50 After 50

by Maria Leonard Olsen

  And I do not need other people’s approval anymore, for the most part. Before I turned 50, eating alone in a restaurant would be quite uncomfortable. It isn’t anymore. I cannot control what other people think and am not responsible for what they think of me. Like other alcoholics, I was “an egomaniac with an inferiority complex.” Sounds like an oxymoron, but it is true on many levels. I had to take steps to remedy this feature of my character. My own judgmentalism, including toward myself, was borne out of my insecurities. We all have our own realities, and none are identical. We see what we want to see.

  While I currently have a boyfriend, I will always keep my own house and independence. When I leave his company for a few days, I find that we appreciate each other even more. We each have disparate interests, but enough shared interests, to suit our desire to spend time together as well as apart. I believe that we will treat each other better if we keep our own identities and can walk away at any time. Each day we can actively choose to love each other and spend time with each other.

  The greatest lesson I learned in this chapter of my life is that no one is responsible for my happiness but myself. I was continuously looking for outside people or things or situations to make me happy. But no one is perfect and, because we are all human, no relationship is perfect. As I moved from one relationship to another, I realized that I was trading one set of problems for another. The key is appreciating what is around you already, finding inner peace, and enjoying the precious present.

  There will be times when other people will disappoint us—either intentionally or because of indifference or incompetence. If we have been counting on them, their nonperformance can cause us real anger and frustration.

  Our growth, however, should teach us that such failures are part of life. While never losing trust in others, we must accept them as fallible people. Their mistakes and lapses come from the human shortcomings all of us have.

  Our best course is to live without expecting too much from others. They are not here to please or satisfy us. It’s possible, too, that we’ve been unrealistic in some of our expectations and have set ourselves up for disappointments.

  Our personal responsibility is to do our best even when others fall short of our expectations. At the same time, we can grow by becoming more reliable and dependable ourselves.

  We cannot use another’s failure as an excuse for negligence on our part.

  —from Walk in Dry Places, by Mel B.1

  I have traded the high-brow flavor of Nantucket for the more bucolic pace of rural Vermont when I have the chance to get away for a while. It is quiet and no one I have met there puts on any sort of airs. When I am in the Green Mountain State, specifically the Northeast Kingdom, I feel truly relaxed. I take long walks, decompress, take stock, and relish my inner peace. Solitude no longer feels lonely.

  43. Seaside Sanctuary

  A woman must have money and a room of her own.

  —Virginia Woolf2

  My ex-husband kept the house we shared for more than 20 years. I didn’t fight him for it because I felt so guilty for the role I played in the demise of our marriage. He paid me for half of its appraised value. I wanted to live on the edge of a body of water. I quickly discovered that “on the water” real estate listings commanded double or triple the price of “water view” abodes.

  I lucked into finding a little cottage in a part of Maryland near the Chesapeake Bay that I did not know existed. I looked for months for a place that was on the water, but realized that any “waterfront” listing was out of my price range. “Water view” properties were closer to my budget.

  As a person with liberal views, I did not want to live in a neighborhood that was ultra-conservative. As a person of color, I sought to avoid any areas that were known to have active Ku Klux Klan.3 A few of the listings I checked out were eliminated from consideration when I saw confederate flags displayed in the neighborhood.

  My new home is an hour from D.C., my workplace, and my children’s childhood home, at which they mostly want to stay during school breaks, given the proximity of their friends. Some close friends let me stay at their summer house in this neighborhood while I was house-hunting. An older couple on the street had received no offers on their cottage that had been on the market for months, and I was able to purchase their house for less than half the funds I received for half of my former marital home.

  I have never before owned any house by myself. It felt like a huge milestone. I felt anchored.

  I furnished my house mostly with yard sale and Goodwill store finds. eBay became my Saks Fifth Avenue. I made a wreath for my door out of driftwood I found on the beach. I saw that a neighbor had an old wooden oar as a stair banister and asked her where she got it. “Just wait for one to wash up on the beach,” she said. And one did, shortly thereafter.

  My house came out pretty well, in a “shabby chic” sort of way. I enjoyed the challenge of finding things, repurposing things, and making things. I slowly covered my parking area with shells I found on the beach, and framed interesting feathers and other beach finds. Almost everything can look artistic when in a frame that suits it. Every single thing in the house was something I liked—a reflection of me alone.

  I even have an altar of spiritual talismans in my home. At my first rehab, the spiritual director shared with me that she had an altar at her home and if any person she dated saw it and negatively commented on it, they would not receive any more of her time. She sought the company only of people who accepted her for who she was. I longed for that outlook and confidence, and moved my attitude in that direction. I smudged my home with sage—something I learned about at rehab—to rid of any negative energy, including that which I brought in myself.

  My little house is my oasis of calm. My seaside sanctuary. I left most windows uncurtained, so it is filled with light. I am able to hear and see the Chesapeake Bay and its indigenous wildlife.

