I do not feel optimistic for the future. There seem to be so many things to worry about — climate change, the degradation of our political system, the loss of social security … I’m not a pessimist, but these are pessimistic times.
When I was younger, I had a vivid spiritual life. I would find myself occasionally immersed in an otherworldly experience — under a waterfall, on a quiet street, under turmoil. I believed in spirits, because I had encountered them. Hunches were often accentuated by feelings of dread or elation that seemed to come from outside of me. It was a time of big emotions.
This stopped when I went on the bipolar medication. No more presences, no more portents. This caused me to reevaluate my spiritual life of prior years. Did none of those things happen? They felt real to me. Were my spiritual moments just artifacts of my bipolar disorder? I have trouble believing that, but the boundary seems sharp.
Or does it? I realize that those spiritual moments did not end abruptly, but did a slow fade. Through my adult years, as a professor trained in logic, I questioned my experiences. They were artifacts of my extreme moods, of stressful moments. I distanced myself from those extraordinary occurrences.
Nowadays, I don’t know what to believe. I pray, but I don’t know if I pray to a supernatural presence. I believe that praying sharpens my ability to deal with the world, a very rational thought. I don’t feel those moments as I did when younger, but I think I’ve internalized those feelings and hunches and claim them as my intuition. Perhaps the spirits were pieces of me I hadn’t claimed yet. But I miss those days.
I have had a lot of delicious food. My favorite would have to be international food, with a special weakness for Thai and Indian. I’m going to limit this to meals that were so good that I can remember them to this day.
A friend of mine once made me a stew of curried chicken with coconut milk and young coconut meat from an Indonesian recipe. I do not have the recipe for it, for which I am heartbroken, but I think it was a kind of soto ayam. It was mildly spicy and very comforting.
At a Persian restaurant in Chicago, I had roast chicken with a pomegranate barbecue sauce. I do not know the name of the dish either, but I can remember this meal even though it was over thirty years ago. The sweet/tart glaze of pomegranate works very well with grilling. The restaurant has long since disappeared.
Curried beef brisket at Waldo Thai in Kansas City falls on this list. Anything from Waldo Thai falls on this list, to be honest, especially their curries. Perfectly balanced with plenty of aromatics from lime leaf and basil.
Banana bread and an aged sherry from a winery in upstate New York whose name I don’t remember. I had gotten there early and was sampling the sherry, which tasted of violets and leather and all sorts of flavors I had never encountered in sherry before. The banana bread was part of the man’s lunch because I got tipsy on the sip of sherry. The whole incident was almost like an enchantment.
There are good meals and then there are culinary experiences. The items on this list are definitely culinary experiences.
The question is “If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over, which one would you choose?” I have to admit that it would be a pair of jeans and my shirt of a cat drinking coffee. Something relaxed but still a little dressy. Casual but a little upscale. It’s a definite mood.
I ask my students in internships what they do for self-care. It’s a very important practice for people in helping professions, because of the stress levels they experience. Self-care can stave off burnout as well as help people reclaim their free time.
When I assessed my own self-care activities, I found that I was somewhat lacking in them. Writing is a flow activity for me, and flow fits into self-care, but I have not been doing as much of that lately. I’ve started walking again, but right now I can only walk for short periods of time, which makes it not as much of a self-care activity. I don’t meditate as often as I could. I am definitely lacking self-care activities.
What can I do about this? Obviously put some of these practices back into place. Walking will come back a little at a time because of my current fitness level. Meditating can start today. Writing is a struggle given my current motivation level. But it’s important to have my self-care routines together, especially for when the school year starts and I’m back to more pressure in my life.
My biggest time waster is getting sucked into the Internet. I could be writing and need to look something up on the Internet, and then presto — twenty minutes have passed and I find myself in the middle of reading Facebook. I take a detour into Quora and find I’ve been reading it for a half-hour.
I don’t know what makes the Internet so addictive. I suspect it’s the amount of information in it. I crave learning, and the Internet gives me a treasure trove of information. The only trouble with the information is that much of it is trivial. Should I care what Clint Eastwood’s first movie was? (I’ve already forgotten). What was John Wayne’s real name? (Marion Morrison).
