I was having lunch with a wise friend recently and we were discussing my lack of publishing.  I know you are tired of hearing that I have “a lot going on,” but it’s been more true than I would care to acknowledge. The reality is that I haven’t stopped writing. I just haven’t been publishing.  Mostly, I’ve been writing in my journal.  Said wise friend encouraged me to keep drafting essays, even if I had no intention of publishing them.  Writing is therapeutic for me.  This one made it out of purgatory.

I’ve been thinking about the subject of compassion a lot these days.  Due to a combination of isolation from the pandemic, social media driving further isolation, and our frankly f’ed up political environment, I feel like “compassion” has become an old fashioned concept.  And it’s bothered me.  A lot.

I’ve noodled on why people’s “compassion” muscles have atrophied.  Or maybe never developed.  I have several theories, none of which are backed up by any scholarly research since I’m a bit too lazy to Google (or ChatGPT) the topic and read up.  I just have thoughts.  The biggest reason I think we’ve lost a societal sense of compassion is that we’ve stopped seeing people as human beings.  Some of this has been driven by our political and media environment.  The Powers That Be have become pretty good at convincing us to see anyone who looks or thinks differently from us as some inhuman “other” that must be hated and destroyed.  I try not to get too political in these essays, so let me focus on one aspect of this tendency.  To use an example, if someone who is like us happens to commit a heinous crime, our reaction is to think, “That is a bad person who needs to get help and/or get locked up.”  We do not say “all (fill in the blank) people need to be locked up or thrown out” because we know that not all people like us are bad.  That one particular person is bad.  However, there is a tendency to paint entire classes of people as “bad” if that class is different from us and someone conveniently describes them solely by that difference.  I don’t believe I need to give examples.  You are all smart people.  You know what I mean.  For this to be effective, though, you need to dehumanize the “other.” 

Compassion arises when you see someone as fully human.  And when you can empathize with them.  “Care for the stranger,” our Judeo-Christian tradition teaches, “because you were once a stranger in Egypt.”  I, for example, have made it a point throughout most of my adult life to be as “out” as I can be, since the gay community was totally dehumanized and persecuted in my youth.  Hearts and minds changed as more people “came out” and everyone could start to point to someone they liked and cared about who was gay.

Isolation, from both the pandemic and the changes in our social structure led by social media, unfortunately have built on this dehumanization theme.  Even those who don’t isolate but stay within a very homogeneous bubble risk this.  I’ll say it again:  dehumanization of people different from you leads to a lack of compassion and I have to believe that leads to unhappy souls.  We all need connection.  As I’ve written, that’s a good part of what led Trish and I to very purposefully build a strong sense of community connection.  And it’s that community and the connections we built from it that led to the story that sparked this essay.  Let’s see how much of this story makes it through the editing process since Trish is both the subject of this tale and my editor.

I have said more than once that I truly “married up.”  There are a number of reasons I think this, but one of the main ones is what a strongly compassionate person Trish is.  She is very compassionate by nature but also because she is so comfortable in her own skin.  I admit to putting up a fearful wall around people I don’t know well.  What I’m afraid of is probably a discussion for another time, but it keeps me from making the deep connections that Trish makes so easily.  I can understand how fear—fear of being hurt, of being taken advantage of, of being asked to do more than one is willing to do—can keep people from acting compassionately toward others.  But that doesn’t happen with Trish.

Trish has developed tight connections to a number of members of our new communities, but few more so than one couple at our synagogue.  Over the last several weeks, they have had to navigate the decline and, as of the morning of the day I am drafting this essay, the passing of one of the pair.  Without family nearby and with a bit of a language barrier, there was a lot for the pair to deal with—particularly navigating our healthcare system and managing through hospice, but also with the emotional toll of this journey.  We all knew they needed help.  We all knew they needed support.  Many were willing to do something.  Trish is the one who was willing to do anything.  She was literally there day and night for a couple of weeks.  It was where she wanted and needed to be.  She recoiled at people telling her she was an angel or giving her other accolades.  It truly made her uncomfortable.  She was just doing what her heart told her to do and she did it with joy.  Did it tax her and exhaust her?  Yes.  But her strong sense of compassion would have it no other way.  I don’t think I could have done what she did.  I would have been too afraid.  Fred Rogers, I believe, said something like, “In difficult times, look for the helpers.” It’s a reminder that good exists, which we all need to see in tough times like these.  Compassion isn’t dead.  I married it.

