For the past few years I’ve worked a flex schedule that allows me to take every second Friday off. I hold those days sacred, “protect the flex” becomes my mantra when I look around at the work on my plate and wonder if I can afford a day away from the office. I know, having lost loved ones much too early, that life is fleeting and I want to make the most of the time I have been gifted with.

I spend my flex Fridays in solitude mostly, gardening, canning or otherwise preserving food, writing, reading, and most recently practicing what I’m learning about the art and craft of photography.

Last Friday morning I grabbed my wallet, phone, and camera bag and headed out by myself to take pictures. I had a couple of destinations in mind, but settled on a quiet park that Gerry and I had been to once on a sunny-but-cool afternoon earlier this spring. I guessed that by now it would be filled with flowers and plants that would make good subjects to take pictures of.

I wasn’t blessed with an innate sense of direction, so it was testimony to my sense of adventure that I headed out without either a map, or the address of the park I couldn’t remember the name of programmed into my navigation system, but the sun was shining, I had a general sense of where I was going, and that was enough.

It didn’t take long for me to get lost.

I drove up one road that seemed familiar and ended up at a dead end. I drove back, made a different turn, and ended up in an isolated residential area where I drew curious glances from a woman doing yard work who was likely not used to unfamiliar vehicles on the quiet street. I drove far enough to get just out of her line of sight and pulled over to the side of the rood where, thanks to the combined magic of Google and my smart phone, I found the name of the park and programmed it into the navigation app on my phone.

Unfortunately, not only am I navigationally challenged, I also struggle with programming the navigator app on my phone so, even though according to the map I was just eight minutes away from the park, it was over half an hour before I finally found it.

I found it. That’s all that matters.

I was surprised when I arrived to find cars parked everywhere. I had assumed it would be nearly empty the way it had been the first time I was there, but on this sunny May morning there was a plant sale going on. This might be fun, I thought, I might even do a bit of shopping while I’m here, so I strapped on my camera, threw my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my tripod, and headed out to explore.

I took my time, meandering on the paths leading toward where the people were congregated, taking photographs of Rhodys in bloom, feeling the peace that being in nature brings settle over me, as I made my way toward the plant sale.

“You’ve got your camera with you,” one especially-astute young woman at a booth selling lilac bushes remarked as I walked past her. Nothing escapes you does it, I was tempted to reply but instead I smiled and said what a beautiful day it was to take photographs.

Maybe it was my irritation over lilac-woman’s comment, or my disappointment at finding the park filled with people when I had expected to find solitude, but I felt impatient as I wandered past booths selling wind chimes and tables covered with plants. I couldn’t still myself enough to appreciate the venue, I was wasting my time, so I breezed through the area and headed out on the secluded pathways away from the crowd.

It was quiet outside of the fenced area where the sale was going on. I could almost forget that there were people nearby as I padded along pathways getting farther and farther away from the people, looking for interesting things to photograph, as the sun warmed my shoulders.

I sat down on the ground to get close-ups of little blue and white blossoms and suppressed a groan when I struggled to my feet. I photographed tall moss-covered pine trees, taking time to adjust the exposure compensation dial on my camera stop-by-stop, the way we had been taught at photography class a few days earlier. I looked up and took pictures of the sky framed by tall trees having a sense of my own smallness. I experimented with taking pictures of a covered bench from various angles as I made up stories in my mind about people who once sat there.

I must have spent an hour at the park, walking, observing, smelling, touching, taking photos, thinking about nothing in particular, just being there in that moment, and by the time I left I was at peace and grounded.

Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I would have felt compelled to be productive on a day off of work. I would have taken advantage of the time clean my house, do the weekly grocery shopping, run errands, and otherwise fill my time with “must do” and “should do” activities.

These days I apologetically take a day for myself whenever I can. I’ve learned that I need solitude to recharge; without it I become grumpy and ineffective. This time of year I find myself, again, with vacation days that must be used before the end of June or be lost forever, so I’ll be blessed to have extra days off in the coming weeks. I can think of few things as tragic as voluntarily forfeiting days that could be filled with whatever I want them to be filled with.

