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Mar

Hello and goodbye

by Robin Korth

Learning to say “good-bye”–and hopefully doing it well–is something that simply comes with getting older. We say goodbye to our youth, to some of our dreams and eventually to some of the people that walked the road with us.

We spend our early years saying hello to life and to its opportunities. We welcome new things and new people as we explore who we are and get to see who we are becoming. The doors are open to all that life has to offer; and then there are those very, very special people who (if we are lucky) walk our “road of life” with us.

These are the quiet companions, the hilarious hell-raisers, the wise-before-their-time compatriots that we quite often take for granted. “Well, heck, that’s my old pal Joe. I’ve known that guy forever. Let me tell you about the time we . . .”

These are the special people who share our youth and listen to our sometimes wild dreams; they cheerfully (or wobbly themselves) hold our head over a toilet; and give us a big smile that says, “Pal of mine, ain’t life grand?” They quite simply ARE part of our lives and part of who we are. They are those that always “show up” when the chips are down or when a celebration is in need of sharing.

These are the friends and lovers that never held back. They tore into life with fervor and delight and often took us along for the ride. Or, they came along with us willingly on adventures insane or sorrowful. These are the people that ripped us a “new one” when it was called for and went looking for a baseball bat when we needed defending. These are the friends that answered the phone at 2:00 a.m. and really, really listened; and they really, really cared. And, we listened and cared right back.

Then they are gone. And we are so much the poorer for it. But there can be a richness in the remembering; in the recollection of this man or woman that no longer is there to share our laughter and our tears. Their actions and antics and the sound of their laughter can still echo down the hallways of our days. That they lived well and fully and did not stint in their love for us has marked our days and will continue to mark our future.

Hello, hello, my dear friend. Welcome to my life and now, welcome to my memory.

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Tags: celebrate life, death of friends, friends, friends and lovers, goodbye, korth, life journey, love, robin korth, say hello, wisdom
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Feb

Falling in love

by Robin Korth

Love, the “L” word; it is what we are all searching for and yearning for. Somehow we think that if we could only be “truly” loved by someone else, that will caulk up all the empty holes we have and answer the myriad questions that occupy our hearts and minds. I think not.

I believe we have it quite backwards; and maybe even upside down and inside out. We must first apply the “L” word to ourselves and then it blossoms into something quite remarkable and supremely enriching. To truly love ourselves seems to be a very difficult thing to do in our modern, always-comparing, always-wanting-more culture. We keep getting the outside confused with the inside. We feel somehow that the “I” part of us is incomplete. That I am not enough without someone or something else to fill me up.

Gee, what happens when we sit down and take stock? What happens when the “me” shows up in my life and I discover that the “me” is pretty damn wonderful? And, (surprise!) it is okay to like and love me; to celebrate and delight in myself; to realize that I am truly quite something of and for myself. Well then, I am whole and can reach out to another with no “needy” gaps that need filling, that demand attention and pretzel-twisting from that other soul. They get to just be themselves; as do I. Oh, the ease and simple joy of this!

Then you have two hearts and souls meeting each other on even ground. There is no “I need what you have to be complete.” The real joining of two creates another entity that is totally separate and complete; the “us.” We are whole and complete alone and together. This juncture of two hearts becomes a celebration of the “each” of us and a delight in the distinctions, talents and deliberate “who” of the separate “two.”

I don’t want to be the “reason for your life.” Please don’t tell me that “I complete you.” I don’t want that responsibility or burden. Come to me whole and in love with yourself; happy in the person you are. I will greet you half way and play with you in the field of our coming together; that arena where we delight in one another’s gifts and abilities.

My life will be richer for having you there. The sharing of thoughts and feelings; the comfort of being able to bare my soul; the knowing that you will care for it well; this is falling in love. And, I will not “die if you leave me.” Without you, my life shall be less, but I will still have a life that is mine to cherish and create as before. The journey of me celebrating myself and growing will continue; as will yours.

This is falling in love.

