And Now for the Year of Dancing

On July 12, I turned 59. You could say 58 was an eventful year. It was a lot.

My 58th year was one of the most difficult to date. Even so, what rises to the top like grease on cold gravy are the items on my gratitude list.

I'm grateful for soul-nourishing times with my family. They are my heart. My best thing. And Nora Chandler...well...now I understand why grandparents become crazy and delusional, certain that everyone is dying to see a video of their grandbaby eating a banana or 10 virtually identical pics of him or her propped up in the corner of the couch.  

We celebrate birthdays and holidays together, always mindful of the one who is missing. We love you Chandler. Thank you for serenading me on July 12, 2018, with a "happy birthday" voice message. I listen to it every year and long for a Chandler hug.

I'm grateful for my friends. They are my flying buttresses -- the anchors that lend stability and strength to my walls when it feels like they would crumble otherwise.

I'm grateful for my health. For multiple clear scans this past year.

I'm grateful that Chip is healthy again after a liver transplant in May.

I'm grateful for nature--my happy place. Last year, I found serenity gazing up at the red, towering rocks of Sedona with my Adventure Sisters. My soul was refreshed strolling or running around the RSM lake with my pain-in-the-butt dogs. Except when I had to pull various items out of Blu's butt. That was not refreshing.  The water, trees, mountains, and big sky of Washington enjoyed with my lifelong friend Carole were a huge dose of medicine for my heart and soul. In the fall of my 58th year, I journeyed to New England for leaf peeping with four dear friends, two of whom were celebrating their 60th birthdays. If we had a dollar for every "WOW" while marveling at the stunning shades of rust, red, brown, and gold covering the countryside, we would have had enough to pay for a tank of gas. Maybe even two. This collective bucket list item far surpassed our lofty expectations.

Quite often in year 58, I took myself to the beach and sat staring out at the ocean, reminded each time of God's vastness--his infinite love, mercy, goodness, and grace. And his constant presence. He will never leave me. That makes all the difference, and I am deeply grateful.

I'm grateful for learning and growth in my 58th year. The lessons were not always welcome at the time. Are they ever really?

• I learned to seek and embrace clarity. Clarity is sanity.

• I grew in my understanding and appreciation of why physical activity keeps me sane. It gets me out of my head and into my body. My body can only exist in the here and now. This means I am not ruminating over the past or speculating about the future--both my specialties.

• I found a reset for my frazzled nervous system in meditation and prayer--often silent or through yoga movement.

• I realized I can do really hard things. Again and again. But never alone.

• I excavated some buried beliefs about myself and accepted the clarity (there it is) and grace to move forward with a more helpful narrative.

• I leaned into my faith in ways I couldn't have imagined. When everything is shaken, Emmanuel--God WITH me--remains constant.

So now on to year 59.

I have resolved that 59 will be the year of dancing.

I got a bit of a head start in June, dancing to Straight 78, a jammin' SoCal band (I can say jammin' cuz I'm 59), at the Tustin Annual Chili Cookoff with my friend Kim. Then came the 4th of July concert at the Huntington Beach Pier, then a fly-by at Perqs in downtown HB to get jiggy with local band Those Guys.

The day after my birthday, two of my Adventure Sisters braved a line dancing club with me. It was indeed an adventure. Apparently, the Achy Breaky, the Cotton Eye Joe, and the Electric Slide are no longer in vogue. At least not at The Ranch in Anaheim. BOO!

We arrived early for lessons. Didn't help at all. The two dances we learned, and I can't even remember the names, were obscure and complicated. Just like the other gazillion line dances everyone else seemed to be well acquainted with all night. Even those who appeared to have been tragically born without the rhythm gene knew all the steps!

We had not a single opportunity to Tush Push or Boot Scootin' Boogie. We did our best, and for that, I give us major kudos. I, for one, don't mind looking goofy while I'm joyfully spinning to the right while everyone else is heading left, straight toward me. The problem is, these people are serious about their line dancing. We were on the receiving end of not a few annoyed glances as our boot tips ventured dangerously close to those of our fellow dancers who were kicking in the opposite direction.

Alice and I broke out in freestyle moves when a danceable pop song came on. Note: it is only legal to freestyle at The Ranch when the DJ calls it. It's literally one of the rules of the club. The DJ never called it. So we made our own call.  

In this year of dance, I want to take salsa and hip hop lessons. And I'm gonna find the best local spots where I can shake my groove thing--FREESTYLE!

Dancing makes me happy. Maybe it makes you stressed and the opposite of happy. I hope whatever your "dance" is--your happy place--that you will resolve to make more of it happen for yourself.

Whether literally or metaphorically, in this year of life--I hope you join me in the dance.