Author: Susan Hanshaw

Breaking Misguided Beliefs: My Back Pain Story

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A young general practitioner pointed out the swayback curvature of my spine during a routine check-up. He said it may lead to back issues as I got older. I was 35 at the time and didn’t really appreciate that piece of data. Why worry about something that could be a possibility only years later? I was in the beginning throes of a painful divorce and was trying to entertain only positive thinking. Yet the seed from the doctor had been planted.

Should I look to my parents to guide my beliefs?

My parents both complained about back pain when they got older. My father suffered from chronic lower back pain. It was so bad that he was not able to stand fully upright once he approached his 80s. He started using a cane to walk before moving on to a rollator walker. I would catch my mother holding her hand against her back as if to protect it while she walked. Neither one of my two brothers ever mentioned back pain.

Accepting misguided beliefs without challenging them

I was 38 when I had anything resembling back pain. I had finished a 3-mile walk around a reservoir when I felt an angry tightness in my lower back. I held a couple of squatting poses to try to stretch my back, but the release was barely temporary. I wondered to myself if the back issue the doctor mentioned was now beginning.

Over the years I would come to have some back pain from time to time. But the incidents were always self-inflicted on my part. Sleeping on a bed with little or no spinal support. Having poor form while doing ab workouts with weights. Letting my hip flexors and hamstrings get so tight after indoor cycling that they caused strain on my lower back. Still, I was not aware that I had any control over the pain, so I didn’t try to challenge it. Episodes of soreness would then linger for days.

It’s hard to believe it took me so long to understand the connection between tight muscles and pain. It’s really no surprise, though. I never had the patience to stretch properly. Stretching bored me. Once my workout was done, I was always eager to move on with my day. I tended to rush through the stretching and stop the poses just as I hit a feeling of discomfort. So, I simply accepted the outcomes of my pathetic stretching habits.

Tight hamstrings ended my decades-long running pursuit. Whenever I set out to run in my late 50s, my hamstring would feel as if it were locking up. Sure, I tried to stretch that hamstring. But I did not do the research to learn how to stretch. Instead, I attributed it to aging and the misguided belief that there was nothing I could do to change it.

Breaking through those beliefs

This past year I developed a routine of indoor cycling 5-6 times a week for 50-60 minutes. During this time, I also became more consistent with my yoga practice. This helped me understand muscles are connected, and lower back pain could be caused by tight hamstrings and hip flexors.

How I broke through my beliefs about pain

I was doing more yoga, but not enough to resolve the mild lower back pain that would routinely hit me. Then one morning I was stretching after a 60-minute indoor cycle and caught myself flaking out on a hamstring stretch. Once I hit the point of what yoga instructors call “sensation”, I was ready to move on to avoid it. But this time I pushed myself a couple of extra minutes to get a thorough hamstring stretch.

I hadn’t given the stretching another thought until later that night. It suddenly dawned on me that I had absolutely no back pain. Zero. Nada. I knew right then that my often-nagging lower back pain was not old age setting in. Doing the work to stretch properly had enabled me to break through that belief. I was not destined to live with back pain.

I have had a few indoor cycle sessions followed by proper stretches since then. Still no lower back issues. Sure, I’ve felt a momentary tight spot here and there. But now I move my back in a way that feels restorative, and the tightness goes away.

My takeaway

For years I let the doctor’s warning define the expectations I had of my physical body. It took me awhile, but by finally listening to my body, I was led to the truth.

Listen to the truth comes which comes from within. Don’t give more authority to an external source that doesn’t know you like you know yourself.

What Happened When I Stopped Drinking Alcohol

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The intense pain in my upper body finally drove me to make an appointment with urgent care. It was the day after my 65th birthday, whose special plans had been ruined because I hurt so much.

It was late afternoon when I walked into the empty waiting room. A young nurse quickly called me in for care. She took my vitals before a somewhat gruff female doctor arrived and began asking questions about my condition. The radiating pain I was experiencing was hard to describe. Yet what the doctor was discovering seemed more vital to her than the body pain I struggled to articulate.

The diagnosis that changed things

‘Has anyone ever told you that you have an irregular heartbeat?” she asked after some probing.

