Leaving languishing behind

Sitting in the feathered seat

Earlier this month, I went with the Senior Trailblazers on a long-ish hike (nine miles and plenty of elevation gain and loss), and when we reached our lunch spot, this wonderful carved seat awaited us. I am sitting in the eagle spot, with two carved ravens on my shoulders. It's a beautiful thing to see, and I was more than happy to sit down and enjoy my lunch with friends before heading back.

This day was the beginning of a bit of a slide into a state that I have learned is labeled as "languishing." Not depressed exactly, but also not in a happy place, either. The other day I listened to a podcast on Hidden Brain about "Why You Feel Empty." It's all about a book written by Corey Keyes, a sociologist at Emory University, on what languishing and flourishing are all about. The full title of the book is "Languishing: How to Feel Alive Again in a World that Wears Us Down." It sure made sense to me when I listened to the podcast. I will order the audio version of the book, once I've finished watching the TED talk that Corey gave earlier this year. It's all available at this website, which I hope works for you, from Penguin Random House, his publisher.

I think the beginning of slipping into this mental state started when I turned eighty. It's a landmark I never actually felt I would reach, since neither of my parents lived anywhere that long, and heart disease is rampant in my family's history. Of course, I was blessed to have been given statins long ago, and I've managed with them, along with diet and exercise, to keep it in check. But I never dreamed about the one health issue I had not given much thought to: going blind. Although I've been dealing with AMD (age-related macular degeneration) for years, it never really bothered me until I lost the central vision in my right eye. I am now legally blind in that eye, but a new treatment has emerged in the past year to slow the progression of the disease. I have now received one injection into each of my eyes, and if all goes well, the left eye will not become blind in the same manner. Or at least not as soon as it would if I didn't get these injections. Nothing can be done to bring back what I've lost, but I am hoping that in seven weeks, when I see the doctor again, there will be signs that it's slowed and he'll give me another left eye jab.

As I've written in here before, it has brought a major change in my life. I am so accustomed to reading and writing that it became hard to imagine that life might still be worth living if I become unable to continue pursuits that feel central to my sense of self. No more blogging, no reading the news, no connecting with my virtual family, so much gone. That began to wear on me, and I fell into a state of languishing. What good would I be to the world? To myself? What would be the point of an octogenarian writer who has become blind?

And then I discovered that there are ways to overcome almost every single one of my concerns, maybe not having things the same, but there is a real challenge here, one I think I can use to my advantage. In his book, Corey lists some things that people who are languishing can do; he calls them "The Five Vitamins of Flourishing."

Vitamin 1: Following your curiosity to learn something new. Well, learning to post a blog without being able to do it directly can be accomplished in several ways. Before the end of this year, I hope to have learned enough to submit at least one Sunday morning post using other methods than typing on my laptop.

Vitamin 2: Build warm and trusting relationships. I already have a fairly good beginning here, since my partner and I have a thirty-year head start on this one. I also have other meaningful relationships filled with mutual trust. Some are fairly new, but others are of long standing. I will work on finding others as needed,

Vitamin 3: Move closer to the sacred, the divine, and the infinite. This vitamin comes rather naturally to me. I have begun a morning meditation practice, now going into a third year, and I will continue to study Buddhist philosophy to augment what I already know, and will remember the wonderful lessons I have learned from Christianity. All sacred texts bring the same message.

Vitamin 4: Have and live your purpose. This one needs some work, since having been retired and no longer being part of any organization that requires my presence, I have become disengaged in ways that can be solved by becoming a volunteer in something that appeals to me. I was a volunteer for more than five years helping people to write their Advance Directive for End-of-Life care. I need to find something else like that.

Vitamin 5: Play! Make time for activities where you enjoy the process, not the outcome. Doesn't that sound like fun? I enjoy Wordle (although I sure want to find the word of the day) and Connections, a game on the New York Times website that gives me lots of pleasure to play. I wonder if these games can be translated into something that a blind person can do, and play. I'll find out. If not, there are others that can serve the same purpose.

So now you know my current situation as well as I do. If you have any ideas of how I might continue to flourish as I navigate another one of life's many dramas, I am certainly willing to listen and ponder how I might move into a more positive frame of mind. Many of us who make it to this age must have come up with some solutions that I haven't thought of quite yet. We octogenarians are resourceful, after all, or we wouldn't have gotten this far, right?

And today is Father's Day here in the US. I'm not sure whether it is observed in other countries, but I have so many memories of my dad that still live in my heart and mind. He died in 1979, so long ago at the age of 62. He was a good father, and when I think of his presence, I remember that he was the one who would get up early and send my sister and me off to school, often with a lunch that he prepared. He was an early riser, like me, while my mother slept in after going to bed much later than he. Daddy was often the one who would wash our hair in the kitchen sink, comb it out, and make us presentable before we caught the bus to school.

If there is any immortality to be had among us human beings, it is certainly only in the love that we leave behind. Fathers like mine don't ever die. —Leo Buscaglia

I will always have memories of my parents, as long as I live. And I was tremendously blessed to have had them raise me to adulthood. Now I am feeling the love for all human beings, and grateful that I had such a good start in life. And with that, I will sign off for today and look forward to another wonderful day where I can still see the sun shine. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things, dear friends.