Category Archives: intention

i’m ready…

…to be more lighthearted.

I take my life pretty darn seriously.

In this new year, I intend to keep doing that, in the sense that I will continue to hold my relationships to others, my inner being, work, and the world up for rather ruthless scrutiny. I just want that journey to be a happier one than it has so often been in the past.

I will never be Miss Perky Pollyanna. I don’t intend that at all.

But I do think it’s possible for me to laugh at some of the same things that tend to make me cry. And I want to laugh in a way that expresses real joy in my existence, not in a way that is trying to cover or push past pain. (Happiness as a mask.)

I came into this intention as I read The Wise Heart: A Guide to the Universal Teachings of Buddhist Psychology by Jack Kornfield. The plan is to read the book more slowly again this year, do the practices in each chapter, and write about it. The book and the practices and the writing will support my intention to be more lighthearted this year.

In many ways, whether they know it or not, my friends nudged me towards this intention and even the book, although I am the one who ends up recommending the book to them. I have incredibly wise friends. I am so excited that they will be joining me in the read, the practices, and the writing. Also a couple of family members, who are also friends, will be joining in. As a group we are in different places in age, geography, and in knowledge of Buddhism, psychology, and experience, and I know that’s going to make this conversation interesting for all of us. Maybe others will jump in along the way.

I look forward to whatever happens here.

I feel myself getting lighter already.

senior moment

The ticket-seller at the movie today asked for $7. I thought $7 was strangely low, but I figured that might be the matinee price. Nope, it wasn’t. As I walked to the theater, I took a closer look at my ticket. She had charged me the senior price. Ack.

“Think of it this way,” my son said when I told him about it later, “you saved $3.”

Vanity, thy name is Mary Ann de Stefano. Even though every penny counts these days, I would have rather paid full price, or even be over-charged, than have an anonymous ticket-seller think I am older than I am. How pathetic is that?

Ironically, one theme of the movie I saw that day, Elegy, is senescence.

Lately, I’ve had this thought: my life is over. It’s not something I dwell on, or even believe. But the thought rather sharply passes through my mind these days with scary frequency. Friends who are somewhat older than I am (or was?) told me in the past they’ve had that same thought. I always brushed it away, called them silly, and reminded them how young they are yet. But now I know how they felt.

I’m not much different than anyone else when it comes to worries about age. In my adolescence, I thought I was immortal. In my twenties and thirties, I couldn’t see the horizon as my whole life spread before me. In my forties, when my father died, I had the stark realization that my time on earth was limited, too, and the pressure was on to be clearer about the path I wanted my life to take. The horizon came into view.

Now, the horizon is closer than ever. When I shared the my-life-is-over feeling with a friend, she understood what I meant. And she didn’t brush it off as silly. But she did say, “Be careful about that. Because it’s a choice.”

Right. A choice.

So here is my choice.  I’m am going to make it all about age and time as I hurtle towards sixty, but only to heighten my awareness of impermanence. I’m not going to fall into the my-life-is-over trap, but I am going to use that feeling like a nudge to cultivate mindfulness and the pleasure of the moment. I’ll use it to remind myself it matters not how much time I have, or where I will be in the future. What matters most, what always matters most, is what I am doing now, at this very moment. The moment is always young, always abundant.

another year, another beginning, another chance to get it right

Time is fleeting and so is inspiration. I don’t want my ideas to languish in my head, full of promise but unfulfilled. I don’t want to be satisfied with vague notions about things to do some day, when I have more time. There will never be more time.

I want to implement my ideas faithfully and extravagantly and make them real and whole. I resolve to act knowing I am bound to make messes and mistakes but understanding that messes and mistakes are not detours, but rather, useful and necessary—even fun (sometimes)—parts of my creative journey.