  After I left, my ex-husband decided to redecorate the home we had shared. He graciously gave me some of the furniture he no longer wanted. I stopped by to pick up what he had left on the back porch for me one day when he was at work. I peeked into the window and saw two men painting over the vibrant apple-green walls of our family room. “He’s erasing me,” I lamented, as tears streamed down my face. The painters opened the door. The older of the two said his daughter had recently divorced and he gave me a hug. He said, in a fatherly way, “Leave the furniture. It will only bring back sad memories.” Practical Maria sprung into my psyche. “No, I want the furniture.”

  I’m glad I took it. It was all stuff I had chosen in the first place, and time is healing my sadness at the loss of my marriage.

  It felt cleansing to have fewer things and to consciously live with less. I try to employ the practice of getting rid of two things for every one thing I bring into my house. It feels good to get rid of things I do not want, to make more room for what I do want, which in many instances is simplicity. Less clutter also means less to clean.

  I no longer care so much about wearing what is in style and focus instead on what looks good on me and what is comfortable. Buying things second-hand makes me feel that I am doing my small part in helping improve our environment by not making an even bigger carbon footprint with my purchases of new items. Plus, at this juncture in my life, I would rather spend my money on experiences instead of things.

  Maybe you already like where you live, or have no choice but to stay where you are for the time being. You can likely reclaim a corner of your dwelling just for you and things that inspire you. It can be your meditation space, your recharging space, your place to practice a pause before reacting or responding to whatever life has thrown at you. Charge your space with good energy. Consider blessing it with holy water or smudging it with burning sage. It does not have to be a big space or hard to do. I have a friend who made a closet into her own space for working or meditating. The space just needs to be dedicated to yo
u, because you are worth it.

  I used to equate pleasure with happiness. Now, for me, happiness is more lasting. It is contentment with life as it is. It is letting go of the results. It is finding meaning in my life. It is being grateful. A wise mentor who passed from cancer long ago told me that we must experience the valleys in order to appreciate the peaks. I finally know what she means.

  44. Life by the Water

  I’m always happy when I’m surrounded by water. . . .

  The ocean makes me feel really small and it makes me put my whole life into perspective . . . it humbles you and makes you feel almost like you’ve been baptized.

  I feel born again when I get out of the ocean.

  —Beyoncé Knowles

  I am afraid of sharks. The 1975 movie Jaws kept me out of the ocean for years. According to National Geographic, we have a one in 63 chance of dying from the flu and a one in 3,700,000 chance of being killed by a shark.4 I did not claim that my fear was rational.

  Now that I live near the water, I have overcome some of that fear. I took up paddle-boarding and kayaking. Watching the sun set from a kayak is an unparalleled experience for me. The sun glitters off the water. You sit so low that you can feel the water—almost feel a part of it—yet be cocooned in safety at the same time.

  I live close to the Chesapeake Bay. I can see it from the second floor of my house. Life is slower there than in the D.C. metropolitan area. The Chesapeake Bay is the largest estuary in North America. I am surrounded by vast natural beauty and people who care deeply about the environment.

  As a city slicker, I still come across animals around my new home that I cannot identify, like these small beaverlike creatures that scurry across the winding roads. And the horseshoe crabs still startle me with their Darth Vader-esque appearance. If they wash up on the beach, however, I am now able to physically direct them back into the water without trepidation.

  Living near water relaxes me. There is a bridge I cross when I near my neighborhood. When I see it, I feel stress melting away. Water is picturesque and serenity-inducing. We can float on it and be caressed by it. Its rhythms can lull us; its size and power can bring perspective and humility. We cannot live without water. It is elemental.

  According to NASA:

  From ancient times, explorers have “followed the water.” Water’s unique chemical and physical properties are essential to human survival. Without water, basic physical processes would be impossible. Cells within the human body would die. None of the essential physical functions, such as breathing, digestion, or muscle movement could take place without water.

  About 70 percent of the human body is made up of water and, coincidentally, more than 70 percent of Earth is covered in water. Water creates an environment that sustains and nurtures plants, animals and humans, making Earth a perfect match for life in general.5

  Thank God for water.

  It is also fun to play in water. It can bring out the child in us. My dog loves to swim and to chase the balls I throw to him on the beach and from the water’s edge. It is no wonder that so many people flock to be near water during their vacation time.

  I never want to take it for granted that I live near water. I am blessed to do so. I often sit on my second-floor porch with my morning coffee admiring the glittering bay. Back in the suburbs where I used to live, several friends of mine put ponds with small waterfalls in their backyards, to wonderful, relaxation-inducing effect. We are all lucky to be able to enjoy and employ the healing power of water.

  My mother grew up in a nation composed of more than a thousand islands—the Philippines—and still does not know how to swim. Water, while soothing, can be dangerous, of course. I have read news reports of toddlers drowning in less than two inches of water.

  I would like to learn how to boat safely, at some point. I currently know how to sail out away from the land, harnessing the power of the wind, but would have difficulty tacking back. But that’s okay for now. Maybe that can be on my list of 60 after 60.

