An old familiar story came to me the other day. It is about the child who sat in the dirt with a small shovel, bucket of water, and made small mud pies. Yet in the shadow behind him was a magnificent playground where there were many more children, all laughing and playing, running and scampering about. When the child was invited to join the others, he declined as he was unsure of what a playground really was and would rather just keep making mud pies. No amount of coaxing or persuasion changed his mind. Making mud pies was all he knew . . .
Perhaps, one of my greatest fears when I become older and more frail is that I will want to stay playing in the mud. Change is always difficult, but mainly when we fight against it. We spend so much more energy in mustering defenses, and reasons to be against it, that we totally exhaust ourselves in being reasonable about situations. That will be the danger that I could face unless I practice the ability to listen, to accept my limitations, and adapt. . .
One thing I can wisely do now is to choose how to live out my days. I can make things easier for my loved ones, in writing out my plans and in communicating them clearly so that there are no questions at the end. But I think the other factor is trusting one another; trusting that your loved ones and closest friends will always have your best in mind, and trusting them when they feel you need a little help. The reality is that should I live to 90 years and beyond, I won't be of the same strength and mind I manage now. I remember well when my Dad used to express (with his biceps flexed) that he felt as though he could leap up the stairs just like he used to, but now (with a smile and sigh) he didn't have the strength to even walk up without assistance. But Dad gracefully accepted change when he had to . . .
Perhaps, change can bring us extended time with one another. When we adjust, we make it easier for our loved ones, because the struggle of what to do ceases to exist. Perhaps, even in my very senior years, there will be another playground to explore, and I will only find that out if I stop playing in the mud . . .
Perhaps, one of my greatest fears when I become older and more frail is that I will want to stay playing in the mud. Change is always difficult, but mainly when we fight against it. We spend so much more energy in mustering defenses, and reasons to be against it, that we totally exhaust ourselves in being reasonable about situations. That will be the danger that I could face unless I practice the ability to listen, to accept my limitations, and adapt. . .
One thing I can wisely do now is to choose how to live out my days. I can make things easier for my loved ones, in writing out my plans and in communicating them clearly so that there are no questions at the end. But I think the other factor is trusting one another; trusting that your loved ones and closest friends will always have your best in mind, and trusting them when they feel you need a little help. The reality is that should I live to 90 years and beyond, I won't be of the same strength and mind I manage now. I remember well when my Dad used to express (with his biceps flexed) that he felt as though he could leap up the stairs just like he used to, but now (with a smile and sigh) he didn't have the strength to even walk up without assistance. But Dad gracefully accepted change when he had to . . .
Perhaps, change can bring us extended time with one another. When we adjust, we make it easier for our loved ones, because the struggle of what to do ceases to exist. Perhaps, even in my very senior years, there will be another playground to explore, and I will only find that out if I stop playing in the mud . . .
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