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Tags: backwards love, fix-me love, I ain't the reason for you life!, i don't want to complete you, inside out love, korth, Love affairs, love and life, Loving ourselves, robin korth, the "l" word
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Feb

Just not giving a damn

by Robin Korth

At fifty-seven years of age, I am well aware that a lot more than half my life has been lived. I find myself bemused by this fact, as well as interested in the process of aging as a whole, because this “being a person of age” isn’t quite what I expected.

Somehow as I was walking (and often running) through my twenties, thirties and forties, I thought that I was on my way to arrive at some “place.” This place was the goal and there would be a “grown up” Robin there waiting to welcome me to maturity and “adulthood.” This place would be where all the answers rested and I would somehow know what the whole shebang was all about.

Well, surprise! I am glad to report that this has not happened. I am still on the way and there doesn’t seem to be a prescribed destination. There are just a series of adventures that I get to explore and, now that I have some years tucked under my belt, to contemplate. It is with interest and much curiosity that I can purvey the world around me and then decide whether I want to participate in it or not. Now, there’s a freedom!

Things that used to tweak me and quite often spark my disdain and grumbling are now not so difficult to handle. It seems that they can simply pass across the screen of my consciousness as rather “ho-hum” or “is this interesting or not?” stuff. I no longer feel the need to become engaged in the oh-so-many burning questions and situations of life.

As I move through my sixth decade, I realize that I have taken in, experienced and learned quite a bit. My somewhat slower brain, as well as my heart, mind and soul, are the repository of many experiences, good and bad, that have rather “seasoned” me. The many minutes, hours and days of life have given me a much larger and longer view of things. Kind of a “been there, done that” mindset that allows a slowing down and a rather thoughtful attitude about much that before would have made me itchy, bitchy and twitchy.

This “longer lived” perspective, allows me a certain peace, a stepping back from things. The only thing I can really change or do anything about is me and my life. Experience and “hard knocks” have driven this point home often and painfully over the years. What can I actually do about the national debt? Do I really want to bend my grey matter and energy towards concern over the latest fashion? Is there a reason for me to lose sleep over who the heck the next president will be?

With the widening of my life span, it seems there is a narrowing of my sense of immediacy and need to control; a sloughing off of the desire to be intimately involved in the “new and improved” and “oh my God this is important” stuff that yammers for my attention. There is a feeling of serenity; of letting things take care of themselves.

Ah, but another thought has now raised itself to my consciousness. Is this behavior the result of my becoming “centered” and realizing a sense of peace with the “who” of who I am? Or, is it that I have seen enough and been through enough, that I just simply no longer give a damn?

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Tags: are we there yet, been there, curiosity, done that, korth, life, no destination, peace in life, pissed off, robin korth, serenity, what's it about, you never arrive
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Feb

So long

by Robin Korth

The phone rings. The call has finally come. Your mother or your father has slipped from this life. It is time for you to go wherever home is and say goodbye for the last time.

The death of a parent–no matter our age–is a time of reckoning, a time of endings and a time of beginnings. The death of a parent calls on us to readjust our sense of self and our understanding of our place in the world.

My phone call came at 1:30 a.m., August 31, 2009. My mother’s voice simply saying, “He’s gone. Come.” So few words, such a huge shift in my world. The larger-than-life man who had defined me for so long was no longer here. As I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and stuffed my feet into shoes, all I knew was that I had to move, to get to the place of his leaving and to acknowledge with my mother that my father was no more.

We sat together, my mother and me, as the medical team asked questions and chirped and beeped to the powers that be. My father’s body lay on the floor of the bathroom where a heart attack had finally claimed him. I had straightened his nightshirt, smoothed his hair and kissed his cooling flesh for the last time. A beach towel covered the body, now-still flesh that had once housed his so-big person.

The family began to come–such a large clan this issue of my father. The kitchen door through which we had welcomed one another for events simple and festive was now the avenue of stark, grief-shot faces simply walking in. We were coming home to a house already made smaller. Eyes wide in grief-wonder, we hugged and strove to breathe into one another, huddling for wordless comfort.