We can all resolve to face our fears head on and look for ways to be more compassionate.  Start by questioning yourself when you find yourself dehumanizing “others.”  Then allow yourself to help, even a little bit, when someone needs it.  It can be as little as looking someone in the eye and smiling, as big as holding someone’s hand when they pass away, or a million other little actions and thoughts that fall somewhere in between.  Be the helper that everyone looks for in these tough times.  See the humanity in all those around you.  Be compassionate.

I’m exhausted. In a good way. It’s early on a Friday morning and this is the first “normal” morning I’ve had in a while. I kicked the cats out of the bedroom at 4:30 AM when Bridget started gnawing on my hand and Baxter started gnawing on my hair. (They do this to me instead of Trish because they know I get up first.) I dozed until about 5:45. Fed them. Fed myself. Caught up in the morning’s newsletters. Drank coffee. Hopefully, there will be some form of exercise later. That used to be a morning routine that stretched uninterrupted for weeks. Now that Trish and I have put an emphasis on building more community, these quiet days have become more rare and I’m tired. Clearly, I have to pace myself. I’m not as young as I used to be.

As I’ve written about before, the pandemic years were not exactly difficult for Trish and me. We are both homebodies. We enjoy each other’s company as well as have the ability to move to separate parts of the house and enjoy our individual time. We were kind of happy holing up at home. Until we weren’t. As happens when you have a little too much time to think and talk, we made some decisions about how we wanted to live our lives going forward. We talked about what was important in being able to age with continued good health, both physically and mentally. We knew we wanted to travel more, which is the one thing we really missed during the pandemic (not to mention the four different Viking cruises we serially cancelled over the past five years for a range of reasons; that deserves it’s own essay). We have a great group of friends but we’re all a little dispersed geographically. We felt we needed more local community.

Interspersed with regular trips to Atlanta to visit my Mom and sister (and help care for my Mom), Trish and I started involving ourselves in other local things outside of the Y. I wrote last time about affiliating with a local synagogue. Related to that is Trish’s journey toward conversion to Judaism. We also joined a local golf club, although we don’t play golf (yet). You will read much more about The Club. It still cracks me up to read those words: “we joined a golf club.” Anyway, I think we’ve both hit a wall and need to dial it back a bit. Here’s a smidge of what the past month was like:

We finally completed a Viking cruise, around Iceland, at the end of June. It was a fabulous trip, complete with travel nightmares that make great stories, beautiful vistas, fun and interesting people, and many Cosmos. Unlike our trip to Alaska last year, we did not come home with COVID, but being People of a Certain Age we needed at least a week to recover from the exhaustion of the trip. We didn’t get that. First, the requisite appointments: haircuts; dermatologist; glaucoma specialist. There were lunches with friends, new and old. There was the Lisa Scottoline book tour for her new book (she actually remembered us!). There were Shabbat Services and our tendency to close down the Kiddush afterwards. A trip to the DC area to spend time with my cousin for a weekend. And then I headed to Atlanta for five days to see my Mom and sister.

During this time, I also wrote the essays on old friends and reconnecting which led to, surprise, outreach to and from old friends and reconnecting! There was dinner and a movie; a few more lunches with friends; and another medical appointment for good measure. (Trish was smart enough to catch a summer cold in the midst of all this and get a few days rest.) I needed another haircut by then, followed by a trip up the Valley for our financial advisor’s client event (more reconnections and a late night). A late dinner the next night was followed by a lunch yesterday.

A consequence of all this fun is throwing me off any semblance of schedule. And I do love a routine! A night out leads, often, to a restless sleep which leads to a decision to be kind to myself and not go to the Y. Not enough exercise tends to mean more bad sleep and more “being kind to myself,” which has resulted in around 10 hard won pounds returning to my now squishy belly, which leads to drama-inducing monthly weigh-ins at Weight Watchers. This moderate weight gain is exacerbated, of course, by all the eating out and attendant Cosmos. It used to be that whenever we went out, it was a “treat” day because we went out so infrequently. Now I have multiple “treat” days a week which is not good for my energy level nor my waistline. They are “happy pounds,” I know, which are better than “depressed pounds,” but I don’t like it.

