our bodies better  - we know what we can and should do, and we have a realistic idea of our limitations. In short, we now choose instead of are told what to choose.

5.   We get discounts now.  That's pretty baller. 

The Seed of Truth

 Truth is a dandelion seed.

A seed arrives.  It comes through the wind in unusual ways.  It could be in a random conversation while standing in line somewhere.  It could be a paragraph in a newspaper.  It could be meeting someone new, or visiting somewhere new. 

No matter the route in which it gets to you, the seed is planted.  Since it seems like an unexpected gift, a pleasant diversion from routine living, the seed is buried, protected, watered, nurtured, and soon, a plant pushes through the soil and grows.

What joy at the discovery. The plan grows and eventually blooms.  Its bright yellow flower, contrasted by brilliant verdant stems, is sunshine and warmth in a physical form. It provides nourishment at the sight of it, but also in ingesting it.  This truth feels like it is the real thing.

And then, the flower changes shape.  Where once there were yellow petals, there is now a round head of prickly white. It has morphed into something untouchable, as the slightest touch breaks it apart, destroying it.  

What once was, now is not. It has changed, and in so doing, the true form is revealed. It is not as beautiful as was once believed. 

That which was thought to be truth is shown to be something completely different.

With a strong gust of wind, the "truth" is blown away.  And one is left with this sad fact: It was not true after all.

What is left? Something that one cannot be rid of. The seed regrows and returns year after year to mock as a reminder of naivete. The more fool oiu for thinking that anything or anyone is who or what they claim to be. 

With each gust of wind, the seeds of real truth are planted. And there is the rub.  

The truth has always been there. It has just been something the opposite of what was believed. 

When first planted, for a short moment, it seems, and sort of is, true, honorable, just pure, lovely and commendable (Philippians 4:9).

The real truth is that. . . there is no such truth on Earth or in people. We may see glimpses, which gives us hope and a vision of things to come, but for now, be cautious in seeking truth.  There is only One Source. 

A Penny for Your Thoughts

In 2023, the U.S. Mint reported that it cost 3.07 cents to make a penny in the U.S.  Thus, a penny is worth more in concept than in practice and use.  

After exiting the vehicle and rounding the front right fender of the car, I noticed something spattered all over the ground in front of the car.  My alarmed, first thought was "glass," since this is most commonly dispersed like confetti in a parking lot.  Curiously, however, I noted that the spatters were pennies.  There were a lot of them, and they were everywhere. This puzzled and annoyed me, but I stepped over them and continued with my shopping mission.  

Later, when I returned to the vehicle, I stared at the pile. I cannot explain why, but I grabbed a garbage bag from the car and started scraping the pennies into a pile with my shoe.  I'm sure the dude in the truck behind me was wondering what the heck I was doing. Once I had a pile, I picked them up, put them in my bag, and deposited them on the floor mat on the passenger's side of the car. 

As I drove away, I thought, Who throws away money?! Yeah, they are pennies, and their worth is questionable, but money is money.  

Anyone who has had to scrape pennies together to pay for a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk knows the value of a penny.  Those who have had to do without, who have had to put something on layaway or save up for a purchase, and/or put something back know the value of a penny.  

I have relayed this story to my students many times - how it was when Mike and I first were married.  I was still in college, and Mike was working full-time.  He was literally the bread winner, and I worked every other weekend at the nursing home to add to the emaciated "kitty."  We survived on $50 for groceries - we bought a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread each week, and we survived on Totino's Pizza ($1 each at the time) and pot pies.  

In 2025, we will hit the 35 year marriage milestone.  These days, we buy groceries when we want, and we buy whatever we want, and that is an immense blessing. I am well-aware that not everyone has that luxury. Fortunately and currently, we don't have to count pennies to survive, but to quote yet another idiom, life circumstances can turn on a dime.  

Humble beginnings are undoubtedly discouraging and challenging, but they are the best training ground for learning to manage money.  When you have nothing, you learn to be creative with what you have (often playing the role of MacGyver), and you learn the value of "Is this a want or a need?" 

That's why I cannot fathom the mentality of throwing away money - even if they are only pennies.  