“Uh…no,” I replied.

She instructed me to put my shirt back on before we walked down the hall to a small room. I was about to be given an ECG. The doctor and nurse worked together as they taped electronic sensors to my body. Within minutes the ECG was taken and the doctor’s suspicion confirmed. I was told my heart was in a state of atrial fibrillation—AFib for short.

The doctor explained that my diagnosis put me at risk for a stroke or heart failure. She said that this was something I needed to take very seriously. She recommended that I go to an emergency room right away.

I called my husband who had been waiting for me in the parking lot down the street. We were both in shock. I thought I was a specimen of good health. I’ve had a regular workout routine my entire adult life. I stopped eating red meat when I was 20. I typically abstain from fatty and processed foods. My diet in general was more heart-healthy than anyone I knew.

We arrived at the closest hospital and I was given another ECG on the spot. The emergency room procedure confirmed the findings of urgent care. Yep. My heart was showing AFib. It was now just a matter of going through the next steps.

The sobering question

I bounced from specialist to specialist in my early hours in the hospital. It was not difficult to recognize that there was one common question. How much alcohol did I drink?

Oh, God.

Wine has been as much a part of my life as working out for as long as I can remember. I’ve lived the majority of my adult years a stone’s throw from the Napa Valley and Sonoma Valley wine regions. In my world, drinking wine was synonymous with socializing. It was an action I didn’t think twice about. And I surrounded myself with people who were on the same page.

Drinking wine had also become an at-home habit. It had become a ritual that would symbolize the winding down of the day. It was a practice started when I moved to San Francisco as a single woman in my late 20s. It’s one I held on to for nearly 40 years, and made more pronounced with the onset of COVID.

The drinking alcohol ritual has got to go

My irregular heartbeat was treated with medication while I was in the hospital. I was told to expect that I’d have a procedure called a cardioversion before I was released. This procedure is designed to correct a heartbeat that’s too fast or irregular. Mine was both. The cardiologist warned that the procedure comes with some risks.

On my fifth and final day, my exit ECG showed my heart back to a normal rhythm. The cardiologist happily told me that I would be released without the need for the cardioversion. I was relieved and took note. I recognized that there was one constant in the lab that was my hospital stay. No wine. I saw it as a sign that I can support a healthy heart if I stopped drinking alcohol.

Benefits I’ve experienced since quitting alcohol

Roughly four and a half months have passed. I’ve had two cardiologist visits and zero wine. My cardiologist tells me that any amount of alcohol can trigger the AFib. He doesn’t tell me not to drink. It’s a choice I’ve been making for myself.

During this time I’ve realized how pervasive alcohol is in our society. It seems that everywhere I go lies the encouragement to indulge. Happy hour sandwich signs in front of restaurants. Friends wanting to meet over a drink. TV shows with scenes of people enjoying a glass of wine or cocktail. It’s now the holiday season and I’m getting gifts in the form of wine or champagne.

Yet I can say with certainty that I feel better than I ever have. This rings true physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Sure, I have my momentary longings. But for the most part, quitting has been far easier than I’d ever anticipated. The benefits far outweigh any fleeting desires. Here are my top three.

1. No more anxiety

This product of not drinking alcohol has made the most positive impact on my quality of life. I had suffered from occasional panic attacks for years. Decades actually. The isolation period of COVID stoked their frequency and intensity. To the point where I grew afraid of getting hit with panic when I was alone.

I learned to pick up a shopping cart as a crutch to walk from my car to the grocery store. I grew to become very anxious driving on the freeway. So I set my driving directions app to avoid freeways. I would practically beg my husband to go on walks with me because I was afraid to go alone.

It never dawned on me that there was a link between alcohol consumption and anxiety. Did my wine drinking cause my anxiety? Or did my anxiety cause me to drink more? In any event, my experience is that there is a relationship between the two. Because I have now joyfully taken the freedom back that I had lost to my anxious days. I’ve been enjoying miles-long walks by myself and I’m back to being comfortable driving on the freeway. Even in the dark and rain. My world has reopened!