“Oh, poor you!” I hear you thinking, as the world’s tiniest violin plays a song. Don’t get me wrong! I am thrilled about having a busier, more varied schedule. I just want to make sure I can really enjoy it. You see, ten or fifteen years ago, that schedule would not have been a problem. I was used to being on the go all the time. But I had a tendency to just go from one thing to the next: work to gym to dinner out to business trip to Atlanta trip. I’m truly not sure how much I enjoyed any of it because, 10-15 years ago, I was living more to get to something in the future. The old “I’ll be happy when…” thinking. If I just kept moving, if I just kept busy, I would eventually land on that thing that would make me happy. I guess I did, because I absolutely love my life now! I want to savor it; enjoy every part. Be present for every minute of every Shabbat Service and the socializing afterwards; enjoy every minute of every lunch and dinner out since they are always with people I have chosen to be with and that are important to me; treasure every trip to Atlanta to see my Mom and sister.

I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t want to go back to the very quiet schedule we had during the pandemic and shortly thereafter. And that’s a good thing, because the schedule going forward is as packed as the last month. I love the richness we’ve brought into our lives. We just need to give ourselves a little more grace to enjoy this busy retirement schedule. We need to pace ourselves better.

It seems that my last essay on reconnecting with people from the past hit a nerve. It has been one of my most widely read essays in quite a while. It also led to a lot of outreach across platforms and some heartfelt discussion. Those discussions led directly to this topic, which is why you are getting another essay so soon. I promise not to pollute your Inbox too frequently! I’m usually not this motivated.

I toyed with several titles for this essay. It could have been “You Never Know What Impact You’ll Make” or “Think Before You Act,” but those titles didn’t capture what I was after. I wanted to discuss how little interactions can have a big impact and most of the time, you just don’t realize it. In fact, you may NEVER realize it unless the other person tells you. It’s a reminder to me to treat everyone with respect because you just never know. Well, and also because treating people with respect is the right thing to do. I pulled the title of this essay from a T-shirt I keep seeing on Facebook: “When you can be anything, be kind.”

To illustrate what I mean, I’m going to share a story from the 1990’s. I had gone home to Atlanta for a visit after a particularly brutal romantic break up. Mom and I decided to go out for a mother/daughter day, which was kind of rare for us. We saw a movie. Did a little shopping. Then we went out for lunch, during which we slowly and painfully deconstructed the relationship. After a while, when we were both talked out, Mom sighed and said, “Honey, maybe next time you’ll find a nice Jewish girl.” I had only come out to my family maybe six years before and there was still a lot of “learning to accept” going on. That was a different time, when people were routinely disowned by family for coming out and when people like me had a very hard time accepting who they were. (People certainly still struggle today and, unfortunately, get disowned but it’s much rarer.) With that comment, I knew that my Mom totally accepted me and loved me for exactly who I was/am. She didn’t say, “Maybe this gay thing is a phase.” As far as she was concerned, that particular discussion was over. She was focused on what might give a future relationship a better chance at success and, being a good Jewish Mom, felt that finding someone who shared my religious and cultural background would be a better bet. That one little statement meant more to me than she could ever know. And, yet, when I related that story to Mom a few years ago, she had no recollection of it. It was not necessarily memorable or impactful for her; it was life changing for me. And that is our thesis today: you just never know when you are going to have a big impact on someone.

Trish has a similar story. A few years ago, she reconnected with a high school friend. As they were talking, this friend told her how much she appreciated Trish standing up for her when someone lobbed an antisemitic remark her way. In fact, it was one of the first things she brought up when they started talking because it was so meaningful to her. “I will never forget how you stood up for me,” she said. Trish had no recollection of the event, but she was very glad she did it!

I’m much more conscious, now, of taking opportunities to tell people how much I appreciate something they said to me or did for me. Sometimes the “thing” is small; other times it’s pretty big. My long time readers will know that when I came back to the US after a 3 year expat assignment in Mexico, I came back into a very big job. I struggled in that role for a range of reasons but 9/11 and the subsequent recession’s impact on business conditions didn’t help. I spent a number of years resentful that I didn’t get more coaching or didn’t get some other opportunity that I’d wanted, but time gave me some valuable perspective. Sure, I needed more from my boss but, more than anything else, he took a chance on me; he gave me an opportunity that most others wouldn’t have given me. He believed in me. Before he left the area after retirement, I shared a beer with him and I thanked him for that because it set me on what ultimately was a good path. I learned to say Thank You without having to qualify it.