  When my children were little, I had a sound machine that would lull them to sleep with the sound of ocean waves. How about a meditation employing that soothing sound? A quick YouTube search of “meditation sound of the ocean” brought up hundreds of videos/soundtracks of varying lengths. I have used one of these to drown out noise when concentrating on difficult tasks at work where the walls are thin.

  If you have never tried snorkeling or, better yet, scuba diving, I encourage you to do so. Scuba diving is like visiting another world. You need not be certified to do a “resort dive” or a “discovery dive,” which is a dive of less than 30 feet or so, with a short instruction session preceding. I was able to witness my children’s first experience breathing under water, which was a gift. Was their response to the magnificence we saw under water as effusive as I had wanted? No. But that is okay. I have let go of expectations like that and fantasies of how things should be. I loved the experience with my children, and know they enjoyed it. I delighted in the variety of corals, giant clams, and colored fish we got to see. At one point, I was engulfed by a school of fish that formed a yellow curtain around me. It was magical.

  Do you have opportunities to experience the healing, relaxing power of water? If land-locked, perhaps you can spend time floating in a pool, lake, or pond? Or even listening to the soothing sound during a meditation break?

  45. Keep It Simple

  Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.

  —Confucius

  There was a time when buying a pair of Louboutin heels could bring me such pleasure. I mistook the fleeting excitement I felt when opening a Tiffany box to be happiness. American culture has many of us fooled into believing that consumption yields happiness. Money, however, does not buy joy. After our basic needs are met, there is a certain point at which having more money does not increase our ability to be happy. As one psychologist noted: “If we become less materialistic, our well-being will improve. If our well-being improves, we tend to be less materialistic.”6 Post-50, I shed the phenomenon of wanting more that had governed an earlier part of my life.

  There is a growing minimalist movement in America. “Minimalism is a tool to rid yourself of life’s excess in favor of focusing on what’s important—so you can find happiness, fulfillment, and freedom,” say documentarians and minimalist advocates Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus.7

  I have a friend, Heather Markowitz, who is joining the Tiny House Movement—which is a brand of minimalism—and is building her very small house from the ground up.

  Simply put, [the tiny house movement] is a social movement where people are choosing to downsize the space they live in. The typical American home is around 2,600 square feet, whereas the typical small or tiny house is between 100 and 400 square feet. Tiny houses come in all shapes, sizes, and forms, but they enable simpler living in a smaller, more efficient space.8

  Heather used GoFundMe to help raise funds and held building and painting parties to move the project along. She is environmentally and socially conscious and teaches me via her example.

  I applaud people who live in tiny houses. While I am not quite ready to join this movement (for one, I would like to have my adult children stay with me when they visit), I consciously have simplified my life and live in a smaller house now. I have shed many unnecessary possessions on eBay, Craigslist, and consignment stores, and given many items to charities. I endeavor to give away two things for every one thing I bring into my home.

  I am a fairly sentimental person, so sometimes it is hard for me to let go of items that hold special memories for me. I know objectively, however, that I do not need as much as I thought I needed before hitting age 50, and I am doing my children a favor by sorting through my possessions and getting rid of junk so they do not have to do so for me when I am gone.

  I also am a thrifty person, so that when I cull my closet of clothing, I he
ar that voice saying, “You will lose the weight to fit into that again” and “That will come back into style.” Seldom have those things come true in my life. But this particular dialogue continues in my head.

  In the United States, we are bombarded with advertising. It is the job of an entire multimillion-dollar industry to get our attention in a multitude of ways. Some advertisers use subliminal messages to make us want to buy their products. Newspapers and magazines would go out of business if they had no advertising revenue. Ads permeate almost every aspect of American life. More people I know watch the Super Bowl commercials than the Super Bowl itself.

  When I encounter an ad that makes me want to purchase something online, I put the item in my online basket and leave it there for at least a day before buying it. More often than not, after this self-imposed waiting period, I choose not to buy it after all.

  Sometimes I challenge myself not to buy anything for two days, or even a week at a time. I have a friend who gave up buying anything during Lent except essentials. This practice makes me use what I have in more creative ways. I have made some surprisingly delicious pantry and leftover meals. I have put together new outfit combinations that I really liked. In this way, I have become more aware of what I consume and the distinction between want and need.

  I keep dedicated bins and bags in my house that I gradually fill with things that no longer fit or that I want to give away or consign. Most public libraries take book donations. There are bins galore in most metropolitan neighborhoods, placed by charities who will take your unwanted textiles and put them to good use. The clothing giant H&M has a campaign to give shoppers in their stores a discount when they turn in used clothing. There are plenty of good places to put your unused clothing. Goodwill, the Salvation Army, and other charities will take household goods. I recently sent to UNICEF’s “Change for Good” program leftover foreign coins I had from various trips. Donating what you do not need will help you, the environment, and someone who could use the items.