2. Better sleep quality

My ritual for going to bed has changed completely since I’ve stopped drinking alcohol. I no longer need to drink a glass of magnesium to relax. Instead I slip under the covers enjoying a read until heavy eyelids tell me it’s time to sleep. I’ll turn out the light and lay there knowing that I’ll soon be snuggling into a healthy sleep. I wake up feeling refreshed. It’s so much easier to get out of bed. I now pop out of bed before or when the alarm goes off. No more falling prey to the snooze alarm. One buzz max and I’m up!

3. Weight loss

This is my favorite, and frankly, one that is a daily inspiration to keep saying no to wine indulgences. I don’t weigh myself so I can’t tell you precisely how much weight I’ve lost. But I’d give you a guesstimate of 12 pounds. Jeans I haven’t fit into for a handful of years are now roomy in places. On the surface, all a result of skipping the wine.

For years I brushed away the idea that alcohol was purely empty calories destined to add unwanted pounds. After all, I was a runner for a couple of decades. My pounding the pavement played a big role in burning calories. When my body told me I should stop running in my late 50s, body fat began making its unwelcome appearance. I blamed it all on menopause. Now I recognize that alcohol calories are as real as chocolate cheesecake.

Are you thinking about giving sobriety a try?

Dry January. Sober October. These challenges are designed to encourage people to improve their health and regain control of their drinking. Honestly, a year ago I didn’t think I had the fortitude to endure a month-long break from alcohol. So I didn’t even try. Now look at me.

Disclaimer: I want to preface this section by recognizing that some alcohol habits are products of addictions. I am not an addiction specialist and these tips are not appropriate solutions for every situation. They are simply mindsets and behaviors that helped me to break what was a habit-based lifestyle.

If you’re thinking about putting your toe in the water I have these two tips to offer you:

  1. It doesn’t have to be a forever commitment. You’re the boss. It’s up to you to decide when, if, and how alcohol will be a part of your life. It’s actually a great question for all of us.
  2. Find substitutes you enjoy to pour into your wine or cocktail glass. For my wine substitute I have discovered the Thomson & Scott brand Noughty. The ABV (alcohol by volume) ranges from 0.0% to 0.5%. My favorite is the sparkling chardonnay at 0%. For regular beverage treats, I’ve found a ton of non-sugar healthy options. My top choices are Spindrift sparkling water and Zevia natural flavored soda.

Why does my experience matter?

My biggest takeaway has been that I am not bullet-proof. I no longer view practical health advice that I don’t want to heed and ignore it like it doesn’t apply. I’ve now been shown my mortality and it has lit a fire.

Deep down I knew that my wine drinking was not good for my health. I can’t tell you if I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to, or if I thought that I couldn’t. In any event, I’ve now proven that neither one of those excuses are actually true.

Is there a habit that you have that you know is not good for you but you continue to embrace? Can you identify what are the excuses and what are the actual truths?

I’m here if you need support.

Never Underestimate the Power of Your Mind

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It was raining the other day when my husband returned home from a grocery shopping trip. I am so grateful that he does most of our shopping. I was downstairs in the kitchen when I heard Dean’s car drive up, and I opened the front door for him. He asked me to open the side door to the garage so that he could unload a couple of packs of water without tracking wet dirt through the house. Our plan was that he would hand me the burlap bag that contained the rest of the groceries before he came back through the side door of the garage.

Upon grabbing the burlap bag, he discovered that its bottom was seeping wet. One of the bottles of daily shower cleaner that he loves to use had somehow burst. There were three yogurt containers in the same bag that were victims of this moisture outburst. He handed me the wet burlap bag and I brought its contents into the house. I rinsed the yogurt containers in water and dried them. They still smelled faintly of the shower cleaner, and I wondered how safe it would be to hold on to them. I shared my concern with Dean, who is usually the one to express doubt. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine,” he said.

I had put the three yogurts in a designated spot in the refrigerator so I could identify them in the coming days. Three days later I reached for a yogurt to top off my daily oatmeal and fruit bowl. I was aware that the container I picked up was from the shower cleaner incident. After placing a couple of scoops on top of the fruit, I tasted the yogurt on my spoon. I told myself it didn’t taste right, and I immediately launched into panic mode.