It’s not just people you know, either. Every day we cross paths with innumerable strangers. Trish and I both try to catch people’s eyes, make a little connection, say something nice. You never know when that little interaction can make all the difference in someone’s day. Engage in little discussions in the cat food aisle, sharing stories about how your cats never eat the same food twice. Make her laugh by saying, “Damn cats.” (That happened this morning.) Learn the name of the person who works the self-checkout most days you are there. Address her by name; engage in a little chitchat. It’s ok to compliment your server when you think he has a nice smile or tell someone you really like their sweater (just don’t be creepy). Everyone wants to be truly seen.

All of this is in keeping with my efforts to see every one as a human being and not dismiss whole groups of people with sweeping generalizations. At some point, I’ll get into my frustration with the demonization of DEI efforts as well as some of the overcompensations that led to the backlash. Sometimes we make things too difficult. Just treat everyone with respect. Take time to get to know who they are as an individual human. Don’t just assume a mindset or intent. And more than anything else, when you can be anything, be kind. And if you can, let someone know that their kindness to you mattered.

I’m still on this theme of “relationships” that has run through the last several essays. And I’m still working my way toward discussing “community” which I continue to tease. But before I can get there, I must tackle the topic of “reconnections” since it has popped up a lot for us lately.

There is something about this stage in life: you’re retired; kids, if you have them, are generally out of the house and on their own; you have time to think and reminisce about people who were important parts of your life at some point in the past yet aren’t now. Often, there is a desire to reconnect, even if only to satisfy the curiosity of “what ever happened to them?” Trish and I both have been instigators and recipients of these reconnects lately. The question of what to do with these reconnections is an interesting one.

A few years ago, I took over responsibility for gathering updates on college classmates for the semi-annual Class Notes section of our college magazine. Invariably, after I’ve sent out my email blast for input, someone will reach out to me just to say Hi. Sometimes, there has been a brief email exchange. A couple of times, there has been a phone call. These have all been pleasant interactions yet none have led to a true rekindling of a college friendship 40+ years in the past.

The reason most likely comes down to the old adage that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or life. All of us can probably recall relationships of some sort that seemed to fizzle after their “purpose” was fulfilled. Sometimes it is someone coming into your life to get you out of a bad relationship. Sometimes it’s to facilitate moving into some new stage of your life. Regardless, there is a close connection for some period of time that then just…fades away. It’s only in retrospect that you figure out the “reason”.

Other times, the relationship is one of convenience or proximity. I don’t mean that to sound like the relationship was inauthentic. Most of these college friendships fall into this category (excepting my core group that is still close). We were thrown together to navigate a fairly intense situation and developed friendships that were deep and meaningful at the time. And then after graduation, we went our separate ways and, for the most part, lived our separate lives. “Work friends” can be the same way. You spend most of your quality awake hours together for years. It’s natural to share a lot of your lives with each other. But for the most part, when proximity disappears, so does the closeness. That does not invalidate the meaning of the relationship. It just means that the “season” has passed.

When I first started to get outreach for these reconnections, I stressed about them. Of course. “Where is this going to go?” I would think. “What would it mean to rekindle this relationship and how does this person fit into my life now?” When I went to my Overthinkers Anonymous weekly meeting to discuss this dilemma, my wise group facilitator told me to just relax. “They probably just want to say Hi and find out what you’ve been up to, Sherri. It doesn’t mean they want to be your bestie.” And they were right. Around 99% of these reconnections have been pleasing one-offs and I’ve moved on. (I really do wish Overthinkers Anonymous existed. Maybe I should start a local chapter.)

There is a desire, sometimes, to get some sort of closure with a reconnection. Maybe someone was a real dick to you in the past and you want to, first, find out why and, second, get them to apologize. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT give in to this desire for closure. It just isn’t going to happen. Either the person didn’t know they were being a dick to you and will scratch their head wondering why you are bringing this up, or they DO know they were a dick to you and will be happy to know they’ve been living rent free in your head all these years. Let it go.