I watched in awe and love and great pride as my family assembled. Each person seemed to know where they would fit best as the duties of death began. Someone manned the phone and began to make the calls. Children and grandchildren always found a place with my mother, face blasted with the loss of her companion of sixty-one years. Arrangements were coming together for services and memorials. An obituary was being penned as the practicalities of saying good-bye were cataloged and catered to.

We were all together again. It had been many years since all of my tribe had gathered in one place. Dad had called us all home. And, in that, we were pleased and happy to see each other. Memories, large and small, familiar and new, were shared with laughter and tears. My oldest brother took the head of the table that night. The quiet shifting of family positions had begun.

It has been more than two years now since my father called us all home. The seams of the family have been re-sewn–the warp and weave of the family cloth is still solid, but now has a new pattern. We have all adjusted and found our footing in a shifted world. And, amazingly, Dad is still here whenever we come together. He is in our smiles and the resemblance we share one to another. His imprint lies in our hearts and minds and so very, very firmly in our everyday memories of him.

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Tags: death, death and children, family after a death, father death, grief, korth, loss, mother death, mourning, parent dying, parents dying, robin korth, the family and death
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Jan

The “good girl” bites the dust

by Robin Korth

The day I finally grew up was the day I stopped being a “good girl.” It was the day I slowed down long enough to admit to myself that I was tired of telling myself it was okay to not feel okay. It was the day the “good girl” finally bit the dust.

There I sat a fifty-something “good girl” with everything my culture told me I should have in order to be happy. I had the husband and the children, the house and the career. I had the education and the comforts. I had hit the marks and toed the lines, but my heart was numb and the achievements of my life sparkled for all to see like silver paper stars on the forehead of a “good girl.”

And I had been so very, very good. Dinners were made, meetings were met, homework was helped and clothes were folded. Cars were driven here and there and my smile shone pinched and perfect. The alarm clock was set. Tonsils were checked and teeth were straightened. Pets were vetted and vaccinated. Baseball and tennis, tutoring and music, bedtimes and bath times all marched to the beat of my orderly direction. Duties were dealt with and “yes” was the answer to every request. My husband had become just tolerated as parents and relatives were catered to. And I was a very “good girl.”

But beneath the beaming brow of every “good girl” resides the heart and mind, the soul and spirit, of a woman who is becoming an older woman with each passing day. How much of ourselves do we keep buttoned up and pressed down and primped perfect? How much of our individual worth and beauty do we set on the back burner as we rush about being “get-it-done darlings” for everyone else?

We must do it all so very well, don’t you know? Isn’t this what will make us happy–being so very good? I so thought this, until I realized the “good girl” had to go. She brought with her a subtle resentment and a quiet anger. Her burden was a guilt-shot, wiggling disappointment. So I made a decision. I ditched the “good girl” and began the search for me. What served my growth and my spirit? Which decisions were mine and which were rote responses that I needed to discard? And slowly, I began to learn myself.

Today I am a good woman. I can say, “No.” I know that I matter just as much as you. I no longer bend to anyone else’s opinion of me. Perfection is no longer part of my vision. Putting others first is not always a given. I decide what is valuable and needs my attention. I choose what I can let go. I know what I cannot.

So, if you are struggling with disappointment and a quiet anger, you might want to look at the “good girl”–or boy–in your life. Maybe they need to bite the dust.

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Tags: "good girl", 50-something, 50-something "good girl", anger, back burner, disappointment with life, good woman, korth, not okay, perfection, robin korth, say "no", saying no
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Jan

“There-Ain’t-No-Rules” Rules

by Robin Korth

As my years are folding one into the other, I have come to the immutable fact that there really are no outside rules in life that can guide me. I must come to my own set of inner principles. I must consciously put myself and my truths out there. So these are the “rules” that I must live by–at least for this day.

• Don’t take myself too seriously. Don’t take you too seriously, either. Living is a heart-explosion game at best and a painful confusion at worst. We are all in the midst of changing and becoming at all times. To keep a sense of humor and a lightness of soul is terribly important.

• Stay where my feet are. This means I stay in the present, in this precise moment in time. For it is only in the place where I am standing that life can happen. If my head is tearing into the future or my heart is broken over the past, I am missing what is happening right in front of me.