In my panic, I told myself that I had consumed yogurt contaminated by a cleaning solution. Immediately I felt nauseous and for a moment, frozen in a cloudy fear, imagining that I had been poisoned. Dean walked into the kitchen as I was scooping yogurt out of my bowl into the sink. I told him the sensations that I’d been experiencing. He took a scoop of the yogurt and said it tasted fine to him. While that gave me a sense of peace, I continued to clear my oatmeal bowl of that container of yogurt.

The Lesson

As someone who has experienced anxiety, this was a reminder of how quickly and powerfully my mind can take over if not directed by positive thoughts. At the same time, it’s a lesson on how much I can leverage the power of my mind to take me where I want to go, provided I work with it in partnership.

Embracing Your Numbered Days

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As someone who has always celebrated events which mark the passage of time, I have been dumbfounded by the revelation I’ve been having the last couple of years, that yes, my days are numbered and that life is indeed finite.

I have always been keenly aware of when one season is transitioning to the next, pausing to anticipate how the tone of my days will likely change. My husband regularly teases me when I alert him to the date in which the current season will change to the next. I hold a curiosity of how lunar changes may impact my own and the energies around me, so I deliver unsolicited full moon advisories to anyone who is close to me.

I thought that these efforts signaled that I was being conscious of the cycle of life. Maybe I was. But I recognize now that it was on a small scale. At 64 I feel I have been hit on the head with the revelation of the finite nature of life.

Acknowledging my mortality

I’ve been a journal keeper throughout my adult life, diligent to document my emotional journey as I navigate the various stages of my life. I’ve also kept a wish list for my life. As I update this list at least once a year to anticipate the new year, it’s been interesting to see what gets crossed out and what gets added. The charcoal brown Mercedes lost its appeal in my 40s. My desire to stay fit, healthy, and live my life from a spiritual perspective never has left me.

One wish was that my parents live to be the age of 80. One year I crossed that out and changed it to 85. My dad is now two months away from 89 and my mom 86. My father was diagnosed with dementia a couple of years ago. It’s been a hardship that has especially impacted my parents. If the dementia weren’t enough, my dad’s eyesight is so bad that he cannot read and the arthritis so bad in his back that his physical movement cannot extend past a 90 degree hunchback.

Recognizing that my parents are now physically vulnerable, and my mother as a constantly tired caretaker, has shown me a mirror to my own mortality. These two people who have given me life, who grew to be friends who I embarked upon adventures which ranged from travel to the family room. I recognize they are just one generation ahead of me.

Overcoming the fear of what comes with aging

I can’t really say that I have a fear of aging itself. While I don’t like many of the physical manifestations that come with getting older, I don’t fear the process. I feel good about who I am at this age and try to manage the physical aspects as best as I can.

What I have the greatest trepidation about is death itself. I am someone who likes to understand how things work. The unknown of leaving this worldly plane is my biggest fear.

  • What’s going to happen?
  • Will I get to be with my loved ones?
  • What will life be like on the other side?

I’ve read books involving people who have had near-death experiences, as well as those who have been brought back to former lives through deep hypnosis. I found these stories to be fascinating at first, yet going deeper began to feel like too much information. I think I’ll work on my faith and let that adventure unfold when it’s time.

The Gift of Perspective

There is a gift in recognizing that the stopwatch for life does not run on unlimited time. My cousin, a successful building contractor, lost his wife to an aggressive cancer at the time they were beginning a retirement planned for global travel. A favorite client in great shape recently passed away suddenly from a rare heart condition at age 62. “Do it now while you still can” has been a mantra passed on by family and friends that I have recently been taking ultra seriously. What more do I need to put things in perspective?

I am a harsh judge of myself. I don’t give myself enough credit for what I’ve done in my life. I tend to put more focus on what I need to do better. Yet as I look at my life in terms of unlimited time, the value I place on what needs to get done is changing. I can’t continue to take for granted that I will be physically able to do the many things that are on my bucket list. I realize that I must begin making some of those plans now.

If this strikes a chord with you, I’d love to hear why in your comments. Thanks for visiting.