In other words, the same reason I love the Internet (information at my fingertips) is the reason I hate it. And so often, I go traveling down the information highway with no destination in mind, just driving.
I have had a number of crushes, a large number of crushes. Some of these were really intense and lasted years, others were fleeting. My first crush was one of the fleeting ones, seeing that it was in kindergarten.
His name was Randy. He lived around the block from me, by the railroad tracks in an asphalt-shingled house. He had a round face and shaggy blond hair and blue eyes. I don’t understand why I got a crush on him; it was part of that inexplicable kindergarten thinking. But I talked about him constantly.
My mom and I went over to his house to visit, and afterward my mother told me she ‘wasn’t comfortable’ with me going over to Randy’s house. I knew it was because of the house and that he didn’t have a father at home. I don’t know how I knew this unless my mother told me, and it didn’t make sense because my mother told me to be nice to everyone. The crush disappeared as soon as it was formed, because I didn’t want to disappoint my mother. Thus I internalized my first lesson on social class and bias.
I went on to have many crushes, some intense and some fleeting. I learned the most from my crush on Randy, things I look back on and wish I hadn’t learned.
I feel like you could ask me on different days my favorite thing about myself, and I would have different answers. Some days it’s my sense of humor; other days my intelligence. Occasionally it’s my courage. Today, my favorite thing about myself is my sense of joy. I am, overall, a joyous person.
Joyous is not quite the same thing as happy. Happiness is a state, fleeting, full of excitement or pleasure. For example, when you visit someone. Joy, on the other hand, is a longer-lasting state of being, full of contentment and well-being. (Embark Behavioral Health, 2025).
Joy, to me, is the flow of a stream through my life, one which occasionally bubbles up. I feel the bubbles in my soul, and they sometimes come out in laughter. Laughing for no reason startles people sometimes. I can’t help it; it’s the bubbles.
I feel joy even when I’m depressed, which doesn’t make sense to most people. But joy is my love for the universe, which I feel even when I don’t feel any love back. That’s what depression feels like, like something has put a transparent wall between me and love. But joy is still there, beneath the despair.
Joy is a subversive quality. It does not depend on external factors. It is not a response to good things happening externally. It cannot be taken away, only pushed aside temporarily by things like disaster and depression. It is the thing I like most about myself, at least today.
I am passionate about many things; that’s just what kind of person I am.
I am passionate about hope. I think hope is one of the most powerful forces of the universe. It is my natural way of meeting with the world.
I proselytize about flow. This is Csikszentmihalyi’s concept, that there are activities that take us out of ordinary space and time, completely captivate our minds, and give us a sense of well-being. I tell my students that they need to find a flow activity eventually to help them deal with stress.
Then there’s coffee. It’s a small thing to be passionate about, but we roast and grind our own coffee in this household, and make it in a very good coffeepot. I am passionate about good coffee, and occasionally share the home-roasted stuff with others.
I have passion for my goals. I keep Big Audacious Goals on my list of things to do because they motivate me not just to act, but to be better. My BAGs for the moment are to lose weight and to get back into writing. (Although those are not SMART enough for goals, I am working on making them so.)
That’s enough to feel passionate about for now. If I were passionate about everything, would it really be passion?
One of the things about being over 60 is that the big good things are likely not to fall into one’s lap. They’re not likely to happen under 60, either, but younger people don’t know that. My younger years were brimming with possibility. Now that I’m older, I’m doing pretty good at work but not to the point of winning any awards, I know I’m not going to win the lottery, and I’m not getting a new kitten because I already have three.
Bad things, on the other hand, seem part and parcel of one’s 60s. Am I going to develop another health problem? Is social security going to be dismantled? Is my roof going to fall on my head? Those things would also be worthy of note, but I don’t want them to happen.
I don’t know when I became a pessimist, but I think it was when I started getting arthritis. So nothing of note will happen today, and I will be grateful.
Words Like Me 