• Be honest with myself in all things. Be honest with you unless the truth is really none of my business. I must claim my truth–what is going on with me–at all times. I must look clear-eyed and ruthlessly at the how and the why of my behavior. I shall tell you the truth about you only where it is important for our relationship or your safety.

• Claim my mistakes. “Yup! I screwed up. What can I learn from this dealy-do and let’s move on.” By acknowledging my humanity, I can change my behavior. By denying it, I continue in the fault. And, I lose a chance to create a better me.

• Know that compassion is love in action. “Love” is a great word, but the working side of it is having understanding and empathy for others. I must let go the leash of my judgment and hurt feelings, because I am not that important and our shared humanity is.

• Extend my hand and heart to another always. Living is a we thing. Without you, my mecannot grow and change. An open heart and hand makes living a wonderful adventure as we stumble and laugh through it together.

• Look life straight in the eye with my head high and my smile wide. This one means I shall not bow my head to anyone nor ride on my pride. I will meet you toe to toe and walk into life with a courage born of experience.

• Bring my soul openly to all that I do by being courageous in my vulnerability. I no longer fear your seeing my scarred humanity. It is the biggest gift I have to share. If you fear sharing yours, my hand is yours to hold.

There you have them. These are my there-ain’t-no-rules rules. I would love to hear about yours. Please share them with me at info@insightsonaging.com.

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Tags: ain't no rules, compassion, courage, happiness, i screwed up!, pride, robin korth, self-honesty, take life too seriously
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Dec

How dare I?

by Robin Korth

Boy, I get really lost in life at times. I can hit a wall of me wanting what I want. I’ll get all stubborn and wonky as I sit there with teary eyes and a “this sucks” thumb in my mouth. When I find myself in this place, I ask myself these questions:

How dare I feel self-pity? I am responsible for how my life is going. If I don’t like the way the cards are falling, I need to get my bottom in gear and do something different.

How dare I not be grateful? Life is such a beautiful gift! When I forget to see this, I am in trouble. All I need do is make a list of what I have and what I have going for me–and the joy starts to bubble up.

How dare I not give life my all? There is the flagging-fanny factor that quite often will find its way into my behavior. Let me push the throttle back to full-on forward and my life rocks its roll again.

How dare I demand the stars as I spit on the earth? This one means I’m not paying attention. I need to stay where my feet are in this place of here and now. I must work with what I have as I strive for the stars.

How dare I shake my fist at God and demand happiness? My God created me to be happy, but my happiness ain’t His problem. Happiness is an inside job and I am the delver and diviner of the make-me-smile stuff. Get moving, baby!

How dare I take from others and not give of myself? When I demand things and comfort from others, I am in short supply of kindness and love. I have forgotten that it is in the giving of me that I am realized and I become more.

How dare I not embrace my beauty? When I disparage myself and find fault with me, I have settled into lazy-lady mode. I have shut my eyes to the wonder of me because I am not willing to continue the work of polishing those scratches and faults out of my character.

How dare I not love myself? When I am feeling crinkly and kicking the hell out of me, it is because I have simply lost touch with me. This is the time I need to pull into myself and simply be with me. I need to celebrate myself unto myself and with myself. And then that smiling grace of wonder at who I am returns.

How dare I not laugh? I must always remember what a gift life is and what a remarkable game it is as well. One laugh begets another and then the hoots of hilarity start and my soul bounces right along.

What about you? What does your “How dare I list?” look like? I’d love to know! Really, I would love for you to share it with me at info@insightsonaging.com.

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Tags: embrace your beauty, happiness, how dare i, how dare you, insights on aging, laughter, robin korth, self-love, self-pity
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Dec

The laughing bad boy

by Robin Korth

As I sit here, there are tears in my eyes as pain is beginning to come to clarity. For months I have been struggling to write my weekly Guts of the Matter articles and the words have not come. Or if they have, they are not about what is really going on with me. What is really going on? Change–that laughing bad boy–has had my heart and soul in his grasp and I’ve been gasping and fighting his pull. Damn it! Confusion and fear come with change. Different choices come with change. He laughs with delight as he drags us into places unknown and unasked for. But spit happens! And change calls us out of our comfort zone whether we like it or not.