Exploring the Afterlife: What I’ve Learned About What Lies Beyond

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A couple of things have occurred in my life this past summer that have brought me to an incessant curiosity about what happens after we die.

Background on my fascination

The backdrop to my new obsession was my 64th birthday which I celebrated last month. In recent years I’ve begun to be keenly aware that my life here on Earth is not limitless. I’ve been feeling a greater pressure—totally self-imposed—to identify my divine calling. What can I do in or with my life to feel like I’ve used my gifts and talents in the way they were intended? This is a question I’ve been pondering for the last two decades. Yet I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve not done the work to the deeper level that it deserves. No wonder I still have no answers.

Another incident that inspired my probing about life after death was the sudden passing of a favorite client of the marketing firm I manage. In great physical shape and with so much going for him at age 62, our client was taken by a heart condition which was a hardening of the heart muscle itself. The condition often offers no warning signs that something may be wrong. We learned a few days after his passing. My business partner and I were devastated.

This was a tragedy that hit home. It was a wake-up call on how vulnerable we are at any time, but particularly as we age. My thoughts have ranged from how can I make the most of every day to how can I prepare myself for death to what have I really come here to do?

A fascinating resource

I had great respect and affection for my client who recently passed. The loss inspired me to want to learn more about his spiritual transition to the afterlife, as well as educate myself on what my own transition might be like. I pulled an old book off my bookshelf that was given to me by a dear friend some 20 years ago, Journey of Souls, by Michael Newton, Ph.D.

As someone who believes in reincarnation and the infinite nature of our soul, I find this book to be incredibly fascinating as it chronicles the reports of 29 clients who have recalled their experiences between lives as eternal spirits with Dr. Newton while in a state of deep hypnosis.

My greatest takeaways

It’s only been a few days since I began reading and I’m just shy of the half-way mark, but the impact on my thoughts and consequential actions has been immense. Reminding myself that we are all spiritual beings here on Earth facing lessons inspired for our growth as souls has brought me a sense of peace that I’ve not experienced in a while.

I think the greatest takeaway from the book was being introduced to the idea that we all have personal spiritual guides that are here for us in both our Earthly and spiritual plane lives. My meditation practice now feels so much more accessible to the answers I seek.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this subject. Do you feel the presence of a personal guide?

Childless Isn’t Always By Choice

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Now and then I wonder why my life turned out for me to be childless. It was not by choice.

How I was prepared to start a family

I grew up assuming that I would have children. It was never a nagging desire, rather it was what I expected would be a natural passage of life. My mother imparted the idea in me that my priority in life was to get married and have children. My parents paid for my older brother to go to a 4-year university, yet they did not encourage me to continue my education. It was important to me, so I funded my own college education.

I started building a career in my early twenties, while my mother only took interest in my romantic life. At 22 I met a man a year older who checked all the boxes. He was good to me, my parents liked him, he was handsome, fun, had a good head on his shoulders, and what looked like a promising career ahead of him. He supported my own desire to learn and grow. He proposed a year into our relationship.

A failed pregnancy

It was about nine months into our marriage that I learned I was pregnant. My husband and I were both happy about the news. Yet just as we started to tell our families and close friends, I began seeing blood on my panties. A couple of days later I called the doctor when the cramping began. Our emergency trip to the hospital that night revealed that I had miscarried. I was cramping severely and immediately underwent a dilation and curettage (D&C) procedure to remove the fetal tissues.

It was a very painful experience physically and emotionally. The cramping from the miscarriage was the most intense I’d ever experienced. The loss of the life I expected to carry within me and bring into the world was devastating.

A couple of years later I began to feel the physical sensations that I could now associate with being pregnant. My breasts felt swollen and tender. I was experiencing bouts with nausea. A visit to my doctor confirmed what I suspected. I was pregnant.

My second miscarriage

My husband and I were excited once again. But for me, the news came with trepidation. I wanted badly to be able to carry the fetus to term. Yet I was haunted by my previous experience with pregnancy.