This post is part of a longer piece I wrote for my writing group in response to a writing prompt taken from The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing by Sharon Lippincott. I pose the same question to you: when was the last time you took time away from your obligations, just for yourself?

The weather has been outstanding here in the Pacific Northwest over the past week or so. The sun has been shining and the temperature has been in the mid to high 70s and even reached over 80 on a few days. I’ve been in my element and spent as much time as possible outside soaking it up. Color me happy in capri pants, barefoot, and sipping iced tea on the patio!

Last Saturday I met a couple of friends for coffee at Starbucks and in honor of the great weather I ordered a Caramel Frappuccino. As I stood waiting for my drink I realized that it was the first cold Starbucks drink I’d enjoyed for quite some time because, over the course of the winter months, I switched my “go to” drink from a Frappuccino to a plain soy latte.

For the past few years I’ve taken solace in cool things: the big fan beside my bed, the fans in my offices, sleeveless tops, and cold coffee drinks, all in an attempt to counter relentless hot flashes and the warmer temperature I felt in general.

I pondered the fact that I no longer made it a habit to drink icy drinks; I realized that that my fans had been relatively silent in recent months, and I had even felt cold on occasion during the winter months.

Good news all of this!

With all the benefits menopause brought into my life a few years ago–and there have been many–it also heralded in some lesser known and talked about symptoms that I’m still learning about. I’ve read that after menopause, without the unpredictability of hormones affecting our moods, women become more like who they were at about eleven-years-old before hormones kicked in. I like the idea of returning to my self; the concept matches my experience.

Recently I read a post at Friend for the Ride: Encouraging Words for the Menopause and Midlife Roller Coaster that talked about how the skin on the soles of our feet thins after menopause causing some women to experience discomfort. The post referenced a Q&A with Dr Patricia Yarberry Allen in which the doctor says:

Aging results in loss of fat below the bottom of the foot, even as unwanted fat is gained in most other parts of the body. This fat once provided cushioning, and we now find ourselves walking on the foot bones and skin.

Sounds uncomfortable, even painful, doesn’t it? It definitely sounds like bad news for a barefoot girl like me.

A couple of years ago I gave up wearing shoes with heels due to an undiagnosed Morton’s neuroma that caused me, once too often, to remove my shoes in the parking lot as I walked toward my office and continue in bare feet. I was okay with that; I even welcomed a reason to go out and buy a few pair of cute flats at Aerosoles.

To mess with going barefoot just seems wrong though. What could be better than the feeling of bare feet buried in warm sand or walking across a velvety green lawn? What better way of pampering oneself than to go for a pedi and then go barefoot to show off the latest color? What says “freedom” more than going barefoot?

So yes, menopause has its benefits. This, I’m sad to say, isn’t one of them.

For the past few years Gerry and I have been talking about taking up photography together as a retirement hobby. He has a background in the craft that goes back to his original 35mm camera, actual film, and developing his own photos. Me, I cut my early photography teeth on my mom’s Kodak Instamatic.

Recently, as part of our early retirement planning, we both purchased new high-end Canon DSLRs and now we’re taking a photography class together–two classes actually–one on the technical aspect of the craft (shutter speeds, apertures, ISO settings etc.) and the other on the art of photography.

The other evening as we sat in the technical class looking at examples on the big screen and learning about the best settings to use for portrait photography I found myself becoming frustrated with all the talk about 1/60 being the minimum shutter speed when using the camera without a tripod, and the difference between F8 and F11 aperture.

I’m a word person not a number person! I lamented to Gerry on the way home, feeling like I should be put in a remedial photography class as I struggled to internalize the concepts. I’m used to being one of the best students not the one who just doesn’t get it, I whined.

He just smiled, offered encouraging words, and promised to be my personal tutor on the lessons I felt like I was rapidly falling behind in. I appreciated his willingness to help, but now it’s personal and I’m determined to figure this stuff out on my own. (Stubborn? Who me?)