How funny. I thought it was my writing style that had changed. Not! It is me. It is this woman that I am that has grown and moved on. So, the writing has lagged because I am trying to play “catch up” with the morphing and moving of me. “F it!” doesn’t begin to describe how this feels. I sit here now and know that I’m being pushed and shoved to become more, to embrace the changes that life is calling me to.

My writing is the echo of my soul calling to the world. My words are my heart’s language as it strives to embrace the wonder of life. So, as I have flung wide my heart and agreed to be brave–to take the hits that must come–how can I think that my words would remain the same? How did I not see that the courage of me being me would cause changes in my writing? I am gutsier and more raw. How can my words then not follow suit.

Moving into change and taking the hit full on is a painful and a very scary deal. We resist, we persist, we so want things to be same-old and comfortable like our favorite slippers or ratty T-shirt. But life is all about change. It is the one constant. It also can be rather sneaky. We don’t see what it will actually demand of us. But once we see? Once we have the clarity that change is on us, we can embrace it. We cannot turn it back.

So, I sit here now with tears dried and a smile gracing my lips. The lady that I was just a few months ago is gone. She has changed. And this is as it should be. I simply did not see it. There is peace. The confusion is gone. Change, that laughing bad boy, has come and I have suffered because I did not see him clearly. Now, that I do? Let me welcome him and move with courage to grab his hand and walk into the next days of my life with him.

I ask you to open your eyes and your heart. Be on the lookout for change. The laughing bad boy brings wonderful stuff to our lives.

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Tags: choice, insights on aging, move on, robin korth
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights

Oct

I refuse!

by Robin Korth

I can be such a smart ass at times. When shopping recently, I blithely told the sales person that I was “pushing sixty,” smugly thinking to myself that I am only fifty-six. She remarked, “Gee, you look wonderful for your age!” (I always hate the “for your age” codicil that is now tacked on to comments about my appearance.) Then a thought hit me. I am walking through my fifty-seventh year. Oh my! I am pushing sixty. Damn.

With this utter clarity has come a profound and powerful war cry, “I refuse!” This may sound like an “in your face” angry sort of cry, but it is not. This is a cry of awareness, honesty, responsibility and joy. I refuse to not throw everything I have into living. I refuse to not do this thing well. With this said, here is my manifesto:

I refuse to live anyone else’s life but mine. I tried this and it did not work. I must claim who I am and live my days as me. Just me.

I refuse to do as you demand of me. No one, no one, has the right to demand that I do anything. Please ask me. Let me choose. And I shall bring all that I have to help you, assist you and comfort you.

I refuse to surrender my search for joy in life to do what is expected. At last I realize there really are no rules and I must make my own choices and decisions. With this comes great freedom, but also great responsibility.

I refuse to weaken the light of my spirit because it confuses you. My journey towards the end of my days must be mine. If my actions and thoughts are outside your comfort zone, feel free to walk away.

I refuse to bow my head and behave because my laughter embarrasses you. My delight is mine as are my hoots of hilarity.

I refuse to buckle my mind and button my lips when questions need to be asked. I at last know that silence wields a powerful and killing sword when we play “let’s pretend” and do not question what is going on.

I refuse to silence my voice when my truth must be spoken. I will no longer swallow my thoughts and words because you might not like them. I shall tell you how I feel and what is important to me.

I refuse to not put out my hand in welcome and compassion to others. The person next to me is just the same as me. Their hurts and desires, wants and needs are the echo of mine. I am made larger in sharing myself with others.

I refuse to quiet the singing of my heart and soul to the universe! There are now an elemental joy and terrible delight in living that course through me. I refuse to muffle it. I refuse to deny it. For this joy and this delight is quite simply who I am.

This is my “I refuse” list. I challenge you to give it some thought — to give it some heart and soul. Write down your “I refuse” list and send it back to me.

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Tags: aging, boundaries, courage, insights on aging, manifesto, robin korth, strength
Posted in IOA Stories, Newsletter, Robin's Insights