down more than looking ahead when I walk. I don’t like that. I like to see where I’m going and to greet people I meet. I experience pain in my back after doing the most simple of tasks. And arthritis in many of my fingers is making opening jars, lifting containers and even drying dishes often painful. If you want to know how important your thumbs are, try pulling up your underwear, your pants or, especially, compression socks with an arthritic thumb. And, oh yes, buttoning the buttons on my shirts. Ouch! My doctor now tells me, “Rich, you now see why the opposable thumb made all the difference to us humans in our evolutionary journey.” Taking Tylenol, applying ice and stretching my legs and limbs is taking a much greater percentage of my time these days. So what can I count on? What must I live with? Yep…here’s the attachment. I don’t want to let go of what I’ve always done or wanted to do. The pain associ- ated with these conditions is quite bearable at this point even though the Tylenol doesn’t do much for me. But these are not conditions that can be cured. If any- thing, they’ll get worse, and that’s most likely. So do I plan for that? And how do I plan for it? So here’s where, once again, I’m reminded of a Buddhist teaching. The words of my meditation teachers ring gently in my ears. “Live in the moment. Experience the color and the fragrance of the flowers as you walk through the forest. Listen to the children’s laughter as they play together. Take in the love in your lover’s eyes. Let the remembering and the planning flow through you and drop away. The past is gone. The future is yet to be. There is only this moment, and this moment, and this moment. Breathe it in. Take it in with all your senses. That is all there is.” Ok…so that all sounds lovely and beautiful. But how does it really work? How do I apply that to my life? Well here’s where I’ve got a lot of learning to do, but I have some experiences that are teaching me. My hand doctor tells me to notice the activities where my arthritis is especially painful and try to figure out a “work- around”. So yeah, I’ve done a bit of that. Turns out index fingers actually can help pull up compression socks if you are patient and do it right. Not so easy with but- toning buttons, but a spouse is very handy. But I’m looking for more than just work-arounds. I’m looking to be able to detach from what I used to be able to do and enjoy what I still can do. Here’s a clue and a very practical example for me. I play the flute. It requires the use and movement of all ten fingers. Sometimes they’re moving really fast. So far there’s not too much pain involved in my playing, but I figure it’ll get worse over time. If I focus on the pain then that’s what I experience. But….if I focus on the music I’m playing and really listen to it….especially when I’m playing in my flute choir with a dozen other flutists…..I enjoy the music. I enjoy the challenge and the beauty of playing together. The pain is not even noticeable. It’s only in retrospect that I realize… hey…beautiful music…no pain.
Did you know that our community has a monthly newsletter created specifically for older adults? Meet Elders Connect — a curated roundup of everything happening for older adults here in the Valley and across West Marin. Each issue gathers local events, countywide opportunities, advocacy efforts, and highlights from our own Community Center programs, all in one easy-to-read newsletter designed to keep you informed, engaged, and connected. One of the most beloved features of Elders Connect is our monthly story written by a member of the Community Center’s Memoir Writing Group. These pieces range from lighthearted to deeply reflective, offering a window into the rich expe- riences, humor, and wisdom of older adulthood. For this issue of Stone Soup , we’re delighted to share a recent piece by Richard Lohman—a beautiful example of the storytelling that makes Elders Connect so special. We hope you enjoy it, and we invite you to stay connected year-round by subscribing.
To sign up, simply scan the QR code and follow the prompts, or call Julie Young and she’ll happily add you to the list. Now, let’s read Richard’s story… Impermanence by Richard Lohman
One of the primary concepts in traditional Buddhist teachings is the concept of impermanence…. that everything in our lives, absolutely everything, is subject to change. In fact, we can count on it. Give it enough time, nothing stays the same. All is impermanent. The weather changes. We have climate change. We experience the turning of the seasons. Plants undergo annual cycles. Some of them have short lifetimes. Others, like the great sequoias, live for millennia, but they do eventually die. Even towering mountains erode and fall away. And we, like all animals, live, age and die. Relationships change. Our loved ones change. Our loved ones die. Even in our social and political world we see impermanence. Elected officials come and go. Global and local structures, policies and even values change. There’s a companion Buddhist concept to that of impermanence, and that is a concept of attachment. The Buddha taught that the primary source of the emo- tional pain that we humans experience is the attachment we have to things staying the same. The pain and frustration is due to our lack of understanding and accep- tance of things being impermanent. That we hold on so tightly to whatever it is we are attached to, that when it changes we suffer. In the last year or two I have especially felt impacted by the impermanence I feel in my own life. It’s a combination of my age at 84, along with circumstances in my family and the times that I’m living in. The age-related issues seem to impinge upon me the most these days. Up until a couple of years ago, I could count on my body doing a pretty good job for me. I was steady on my feet. I could walk easily or ride my bike. Hiking a few miles to a local waterfall was no big deal. Yes, I was on a blood pressure med, a cholesterol med and one to thin my blood. But these, very small, pink and white pills did their thing inside my body and my motor just ticked along. No outward signs of malfunction. Any aches and pains from doing yardwork quickly went away. I was feeling pretty proud of myself and was clearly attached to being healthy. But then impermanence hit me big time. Two abdominal surgeries following epi- sodes of intense pain brought me down with a thud. My doctors did a good job of taking care of me, but I lost about 10 pounds in the process and during my hos- pital stay I exhibited afib (atrial fibrillation) several times. I can remember telling myself, “Oh no, even something more!”. I felt my body was starting to fall apart. Now one more med, including an allergic episode to one that they tried out. I came home weak and feeling very tender. I wondered, “Is this the beginning of some big change in my body and in my life?” Hopefully the surgeons had solved the immediate problem. Yet I have to admit to being fearful it would happen again. That was two years ago. I gained back the weight I lost and the fear of a recur- rence slowly abated, but the impermanence of my body was and is now charging ahead. Neuropathy, arthritis and plantar fasciitis in my feet. I’m now less steady on my feet and I have to be careful how and where I walk. I find myself looking
Another example. I just finished painting our bedroom. It involved being up on a ladder to paint the walls and down on my knees to paint the baseboard. I have always enjoyed painting, but now holding and moving the brush was slightly painful, and the toll on my back was much more noticeable. Once on my knees, it took an effort to stand up. But, here again, in retrospect I realized that while I was applying the paint to the walls I was enjoying the change in the color and the freshness I was creating. And, even while on my knees, I was enjoying the detail and precision of painting the thin rail of white trim, while making sure that I didn’t get the trim paint on the wall. And, when I was all done with the painting, the experience of seeing the entire room in its new color, Wake Up Buttercup, gave me a noticeable sense of satisfaction and genuine pleasure. In that moment the color and the room spoke to me in volumes, and my back never made a peep. When my wife, Linea, came in and said, “I love it!”, that was the icing on the cake! So what do I learn from all this? At least at this moment in my life there are plen- ty of things I can do and like to do that bring me joy. I don’t have to look very far to find those things, but I can also more intentionally look for them and plan for them. Even more basic than that, however, I don’t have to be doing an enjoyable activity to appreciate the beauty around me and the people and the love that are in my life. That’s called gratitude. Focusing on what I can no longer do or what is painful, just keeps me from enjoying everything else. Yes, I have frustration and experience change and loss, but there’s so much more in my life for which I am very grateful. For now I’ll stick with that!
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