Economics aside, these pennies are a lesson in humanity as well.  The act of throwing pennies away also gives me a little more about information about the values of the person throwing pennies on the ground. 

When I plucked these pennies off the ground, they were all in tough shape. I don't know how long they had been in the parking lot, but they were severely oxidized, some almost unrecognizable.  

After dumping them into an acid/salt combo (oddly, my homemade kombucha was the most effective), I started scrubbing and buffing the gunk off.  Among the copper, I found a penny from the year Candace was born (1993), from the year Erika was born (1996), and the year my sister-in-law graduated high school (1984). In its own little way, each penny is anchored to a year, and each year is anchored to a memory.  I already knew that music and scent can do that, but I guess money can too. 

After a few minutes of soaking and scrubbing, many of the pennies were restored to almost new condition, bright and shiny; others were dull and even pitted.   But all of them still had the same value. This is much like people too.  Time, attitude, relationships and life experiences all effect each of us in different ways - some making us better versions of ourselves, and others leaving us battered, bruised and pitted.  But in the end, a life is a life, and despite appearance or demeanor, each life has the same value as another.  

Some people choose their company in life based on the value that someone else brings to the relationship. This attitude has always rubbed me the wrong way. It seems to infer that one person's value is superior to another's. What I've learned is if my life path crosses with another's, it happens for a reason. It is not coincidental. It is in my best interest to decipher the why and what I am supposed to learn from the experience. It is with humility that I admit that I have also learned that often, but not always, the people I least appreciate reflect behavior, characteristics, and attitudes that I, too, possess, which incites self-reflection. And that is where growth begins. Sadly, the hardest lessons in life are often the most painful and irritating.

All together, my parking lot plucking yielded $.85.  This is another lesson. Paltry though the value is, a penny is still a penny. And when banded together with others, the collective value increases.  None of us were meant to live this life alone.  We value, as in, enjoy, life more and accomplish more in the collective. 

The Switch

The first half of a person's life is spent in walking into rooms and turning on lights, personally and professionally.  You flick the switch and either take a quick glance, or walk in to check things out.  If it doesn't appeal, you quickly move on to the next room. 

If the room appeals to you, you stay a while, making the room feel more like you. You handle, manage, arrange, rearrange and remodel, often adding more rooms, closets, and drawers. There is a constant flow of traffic - always someone coming and going.  Some visitors are welcomed and cherished.  You're sad when it's time for them to go.  Other visitors are a pain in the neck, and you breathe a sigh of relief when they have moved on. Sometimes, others (voyeurs) poke their heads in and offer unsolicited opinions, criticisms, and advice. They never enter, only stand at the doorway. If you respect the person, you take the words into consideration.  If you don't respect the person, you ponder the suggestions, keep what's helpful, dismiss what isn't. . .and change the code on the door.

Somewhere along the line, there is a shift. There is always a shift, and that shift signals that it's time to move on.  Sometimes, it's your idea, and sometimes, it's not.  It is far more satisfactory when an inner voice tells you it's time to move on; if someone else delivers that message, it can lead to anger, and bitterness is generally not far behind. Either way, time is standing at the doorway, tapping on his watch, an eyebrow raised.

Thus, the second half of life becomes a series of walking in and out of rooms and turning off lights.  Sometimes, those lights are in rooms with dreams you once had as a kid. It's not that you can't achieve them, but the likelihood or pressing desire to accomplish them is no longer there. Sometimes, those lights are in rooms where you once played with your own kids, the memories and their laughter are still bouncing off the walls. The time has come and gone.  Sometimes, those lights are in rooms where once a career thrived. Click, flick, click.  

And just about the time it starts to feel as though you're losing more than you're gaining, you walk into a room that feels like a Goldilocks room - just right, again.  It appeals to you. You see hobbies you always wanted to pursue but never had time to. You see the stacks of books that have been gathering dust on your bedside table. You see friends from the past that were lost in the pursuit of the holy grail - raising healthy kids.  You see tickets on a table, waiting to whisk you to places you never had the time, or money, to visit.  