As fate would have it, a couple of weeks later I began seeing the signs of what I’d experienced before—the bleeding and the cramps. This time I knew what was at risk here. I just wanted to stop it from happening, and it was maddening that it was completely out of my control. I let the spotting go on for a couple of days, with the hope that I was just going through a tough patch. When it became clear that my condition was not getting any better, I made an appointment with my doctor. Unfortunately, my doctor confirmed that I was miscarrying once again. This time I knew the drill. D&C procedure and then back home carrying a broken heart.

Pondering the purpose of my being childless

I was not in the mindset at the time to consider that there may be a spiritual purpose behind the two miscarriages. It wasn’t until the following year when my husband and I made the decision to divorce that I began to consider there was a reason for it. I would not have wanted to raise a child in a broken home.

I did not meet another man that I would have wanted to have children with until I was 47. By the time we were certain we wanted to stay together, it felt too late.

Do I have any regrets about this? Not really. I do find myself watching a parent engage with their child, recognizing it as a joyful experience that I’ve never had and never will. I used to worry that not having a child meant that I won’t have anyone to take care of me when I’m old, until a good friend reminded me that isn’t something that comes with a guarantee. Then there are the times when I will pass a soccer field where parents have gathered to watch their children play, and the avid not a sports fan in me is grateful that I didn’t have to endure that.

Writing this post has brought me to a place where I’m examining the purpose of my life as a woman without a child deeply for the first time. If it was to free me up to be of greater service, I have failed. But it’s not too late to create a change.

When a Dementia Diagnosis is a Gift

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We celebrated my father’s 87th birthday a couple of weeks ago. Last week during a routine check-up, his doctor told he and my mother that he is in the early stages of dementia. 

I wasn’t surprised to hear this as I’ve seen signs of memory issues coming for some time. He’s asked me the same question or shared the same story repeatedly in a single phone conversation. I’ve experience my father struggling to remember something familiar while in the midst of speaking. Sometimes what feels like an unrelated comment will come out of nowhere. I’ve heard him confusing the details of an event, like reporting that a telephone appointment was a live meeting. My mother has shared that he’s recently asked her if she was 40 years old, and if she knew that he has a son. 

When I first talked to my father about his diagnosis, he told me that he knew this had been progressing for a while. I felt exuberant that he could speak so coherently about the issue. He never said anything to any of us in the family, and yet he was totally accepting of the news when it came. He told me on the phone that night they got the news, “It is what it is. I can’t change it. I’ve lived a good life. I’ve had a good wife. I have good kids. What more can I want?” 

A Heart-Warming Evolution 

Over the past year I’ve seen signs that my father is sensing the end of his life. Every phone conversation or visit has blessed me with at least one, usually more, verbal expressions of his love. Occasionally he’ll break down in tears while telling me he loves me. “You’re in my heart”, he has said to me, his only daughter.  

It has been heart-warming to experience my father evolving emotionally over the decades. Having lost his mother at age 12 and equipped with less than a high school education, he immigrated to the United States from the island of Malta with two of his brothers at age 17. He landed in San Francisco living two houses away from the woman who would become my mother. He married her at age 22 and spent his career working as a longshoreman on the waterfront. My older brother was born a year later and I followed the next year.  

Back in that day fatherhood was viewed very differently. My father was the breadwinner and my mother took care of the household. Although I always felt a bond with my dad due to the unique relationship we shared as father and daughter, I can’t say I was close with him. When I got into my teens, I would hold my breath when my friends were in our home, hoping my dad would not embarrass me with the profanity he regularly indulged in. As we both grew older, I began to see a softer side of him, particularly after he retired. I sensed that as he moved away from the guys on the docks, he felt freer to communicate from the heart and his language of the past was cast aside. 

The Gift in the Diagnosis 

After my mom called to tell me about the diagnosis, my husband Dean remarked that I was taking the news very well. I told him that I had seen it coming and that it was no surprise. It was actually a relief to me that my father’s condition had been defined. First, it’s now at the top of his medical records and he is undergoing treatment in an effort to slow the progression of the disease. We now have clarity on why he says some of the things he says, or why he sometimes shows up in uncharacteristic behavior. I’ve let go of my impulse to correct the facts. Yet most of all, those of us who love him can prepare to make the most of our time with him and be as ready as possible for what will lie ahead. 