However, DO give in to the desire to tell someone how much you appreciated them. Both Trish and I have had experiences of people telling us that something we did ages ago really meant a lot to them. We never knew we had had that impact. That knowledge is both gratifying as well as reminder to be nice: you never know when something little you say or do is going to have an outsized impact on someone else. (This is another topic for another time.)

Very occasionally, a reconnection will lead to a true rekindling of a relationship. Beware, because those anecdotes are the exceptions that prove the rule. In general, people are in your past for a reason (particularly past romantic partners). Most of them should stay there, even if you do have a brief reconnection to satisfy curiosity. But leave yourself open to more. There is nothing wrong with being one of those exceptions. Just don’t force it. If all you end up doing is talking about the past, enjoy the moment and let the person go. Any rekindling of a friendship or relationship should be built on the foundation of your past time together, but needs to grow based on your lives today. You have both grown and changed. If that change has been in the same direction, then maybe you have something to build upon. Otherwise, reminisce with fondness and move on.

One final thought. I am super bad about initiating a reconnection. If I reach out to you, know that I am doing so in spite of my fear of rejection. And that means you really mean/meant something to me. It doesn’t mean I am looking to reform any past closeness. It just means I care and have thought about you recently.

So, enjoy these later-in-life reconnections. They can bring a lot of happiness into your life. Just don’t overthink it. You can discuss it at your next OA meeting.

I mentioned a couple of essays ago that there was a lot going on in my life over the last year that led to me ignoring this blog. It’s not that I didn’t want to write. I kept writing in my journal. And I kept writing in my head. I even started files for at least half a dozen essays that I’ll finish up in time. I just stopped prioritizing sitting at the computer and typing. Part of what kept me away was deciding to intentionally create more community in our lives. I’ve got a LOT to say about that, but I need to discuss something else first—the importance of keeping valued people in your life even as your circle of friends expands.

In a previous essay I shared my thoughts on relationships. Picture a series of concentric circles with YOU in the center. That innermost circle contains the closest people in your life, often those that have been in your life a long time. This would be your spouse, hopefully some family members, and then a couple of friends. You truly do not have capacity for more than a few people in this innermost circle. The next ring contains people who you talk with regularly or at least have known a while. As you move to rings further out, the relationships become a bit less close, a bit more transactional. The outmost ring contains the person who checks you out at the grocery store and the guy who cut you off on the drive home—short interactions with people you will probably never cross paths with again. It’s important to recognize that people move between rings over time. Some of the people I’ve met over the past year have been steadily moving inward. Others in my life have moved outward. It’s a dynamic process. As they say, people come into your life for a reason, a season, or for life. Today, I want to discuss those lifers.

The first has to be my best friend, Beth. My long time readers are familiar with our antics. Beth and I met in grad school. She joined the research group a year after me (and will forever remind me that she’s younger). We became friends immediately; it took time to become BEST friends. We’ve known each other for (checks notes) 40 years. When a group of us went to Vegas to celebrate Beth’s 50^th birthday, I toasted her by saying she has been the most consistent person in my life. Even in those years (decades, actually) when I chose to be distant from my family, Beth was there. We have shared every experience, either directly or from near daily discussions. She is one of the few people who can call me out of the blue and it does not stress me to pick up the call. We’ve been there through all the bad relationships as well as the good ones that led to our marriages. We have our own language, born from the experiences we’ve shared. We crack ourselves up with things no one else would ever find funny. The picture that accompanies this essay is from Beth’s retirement party. And, yes, she is wearing a tiara. Of course.

It’s not that there have never been bumps in the road. I struggled with falling way down the priority list when her son was little (which also corresponded with a time period when I was alone and struggling with THAT). She struggled with a reordering of my life when I met Trish. We’ve fought; we’ve cried. But we’ve always worked it out because walking away from each other just isn’t an option. I simple cannot imagine my life without her in it.