And then there is a door in that room that is opened just a crack. The light is already on; it feels as though someone has been waiting for you.  As you pull open the door, you see the greatest joys and rewards. . .

And the contents of that room is different for everyone, and it may be different by the day.  

The point is that the room exists.  It's real. In fact, that room has been there all along.  It has been there everyday, even though the contents of the room has varied.

In reflecting, I realize that I have wasted too much time lingering too long in some rooms, seeking a place in rooms where I didn't belong, trying to make repairs in rooms where I didn't cause damage, and spending too much time in rooms that were draining versus energizing, simply because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. And maybe it was what I needed to do - for that time and for that place, but certainly not forever. For most of my life, I have believed longevity, loyalty, and commitment to the rooms to be badges of pride. Now I’m not so sure about that.

When it comes to life and life events, Mike always says this: "Sunrise. Sunset." Light switches are life.  There is a time to turn them on.  There is a time to turn them off.  Rather than look at it from the standpoint of losing and gaining, it is much better, and infinitely more satisfactory, to look at it as a process of moving through.  Turning off a light and leaving one room means turning on a new one and moving into something new and different, not better or worse. 

Even though the process of moving through began a while ago, it’s only recently that I have begun to pay attention. That said, I would ask that you please excuse me.  There are a few rooms that need my attention, in one of which are three little people, soon-to-be five, waiting for me.  

What's Your Story?

 It occurred to me this morning that everybody is an author.  

What we did yesterday is history, and history, in its most simplistic format, is one long, continuous story.

 The characters come and go.  Depending on the situation, some of us are flat characters, but most often, we are rich, round characters. Unfortunately, some are static, and spend (waste?) a whole lifetime stubbornly refusing to grow or heal. Most, however, are dynamic - pushing through, or passing through, joyful and tragic circumstances - and using them to move to the next iteration of themselves.

Similarly, the plot of this meandering story continues, subject to numerous plot twists and conflicts.  Every time one problem, or complication, is resolved, a new one emerges. 

In short, history. . .herstory. . .ourstory. . .yourstory. . .mystory has been unfolding long before I was born and will presumably continue long after I am gone. 

But for now - for this time and in this space, you and I are not only characters in this story; we are also contributing authors to this story. 

And so, here is the gravitas associated with this revelation: Even though I, the character, in the story will only have meaning and relevance for, at most, 100 years (give or take), I, the author, will have immeasurable significance. 

To explain, realistically, my name and the stories of and about me will only recognizable or retained for at most, 100 years.  Any generations beyond my grandchildren will only know me as a face, possibly a name, and whatever stories or details that my grandchildren remember and relay.  With regard to my students and colleagues, my name and face will exist until I die, and as to my job, I will exist only until I hand over my key fob and laptop.  

It all sounds depressing. . .if our story is merely our physical existence.

The story, however, is really the sum total of our choices on a daily basis:

- How we react when things don't go our way,

- The habits or traditions we choose and hold firm to,

- What we say and do when someone betrays or hurts us deeply,

- The way we show love to both lovable and unlovable people,

- Our generosity or stinginess when it comes to time, money, and love

- The little things we do or say when we think no one is watching,

- The way in which we treat people - all people - related to us, like us, near us, or not

This is the REAL story we write with our lives.  This is where we become "immortal." This is how we shape and redefine the plot moving forward.  This is how we influence the story that is to come for generations we will never meet, and who will never know us.  This is how we leave a mark on history. . .herstory. . . yourstory. . .and theirstory. The denouement has already been decided, so you don't have to worry about the ending. It's the plot diagram and development in getting there that is the consideration. 

Given all that, as you add your plotline today, tomorrow, next week, next year, what story is important to tell? What plot points are you passionate about? What story do you want generations ahead of you to know and live? 

As an author in both this communal, endless narrative we call history, and your own personal narrative, what kind of tale are you hoping will be told? And most importantly, what are you doing today, right now, and every day to bring that storyline (literally) to life? 