If you have any personal experience with loved ones with dementia, I would love to hear any insights you’d like to share. 

What Guitar Lessons Have Taught Me About Perseverance

/ Susan Hanshaw / 5 Comments

I started taking guitar lessons a couple of weeks ago. It has been a humbling experience. 

I am starting this journey at ground zero. The only other experience I’ve had with playing a musical instrument was when I took keyboard lessons on and off for a couple of years when I was in my late 20’s. My keyboard was inexpensive, and the sound quality didn’t inspire me to go deeper into it. Plus, I was distracted by other things going on in my life. So, I let it go. 

My husband is a big music fan and I bought him a guitar for his 60th birthday a couple of years ago. I made the purchase talking with a sales guy from a very popular instrument store locally. I knew virtually nothing about guitars. My husband has played the guitar a few times, yet says he hasn’t embraced it because the neck isn’t a good fit for his hands. It was about the same time recently that I started to think about possibly trying to learn to play it myself that my husband started encouraging me to give it a try. I’d been thinking a lot lately about not wanting to have any regrets at the end of my life so I decided to see what I can learn to do with a guitar. 

In my ignorance of guitars, I didn’t realize that the strings were metal and that my fingertips would hurt from pressing on the strings. After a couple of weeks of study, I am still working on gaining a clear understanding of what each note is supposed to sound like. In my effort to tune the guitar by ear the other day, I accidentally tightened the wrong string and suddenly it snapped off with a loud plunk. The string has been fixed and the guitar professionally tuned, so I am continuing on my learning journey. 

How I’m Persevering Outside My Comfort Zone 

I am definitely very far out of my comfort zone—a rare place for me to be. I’m someone who thrives on learning new things, and usually those new things come to me rather easily. Yet I recognize now that most of my new learning in recent years has involved digital platforms or other practices that are on an intellectual or physical fitness level.  I’m now working on developing a skill in the music realm which requires hand and finger coordination and a keen ear for sound—skills that I haven’t studied in decades, let alone practiced. 

I am finding that being a beginning guitar student is hard for me. Remembering where to position my fingers for each chord, learning how to move my fingers smoothly from chord to chord, and how to strum in a pleasing rhythm. Hey, I didn’t even know the difference between a chord and a note until I started this practice. Yet I’m not going to let myself bag out on learning just because it’s hard. That would be a regret I wouldn’t want to face. I recognize that practice will enable me to get better. I also know that putting my ego aside and giving myself permission to do something that I’m not yet good at will help me to persevere.  

Some thoughts that are helping me to stay committed: 

  • The initial pain in my fingertips is lessening as they get used to the practice 
  • It’s been helpful to explore different instructors that may be a better fit for my learning needs 
  • Acknowledge the progress that I’ve made rather than focusing on what I cannot yet do 
  • Seeing myself as a person who plays the guitar and creating visions for what that may look like as I get better 

If you have a similar experience in stepping out of your comfort zone, I’d love to hear your comments. 

How I Learned I Wasn’t Feeding My Soul and What I Did About It

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The other morning I walked by a photo of my two cherished cats, Sarah and Janie, who I’ve lost in recent years. This photo has been in my home office since I’ve had the girls, yet this time I somehow felt called to pick up the framed photo and really take it in from a deeper perspective.

What I saw in the photo was my two young girl kitties lounging on pillows on a favorite loveseat a year of two shy of 20 years ago. I recognized that I was the photographer behind the camera lens. It brought me back to where we were in our lives together back then.

As a single woman, Sarah and Janie were like my kids who I would return home to after a day at the office, or having had dinner out with a friend, after an evening at the gym, or having participated in the spiritual community that I had joined. I’ve long since accepted that my girls were gone, but I hadn’t contemplated what I’ve lost in my life since we were all together.

Identifying the Source of Loss

The reckoning of loss in that moment brought upon a level of sadness that made me feel like I wanted to sit myself down and cry. Beyond missing my two little sweethearts, I identified a loss I felt inside that stunned me. And I knew that this awareness had come to beg me to do something about it.