As I struggled through the last year with various life events, our time together was limited. I just didn’t have the energy, even for her. Trish would point out that I often didn’t have the energy for my spouse! We didn’t talk as regularly, although I still talked with her more than anyone else. I turn inward when I’m having a rough time. Beth knows that but it doesn’t mean she likes it! As things in my life have evened out, we’re finding more time together again. It’s not as though we do extraordinary things. We have lunch and run errands and talk about whatever. Most of our discussions involve review of bodily functions (our own and/or our pets’). As much as I enjoy the new people in my life, there’s nothing I need to explain to Beth. I can just be me, warts and all, and know she accepts me without question. This woman even made sure there were only mylar balloons at her son’s Bar Mitzvah party because she knows I have a phobia with latex balloons. Only a dear friend would do that and there is nothing more valuable.

Speaking of 40+ years and people who accept you without question, I am also lucky to have a group of college friends that I’ve gotten closer with again in the last decade. I reconnected with them at our 35^th college reunion and, thanks to the pandemic, I feel closer with them than I did in college. I say “thanks to the pandemic” because we had a group trip at the end of February 2020 and started biweekly Zoom calls after that, which continue to this day. As I was heading down to Atlanta for Mother’s Day last month, one of that group was heading up to Scranton to see her Mom. We ended up in the Philly airport at the same time and had around 45 minutes together. I had missed our group trip this past year because my Mom was ill, so it was very nice to see Gwen in person. Again, it was so meaningful to spend time with someone who knows me fully and who, like Beth, has enough dirt on me to keep me from running for public office. (Not that I really harbor designs on that anyway.)

I realize how lucky I am to have people like that in my life who accept me for who I am—all that I am. Look, I am not the most emotionally secure person in the world. I am constantly afraid of being blindsided; of people having opposite opinions of me from that which I perceive; of people being inauthentic; of me making a fool of myself. But with a precious few people, I don’t fear that. I know that if they have a problem with me or something I’ve said or done that they will TELL ME and not just walk away. We’ll be able to work things out and be stronger for it. No matter how many new people come into my life, I will never take that for granted. As Gwen said, “I can’t think of a better way to spend 45 minutes than with someone I’ve known for 45 years.” Me, neither, Gwen. Me, neither.

Trish has a special place in her heart for bluebirds. She doesn’t know why. For whatever reason, that fondness has transferred to me. I also don’t know why. She has built our backyard into a bird oasis amidst our crowded development. There are many birdhouses and feeders and we love watching the birds particularly this time of year. We sit in our sunroom, crack the windows, and listen to the bird calls as they fly in and out of feeders and houses. Bluebirds don’t usually hang out in crowded developments. They normally nest on the edges of fields where they can hunt their favorite treat—worms. But a couple of years ago, we saw a male bluebird perched on our backyard fence, checking the place out. Trish immediately ran out and bought meal worms to add to the buffet in the backyard.

Trish diligently kept the meal worm bin full over the last couple of seasons and the bluebird brought his mate and then another breeding pair. We went to a Nature Center and built a bluebird box for them (not sure what makes it a “bluebird” box except that Trish painted a bluebird on the side). And this year, they chose a box under our kitchen window and had a brood. We were thrilled, watching the male bring worm after worm into the box. Again, we don’t know exactly why having bluebirds in the mix made us so happy. It just did.

This essay, however, is not about bluebirds. It’s about loss, which has been weighing heavily on me this week. What do bluebirds have to do with loss? I’ll get there.

I was fortunate to be spared from the pain of significant loss until well into adulthood. It’s not like I didn’t know what death was; nor was I unaware of the death of people around me. I was simply spared the pain of a close loss until I entered my 40’s. Many people are not that fortunate and I am aware of the blessing of spending so much of my life not needing to grapple with that kind of grief. It wasn’t until my father passed in 2010 that I knew what loss really meant. And it takes experiencing a close loss to develop a sense of empathy for loss around you. And it’s all around us, every day.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve experienced a number of losses. None particularly close to me, but close to those who matter to me. And this last week was such a gut punch that I had to write about it. It began a few weeks ago when Trish lost an uncle. He was a sweet man, the younger brother of Trish’s Mom. We knew he hadn’t been well but for various reasons we had not been able to see him in the last two of years. Trish was deeply hurt by his loss, understandably. Then I saw a Facebook post from a friend and mentor from my Air Products days. Her husband passed away early in May. I don’t know the circumstances. He was a sweet, gentle soul. I didn’t have the pleasure of spending much time with him, but I smile remembering our meetings. Moreso, I am grieving for my friend. They were a wonderful couple! So close, truly so fond of each other, and with a large family that was similarly close. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a spouse. At all. And now it’s starting to happen to my friends.

