“Do your best.
Keep trying until you
can do no more.
Did you do your best?
Then that’s all you can do.”
~Sigh~
The words do more
than echo. They
are the threads that
stitch together
my daily
life.
But I’m getting better at
asking for help.
Covid did that:
Made me stress more,
doubt my capabilities.
Feel my heart race
and fear flopping,
even in what I
normally did well.
I scurried for young people
to help me navigate
interventions, tools, and
platforms as
I juggled them LIVE!
standing behind
the desk and plexiglass
and beaming them into
bedrooms and kitchens and
blank screens,
teaching virtually and in
person-concurrently-
while still hearing
those voices
about doing my best.
Didn’t we all?
I carry those scars,
mostly hidden, but proudly.
.
And now, blessed with time,
I look to older folks
for help. To answer
my questions with
their wisdom and
experience.
Where are the medals in
retirement, I wonder. For
keeping busy? For
saying “I’ll never
retire; I just
couldn’t sit around
all day?” Should
I be looking for
blue ribbons at the
state fair?
Exorbitant volunteer hours
that bring a new, shiny name tag?
Write-ups about new
business ventures
or a part-time job?
I don't care about
any of that.
But still I hear
the echoes.
How can I do my
best in retirement? At relaxing?
Chilling? Taking care
of others? And myself?
Am I doing all I can? Or
should? Is it
enough,
a day to
hammock with a new
book in hand,
an evening of gentle
smiles after
just reading, or
gardening, or spending it
with my sweetie,
and no challenges, no effort,
no learning?
My eighty-nine-year-old
mother is
still learning
to relax.
Shouldn’t I be, too?
Or will
just being
just happen?