Bread of Life

 Just as it does with everyone else, the time change punked me this morning.  I was wide awake at 4, which is actually 5. Since I had the extra time, I decided to get up and try a new bread recipe, even though I've never been good at bread. I can bake just about everything else, but bread is a skill that still eludes me. 

Once I had all the ingredients mixed together, in the stipulate order and at the stipulated temperatures, I started in on the seemingly-endless process of kneading. I set a timer for a guesstimation of minutes for kneading and started the rhythmic, back and forth, side-to-side pound and sway. 

The thing about bread-making is that it requires patience and just the right baking conditions. One does not just decide to bake bread; one plans to make bread. In other words, one does not just wake up and say, "I want to bake fresh bread for breakfast."  The only ways in which that statement can be true is if A) one gets up at like 3 am, or B) one gets in his/her car and drives to the bakery to purchase a fresh loaf. In bread-making, there is a plan, and it is a plan that unfolds after several steps and the passage of time. 

Likewise, baking conditions count. If the liquid is too cold, the yeast won't activate.  If the liquid is to hot, it kills the yeast. Too much flour, and the loaf becomes a brick.  No salt, and it lacks flavor.  If the room is too cold, the loaf won't prove. And then, there is the arduous process of kneading. 

Kneading has to happen in order in order for bread to happen.  Kneading consists of rolling, punching, twisting, and turning the dough for several minutes.  If s/he didn't know better, a passing observer might think that the baker is angry, given the seemingly violent action. But kneading makes sure that all the ingredients in the bread get evenly distributed. Kneading makes sure that all the ingredients have been exposed to a consistent, warm temperature (from the hands that knead the dough). Kneading traps the little air bubbles that are necessary to create the dance between gluten and yeast that makes a loaf rise. Thus, kneading is necessary; the elusive question is how long to knead the dough. 

This is where the second round of magic happens.  A baker has to pay attention during the kneading process, because the question of length of kneading is based on texture - how it feels in the baker's hands.  A properly-kneaded loaf will feel smooth and elastic. It's easily stretched and leaves a slight impression, almost like a finger to a cushion. A baker does a fair amount of watching in order to gauge this, but truly, the best way to know enough is enough is by feel.  

Why the bread lesson?  Well, it's not about bread at all.  Not really.  

While kneading, I had several minutes in which to ponder. 

Once upon a time, across history eras and geographical locations, bread was life.  Other than meat, it was the only available food, and when meat wasn't available, it was what kept people alive.  A hobo, who had been interviewed for The Great Shake-Up,  a documentary on the 1930s on the History Channel, reported that after asking for some food, a lady told him all she had was bread, to which he replied, "Bread would taste like cake." So in a very real, physical sense, bread is life. 

Bread is also life in the metaphorical sense.  Bread-making requires time and patience. One does not get to fast-forward to the end. S/he has to follow the process, one step at a time.  Likewise, all the necessary ingredients must be there in order for the dough to become a loaf. By themselves, salt and yeast won't make a loaf.  The other ingredients are necessary.  The same is true in life.  Happiness alone does not lead to a quality loaf. Neither do sadness and hardship.  They are all necessary in order for the loaf to become what it was intended to be.

And then there is the kneading process.  In life, we often feel as though we are beat up - we are rolled up in situations we didn't ask for; we are punched - sometimes by situations and words of our own making, and sometimes by being in the wrong place at the wrong time; our words and intentions get twisted; and we get turned around, disoriented by life's curveballs.  When we are in the middle of it, we not only ask "Why?" but "How long will this last?"

I think you already the answer to that question.

The Baker knows what He is doing.  He knows exactly the ingredients needed - and the quantity of each - in order for us to become the end product we were destined to be.  He has the knowledge, skills and wisdom to add them in just the right order, and at just the right time.  The same is true for kneading.  He knows exactly for how long the process must continue. In walking on earth and being one of us for a while, He is well-acquainted, even more so than us, as to the texture of "enough" - He knows what it feels like. When we are in the process, we just need to trust that the Baker knows best.

Will my loaf turn out this time?  Time will tell.  It's still processing.  

Will the Baker's loaf turn out? IF you trust the Baker and let the Him do His thing, you already know the answer to that question.