The art of photography class threatened to be my undoing last week as I struggled with the assignment we were given: abstract. Abstract? What in the world is an abstract photograph? What are the rules around taking a good photograph of something in the abstract? I’ve since learned that there are no rules in abstract photography–that’s why it’s called abstract–but I’m the kind of person who needs rules.

I Googled it, I tried various things, and as the date drew nearer for when we were supposed to send our photographs to the instructor I grew more anxious with every day I failed to produce a photograph I’d feel comfortable sending to the instructor.

Here’s the thing. We weren’t just sending him our photographs for a private critique. Oh no. Our photographs would be displayed on a screen in front of the entire class and we’d discuss them. No pressure there, right?

I laid awake at night trying to come up with ideas; I snapped some interesting images from within my shower;  I crawled around on my hands and knees outside; I pulled objects out of cupboards and arranged and rearranged them; I went outside barefoot on my pajamas to catch the first morning light; I took photo after photo trying to come up with something I could use.

Gerry, on the other hand, had his homework done the next day.

Finally, in desperation and just wanting the whole thing to be over, I settled on two abstract photographs to share with the class.

I survived last night’s class, it went pretty well actually. I enjoyed seeing the creative things people came up with relating to their assigned topics and both Gerry and I received good feedback on our photographs–just enough encouragement to allow me to feel a measure of anticipation about the subjects I chose in a random drawing for this week.

Tires. And honey.

And I thought I was going to have less stress in retirement.

A number of years ago I read Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and subsequently had the opportunity to take a 7 Habits Workshop. The lessons I learned from this material have stayed with me, they’ve become integrated into who I am; I believe they’ve made me a better person.

The habits, in case you haven’t heard of them are as follows. (You can read more detail about each habit on Covey’s website.)

1. Be proactive
2. Begin with the end in mind
3. Put first things first
4. Think win-win
5. Seek first to understand, then to be understood
6. Synergize
7. Sharpen the saw

This week, as I’ve struggled with a personal issue, I was reminded of the wisdom of every one of the habits. I’ve tried to focus on those things that I have control over and let go of the rest: what Covey referred to as the Circle of Control vs the Circle of Influence.

The past few weeks have been hectic: a trip to Cleveland to present at the American Adoption Congress conference, a trip to Canada to visit the grands, late nights due to photography classes Gerry and I are taking, not eating properly (due to the hectic pace and not enough time to shop or cook), all topped off with a lack of rest and sleep.

I’m realizing that I’m not able to keep the same pace as I could when I was younger; nor do I want to. One good thing about being at this midlife stage of life is that you kind of have permission to slow down when you need to; you can play the “I’m not as young as I used to be” card sometimes.

If we’re wise enough to listen to the messages our mind and bodies give us, we’re okay with saying no sometimes. We understand the value of maintaining balance in the physical, social, mental, and spiritual areas of our life. We know that what works for someone else may not work for us. We usually know what it is that we need, we’re willing to ask for and actively pursue it.

Many of us have only to look at our desks or read our email to be reminded of all that clamors for our attention. We’ve got “must do”, “should do”, “shouldn’t do”, and “want to do” items all over the place. It’s too easy to forget what’s important.

One of my favorite Covey quotes is:

You have to decide what your highest priorities are and have the courage–pleasantly, smilingly, nonapologetically, to say “no” to other things. And the way to do that is by having a bigger “yes” burning inside. The enemy of the “best” is often the “good.”

Sometimes we need to return to the seventh habit, to “sharpen the saw” as Covey says, to take time to rebuild our physical, mental, and emotional reserves so we can be ready for all that is ahead of us–the good and the not-so-good.

Sometimes we need to take time for quiet and reflection. Sometimes we need to play; to dance, laugh, twirl, and appreciate all that is right in our world. Sometimes we just need to take a nap and eat some protein.

In that quiet place inside we know what it is we need to sharpen our own saws at any given time. The challenge, sometimes, is just to do it.