I’d become lazy about exploring new personal interests, communities and friendships since meeting and marrying my husband. Throw the isolation of COVID-19 on top of that and there hasn’t been a lot of new fuel to feed my soul. I recognized that this is all on me.  

Thankfully the sadness didn’t linger for more than a few hours, and the recognition that I needed to take action to take care of myself on a deeper level came to the forefront. I saw ultra-clearly that continuing to procrastinate about putting myself out in the world, despite the pandemic, would be detrimental to my spiritual and mental health.

The Action I Took

I’ve been a subscriber to a local volunteer agency email newsletter for a couple of years now. I had been reading their weekly emails, yet admittedly keeping the opportunities at arms distance, always finding a reason why an opportunity was not a fit for me.

Last week I saw a volunteer opportunity that really spoke to me. While I didn’t meet the requirements stated in the posting, I reached out anyway. I now have a phone meeting to discuss the opportunity with the person in charge with filling it.

The Lessons

I am a big believer in the idea that lessons will come to you when you are ready to receive them. I’ve known for quite some time that my soul was itching for some nourishment, yet I procrastinated. It took the pain I felt from the photo of Sarah and Janie to realize that something was missing, and that the only person who could do something about it was me.

While it’s still not clear whether this volunteer opportunity will be a fit, I’ve proven to myself that I am ready and willing to embrace something new.

How Are You Doing?

Worldwide we’ll soon be closing in on nearly two years in this pandemic state. I’d love to hear how it has impacted you where you are. What are you obstacles? Have you been able to open up your world to feed your soul?

Accepting the Reality of Aging Parents

/ Susan Hanshaw / 8 Comments

My 86-year-old father has arthritis in his back so badly that he cannot stand up straight. When I visited him this past weekend his back was more bent over than ever. And it had only been three weeks since my last visit.

My father’s back issue first seemed serious on his 80th birthday. My husband, Dean, and I took my parents to a Northern California coastal resort to celebrate. It was mid-January, and we were blessed to have seaside temperatures in the sunny 70s. Typically a bank of fog and wind would cool the weather into the 50s. I felt that our time together had been given a gift.

Recognizing the Pain

We checked in to the hotel and walked our luggage to our second-floor rooms.  This became my first experience in recognizing that my father was beginning to be challenged by his physical condition. He was struggling to climb the stairs that would lead us to our rooms. My father’s gestures showed that he was frustrated by these challenges. The rest of us didn’t bring any attention to it.

Once we all got to our adjacent rooms, we had a wonderful time being together. We chatted about lots of different topics, something that visits with the responsibilities of home didn’t come as easily.

Yet at the time I didn’t fully apprehend the reality of what was taking place. It was too new to me. We were moving into a new phase.

Dean and I got married nine months later.  Throughout the course of our reception, I observed my father in a visible state of physical pain. It was the first time I’d seen him use a cane in public. I know he loved me. I know he loved his then new son-in-law. However, his physical pain that day had overridden his joy.

Empathy of Pain

During my latest visit with my parents, it became clear that my father is living with chronic pain. His quality of life is clearly not good, and my mother lovingly bears the burden of caretaker. She admits that she is exhausted all the time taking care of my father and all the household needs. My father doesn’t complain. Yet it’s clear from his disposition that he is not happy about the limitations of his physical condition.

A Turning Point

I now recognize that this is a challenge for my family that isn’t going away. I cannot turn my head, hoping it will go away.  I need to put energy towards educating myself to help my parents get through the health issues ahead of them. While I clearly need to be a greater physical presence in their lives, I need to develop a fuller plan.

Last night I told my mother that I recognized how much she did and acknowledged that she needed help. She told me that it was her job and that she would let me know when she needed help. She’s never been one to have household help. The gardener who has mowed their lawn over the last decade has been the extent of their outside help.

What to Do Now

I’ve committed to spend more time with my parents. I want to support them, and get a better picture of what’s going on with them. From that will come the discovery of what their insurance covers and all of that stuff. My parents walked me through this some 15 years ago. Yet then I felt the need to know was so far in the future that I didn’t take good notes.

I’ve got to step up to the plate now.

Any insights you can offer on your own experiences would be great.