Then, earlier this week, came a one-two-three lesson in loss that inspired this need to write. First, a friend of mine lost her dog. I have never met this dog, but know he was a lovable, huge Newfoundland who worked as a therapy dog when he was younger. The loss of a pet is just an enormous hurt. I truly believe that our pets are how the angels walk among us. When Trish and I got together, we had four elderly cats between us. Over two years, we lost all four. I never expected it to hit me so hard. Our pets are companions; they are little devils that can destroy furniture; they are the stars of innumerable videos on social media; and, more than anything else, a source of unconditional love. That loss is always a deep one.

Later that day, Facebook served up another loss. The picture that accompanies this essay is of a local artist who I have followed since the early 1990’s. Her music just resonated with me. I first saw her at a little music festival in Allentown. She hadn’t even recorded an album yet. She was selling self-produced EP’s on cassette, which I played until it couldn’t be played anymore. Over the years her talent, body of work, and popularity grew. I’d go see her play a couple of times a year. That picture was after a show at an acoustic club in Bethlehem more than a decade ago. I was never a super fan; never a groupie or stalker (no matter what my best friend says!). I just enjoyed her music. A couple of years ago, she was diagnosed with a difficult to treat cancer. A GoFundMe was launched to support her treatment costs, which I contributed to and followed. She passed away on that same fateful day.

And then the damn bluebirds! For some unknown reason, sparrows (which are actually an invasive species around here) have it in for bluebirds. There are entire industries built around protecting bluebirds from these murderers. Sparrows will drive bluebirds off their nests and destroy eggs or kill babies. I was a little worried when the bluebirds nested in a box that the noisy sparrows used every year. The same morning that I learned about Tukka (the dog) and Christine (the musician), I saw a fat sparrow perched on that box, screaming away. I went out and shooed it away and shook the box. Later, I told Trish about it. We went out into the backyard and found them. Four little bluebirds, almost ready to fledge, dead. WHY?! The brooding pair had managed to protect the nest during incubation and when the babies were little. Why did they give up the nest NOW? It was the last straw. We opened a bottle of wine with dinner.

Maybe it was the unfairness that we sometimes see in nature. Maybe it was my natural instinct to protect the vulnerable. Maybe it was the loss of such a significant talent whose music affected so many and was lost too soon. Maybe it was remembering our pain at putting down Beau a couple of years ago. Maybe it was knowing I have limited enough time, as it is, with Trish since we met so late in life that I can’t even contemplate losing her. All I know it that I’ve felt loss deeply this week (and when I feel something deeply, I have to write).

I’m not going to launch into platitudes about how loss makes us appreciate life. We all know that. Nor am I going to segue into a discussion about gratitude. We all know the importance of that, too. I’m just going to let this sit here. Because we all experience loss all the time. Sometimes it’s very close and deep. Sometimes it’s tangential but meaningful. And sometimes, it’s just nature being nature. Yes, loss is a regular part of life. I just wanted you to know that you are not sitting in it alone.

I’m back! Some of you are thinking, “I wondered if you were ever going to post again!” Others are thinking, “Gee, I guess I haven’t seen a post from you in a while!” A not-insignificant-number are thinking, “Am I still subscribed to this site?” Regardless, I am going to assume that you all are thrilled to get a blog post from me again, just as I am thrilled to be writing again, and Trish is (sort of) thrilled to be editing again. My last post was way back in January of this year on my Five Year Blogiversary. In it, I hinted that I might be taking a break from posting since I had felt my writing had become…stale. I needed to rethink what I wanted to accomplish. Then life happened. SO MUCH has happened over the last nine months! Over time, I will fill you in, but we’ll start small.

