Seasoned Voices: What Is This Season Asking of Me?
Flavoured with Insight. Infused with Heart.
This post is part of our Seasoned Voices series, where each of us is writing in response to the same quote by May Sarton:
“With age, I am able to savour the winter of my life – the quiet, the depth, the slow-burning light of my own company.”
Each writer brings her own perspective, experiences, reflections, insights on midlife and the seasons of our lives.
At the end of this post, you’ll find links to the other contributors’ writing, along with their pictures, so you can explore our voices and reflections in this shared writing journey. We’d love it if you’d leave comments, share our posts and join those of us with newsletters.
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“When are we going to be there?” I’d ask my parents on our long car trips – or at least they always seemed unduly long since I was often car sick.
“When are we going to be there?” my young sons wondered as we drove to holiday spots in August every year. My replies, meant to comfort them, would most often end with “How about now?” - minutes later.
“When am I going to be there?” I’d wonder as I drove through the mountains, always in awe of their magnificence. “How much longer?” until I reach the wide-open spaces of the prairies that always had me taking a deep breath in and a slower breath out.
“When am I going to be…an adult?” I wondered as I navigated my teen years, fraught with stress and family mental health issues.
“When am I going to be…a social worker, a wife, a mother?” I wondered as each one unfolded, arriving in a timely manner.
“When will I finally feel I’ve arrived?” I often pondered. “When will I stop feeling I’m behind, continually catching up, a ‘late bloomer’ who has always felt one or two steps away from where others seem to be - freer, happier, more mature, content, wise.”
“When am I going to be there?” I wondered as I retired and entered midlife - that place where I can savour “the slow-burning light of my own company.”
“How much longer” I’ve asked myself before I fully, completely and permanently feel at peace within where acceptance and love shine and support me, despite my shortcomings and mistakes.
I used to imagine that one day I’d reach my destination, cross over a line where I’d feel at peace and the quiet glow Sarton describes.
But perhaps winter isn’t a place where I can stay? Perhaps it’s a season I enter, leave, and return to again and again.
Some days I can savour the depth of my own company. Other days I am back in the car, restless, searching, asking “When am I going to be there?”
Do we ever stop seeking? I think not.
In my youth I sought becoming.
As an adult I sought validation, time, energy and permission to be more than wife, mother, employee.
And now in midlife, I seek meaning - not measured in productivity and results but meaning felt in alignment with my values and beliefs.
I seek truth – of who I am when I’m with others and when I’m on my own and no one is watching.
Could it be that the season of winter is not about arriving at a destination but more about connection and intimacy with self that is ever-growing, emerging, softening, deepening? A journey from midlife - to old age - to death and beyond?
What if the question is no longer “When am I going to be there?” but instead, “What is this season asking of me right now, in this moment on my journey?”
Thanks for reading.
Joan
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