The transition to the third act was a doozy, involving sickness, accidents, death and more. Would a mid-century modern cottage on the beach in Canada be all I had dreamt of? What would a series of life-changing events one after the other have in store for me?
It was 2016 and our country was in the throes of a polarized election cycle. Sexism, racism, and elitism were being teased out of the fabric of society so they could be examined.
Who we were as a country was in question. Who we would become was also in question. The grand experiment of democracy was being challenged. We may all want the same thing for ourselves personally, but we could not find agreement in our country’s role in it.
While this was happening on the national front, I was entering my third act. Our country, I would suggest was and is in its second act, where conflicts come to the forefront to bring out change and resolution. When many things come at once, change is coming.
This is what happened in my life beginning in the spring of 1986. We went for a trip to Mexico to visit friends. It was just before Easter, and I was facing some hard truths about myself. Death and resurrection are springtime themes both in nature and in the human soul.
The morning we were preparing to leave, it was Good Friday. My husband found and killed a scorpion in our apartment, leaving it outside the door in hopes I would not see it. But I did and it looked like a cross, the symbol of death, the portal to rebirth.
Soon after getting home, I became ill. Bloodwork and symptoms indicated a virus. For about a month, I laid on the couch convalescing. I ran my business by going into the office evenings and on weekends. Day-to-day tasks, I had to let go of. Suddenly and completely. Not as planned.
My body healed and let go of enough weight to make clothes no longer fit, weight that never came back. Clothes were brought to the consignment shop. I considered my changing lifestyle when I bought new ones.
I studied stress and its effects on the body. I examined my attachments to people-pleasing, proving myself and perfectionism. It was time to let go of being all things to all people all the time, and striving to look good all the while. Talk about unsustainable.
Areas that needed attention were demanding it during the transition to the third act. Before resolution, there is conflict. Becoming aware of its impact on my body, I was learning to accept it and make a flexible plan of action. The timeframe was shifting but not my intentions.
On Memorial day weekend, our beloved, once in a lifetime dog died and I panicked which led to uncovering inner obstacles to grieving. I let them go and felt the pangs of grief. In the thirteen years of our dog’s life, she trained me to walk daily. In her honor, I continued the exercise, at times tearfully.
In early July, my beloved almost 92-year-old mother passed away. Through the process of vascular dementia, we had been saying goodbye to parts of her for years. I not only grieved her passing (and was primed for it), but I grieved the loss of the role of daughter.
When I would visit my mother in the care facility and she could not remember me, I encountered the essence of her being, an open and joyful spirit. It was like meeting my mother as a child before social conditioning, which opened floodgates of love and compassion within me, washing away any regrets.
During this time, my husband, daughter, and I were taking a mindfulness meditation course. It was helping me accept and feel my feelings including grief, without judging or intellectualizing them. Timely.
One night soon after my mother’s death, I turned my ankle on an uneven outdoor step while leaving class. It immediately swelled and turned blue. I leaned on my husband while limping to the car. The irony of where and how it happened made me chuckle in spite of the pain.
At her funeral, when my seven siblings and I carried our mother’s casket into the church, my sprained ankle was wrapped and throbbing. My steps were labored.
One morning in early August at our family reunion, I sat on a hammock that was wound up by the wind, and it unwound, dumping me flat on the hard, dry ground. There was a drought that year. Symptoms of a concussion presented and then fortunately, went away in about a week.
At the end of August, just after my 60th birthday, my husband and I bought a cottage on Lake Erie in Canada which so reminded me of our childhood vacations at a beach nearby.
It was a dream come true. I love the beach and being there greatly increased our recreational time. Our kayaks were on the beach. Bikes were in the shed and the bicycling path was close by. A walk on the beach and then back through the woods was breathtakingly beautiful.
In early September, I had a car accident, my first ever involving other cars. Not sure whether my brakes failed, or I failed to hit the right pedal, but it was my fault and it gave me pause.
Now that was a series of dramatic events! In a movie, the arc of challenges would lead to the protagonist having a dramatic inner shift. Me, too.
I still followed through on my intentions but with a new timeframe, more vulnerability, and less attachment. My goal was to reconstruct the framework for a life well-lived that would involve less stress. The intention to transition out of my business came to the forefront.
I created a plan to convert my business from a sole-proprietorship into a worker-cooperative. Little by little, I trained others to do what I had done. Letting go created space to renovate and enjoy the cottage. Yet even after the renovation, the cottage demanded lots of upkeep.
Upkeep that my husband would rather not do, that I was unable to do, and even coordinating contractors was a lot of work. After only four years of enjoying the cottage, the border closed, and we decided to sell. What was left was the imprint of living in a modern home, foreshadowing what was to come.
Five years ago, I could not have guessed that what was to come would include two grandchildren, a pandemic, a memoir, a modern home to replace our old one and more. The more I release in my life, the more things come to me.
What I let go of is just as important as what I embrace. When we found our new modern home, we let go of about half of what we owned. Now everything we own is visible. There is no basement or attic to hide away things we will forget we have.
At the lake, when my husband was at work, I established a practice of writing daily. While sitting looking out at the water, I revised and published my memoir, Unpacking Guilt, A Mother’s Journey to Freedom. The habit of writing every morning after breakfast, stayed with me when I returned to the city.
Letting go of the cottage, I embraced the new city home and work as a writer. Although I let go of the business, employees, and work schedule, I soon realized that I am not done creating! I embraced change or rewiring, gathering up the pieces of my life or “entiring”, but no, no, no, not retiring!
What I have left inside to give still nudges me to work.
Since I was eight-years-old, I have been writing and sharing it with others. A snapshot of giving my first hand-written story to my mother is crystal clear in my mind over five decades later. The courageous art of writing, then sharing my voice is still the measure of success for me as a writer.
Yet a writer needs an audience. There is writing and there is the business of being a writer. That’s where I’ve gone from a job that involved a lot of social contact to a solitary one that requires learning to connect with others in new ways.
So here I am, at my mother’s old desk in a light-filled office, surrounded by art and objects that inspire me. The events during the third act transition brought about a new soundtrack, script, and setting. A new dance.
Honesty is a practice that has deepened with age for me. It strengthens the inner voice that guides me to live authentically. Directions come as thoughts or soul urges. When ignored, they become embodied messages that grab my attention.
Now I listen with greater interest to my thoughts and feelings. I spend more time in contemplation, aligning my inner world with what I seek in the outer world.
Tools I use to resolve conflict are often as simple as not engaging. Letting it be. I cannot change anyone but myself. But when I make shifts to resolve conflict, others benefit, too.
On August 21st, I turned sixty-five. After making lifestyle adjustments, I am firmly planted in the third act where I am living my most authentic life.
I will continue to write and face my resistance to the business of being a writer.
Conflicts will present as long as I live. I am ready to meet and resolve them.
Resolution is a choice and a practice, fitting of the role of elder and a mode of energy-conservation.
Time is the most precious gift of all and I don’t want to squander it.
Grateful that I landed right here where I am right now.
And I recognize it as home.
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