Let’s start with the message from the Universe that got me to sit down at the keyboard again. I was in the airport almost two weeks ago, heading down to Atlanta (more on that in a bit). I was in that scrum of people that forms around the gate when they make the preboard announcements and I had just maneuvered myself into position to be first in line for Group 4. I heard a familiar voice and turned around to see one of my all-time favorite co-workers from my Air Products days behind me, talking on his phone. I leaned over, smiling, and caught his eye. Between waiting to board and then wandering down to baggage claim in Atlanta, Ron and I had a few minutes to catch up. It was so wonderful to see him! We hadn’t crossed paths in at least 10 years. Ron is one of those people who was always a joy to be around. We caught up on work (he is actually retiring and was on his “farewell tour” to see key customers). We caught up on his kids (he now has an adorable toddler granddaughter). And I was treated to a classic Ron “Dad joke” (“Two of my sons are actuaries! What are the odds?!”). Then he said something to me that I was not expecting: “I haven’t seen a blog post from you in ages! Why aren’t you writing? I looked forward to those posts. It’s how I stayed connected with you.”

There are so many reasons why I write. I write to get thoughts organized in my head and then out of my head. I simply find the process enjoyable. When I read something I’ve written and pronounce it “good,” that is very satisfying. I started the blog to capture the myriad coaching lessons I had absorbed over my professional years and that I imparted to those younger who might benefit from that experience. As I finished capturing those thoughts in a range of posts, the blog evolved to more broad thinking about life, although almost every “life lesson” can be applied in a work environment and vice-versa. And, I realize, I write to connect. I write to share a bit of myself with others; to receive a bit from others as they share thoughts and comments back with me; and, in some little way, to stay connected with a bunch of people with whom I’ve crossed paths over the years. I have found that connection of all sorts becomes more and more important as you get older, so whatever I can do to maintain and build community and connection has increasingly become a focus in my life. So, I’m writing again because I want that connection. I will write when I have something to say and post when I believe the writing is solid enough to share. I resolve to be a little lighter in presentation, since laughing (or at least chuckling) makes anything more enjoyable.

What do I have to say today? Well, I want to share with you what the last six weeks of my life have been like. More specifically, I want to share some thoughts on what I’ve learned from that time. From July 21 (when I left home for a trip to Atlanta) to August 31 (when I finally put my suitcase away), I have spent only six days at home. That time period included:

• An initial one week trip to Atlanta
• An 18 day journey from Vancouver to a cruise in and around Alaska
• A second, 10 day trip to Atlanta to be there for my Mom’s major surgery (she is, thankfully, doing great!)
• A head cold
• My first bout with COVID
• And a sinus infection (bonus visit to Urgent Care in Atlanta)

What have I learned?

• Obvious observation: I can no longer travel as well as I used to travel. I caught the head cold on the way back from that first trip to Atlanta. I was not over it when I came down with COVID on the cruise. I was barely functional on my second trip to Atlanta, staying masked 12 hours a day which probably led to the sinus infection.
• Everyone around me has learned The Second Rule of Sherri: If Sherri is miserable, everyone is miserable. I am not proud of this behavior. When I finally stopped feeling like I was swallowing shards of glass and apologized to my travel mates in Anchorage, no one argued with me that I’d been a pain the ass. My dear sister had to not only deal with the stress of Mom’s surgery, but take me to CVS four times, Urgent Care once, and then deal with me complaining, coughing, and snorting 24/7. She deserves a medal. Trish’s suffering was further compounded by getting COVID from me. (The First Rule of Sherri, by the way, is: Feed Sherri on time and at regular intervals. That’s for another essay.)
• The bears in Alaska must be a myth because we saw no bears, save for one humongous one in a wildlife reserve. Ditto for moose.
• These challenges are always sent to you for a reason. I believe the reason for this trial was to push me out of my comfort zone and back into action. I had gotten too consumed by completing my Daily Challenges in on-line solitaire, Spider solitaire, Sudoku, and a tile matching game. I think I need a little more out of life.

Checking in on line for the final flight home, American offered me an upgrade to First Class for $69. Was there a question in there? As I settled into my seat, I thought about breaking my “no drinking” rule while flying, then I remembered I’m on antibiotics for the sinusitis and shouldn’t drink. As I sipped my vodka/cranberry, I noticed that I had slipped into a kind of numbness. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, yet I was feeling good about Mom’s recovery and allowed myself to remember all the GOOD parts of the vacation (of which there were many). These last six weeks were surely a test—as well as a kick in the pants to get moving again. I have so much to tell you about! This essay is a good start. More to come.