Wandering and Wondering

I am no longer a highly competitive person. In recent years, my attitude has shifted related to games of all types. I only compete in limited ways as I play sports and other games. I carefully choose the games I play which may or may not be competitive in nature with outcomes determined by skill, strength, or luck.

I enjoyed competition throughout my life. As I get older, however, I find less need to compete against others. I played pickleball for the first two years I lived in Estes Park. It was a wonderful way to meet people. Over time, however, the players became far more competitive than I liked so I stopped playing.

Some people have family traditions associated with game playing. Games were not a tradition in my family of origin, much to my mother’s consternation. We always got a family game from Santa. We often played it on Christmas night, but it was not usually popular beyond that evening. I have few fond memories of those family game nights other than my mother thought that a better name for Scrabble was Squabble. I have friends who enjoy playing card games when we get together. I play because it is a social thing, but it is not something I actively seek. I especially enjoy playing Farkle, however, if I am backpacking and a rock is the playing board!

Having said all that, however, I play computer games as a form of diversion in the evening. I am not a “gamer,” but I have played Free Cell for years and consider myself good at it. The competition is with me, so the outcome doesn’t matter that much. I play Sudoku occasionally and have played Wordle every day for the past three years. I don’t take any of those games too seriously although I once had a 107-game streak going with Wordle. I don’t have the patience so I doubt I will ever get that run again. It is fun but just not important to me. I know people who have much longer winning streaks than me and that is more than fine.

Playing games should be fun and I do enjoy the efforts from time to time. At this stage in my life, however, I choose what is fun and no longer care about competition and winning.

The current world situation depresses me as I absorb the news. I am appalled by the lack of attention paid to the natural environment as well as the cruelty that exists in this country and throughout the world. In my inadequacy to change the trajectory, I seek ways to feel better about the present and the future.

One way that has helped me is to recognize the beauty that is around me. I love this time of the year with the abundant wildflowers in the meadows and woodland areas. As I frequently note, baby animals make me smile. I am mindful of other forms of beauty in the commitment of people to find meaning in their work and relationships. I appreciate the splendor of written words as well as music.

I cannot live in an “either/or” world so I seek wisdom to balance both views. Focusing on goodness does not make me oblivious to the tyranny of the moment. I was reminded recently by a colleague, John de Graff, of the complexity of the world in which we live. de Graff produced a documentary about Katharine Lee Bates’ writing of the poem that was set to music, America the Beautiful. She acknowledged the coexistence of beauty and strife in her words, even though most of us do not get beyond the first verse of praise for America.

Bates drafted the poem while visiting Colorado’s Pike’s Peak in 1893. She was inspired by the “purple mountain majesties” to the west and the “amber waves of grain” on the eastern plains. She wanted to celebrate the nation’s natural beauty. She also recognized the values of the US that she hoped would prevail. Verse two includes, “God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law!” Verse three notes, “O beautiful for heroes proved. In liberating strife, who more than self their country loved, And mercy more than life!” These verses illustrate to me the desire for a better world.

I celebrate the beauty around me and the principles upon which our country was founded. As is true of countries as well as individuals, however, we can do better. I dislike the political paralysis I feel. At the same time, I desire to thrive in a “both/and” world that acknowledges good and strives to address evil. I need grace. I seek the transcendence Katherine Lee Bates intended in her poem.

My parents graduated from the same high school two years apart. For years I heard them talk about their class reunions. The number of classmates, however, became fewer over time and eventually the formal reunions ended. My parents were among the last to pass of their peers. I did not give much thought to that reality for them until recently.

A friend from my Class of ’67 died a few weeks ago. As I grieved her passing, I realized that she was one of twelve classmates no longer with us. For a class of 48 (the largest ever to graduate from my high school, which was the same one my parents attended), one fourth were now gone. We still have plenty of folks to host a class reunion, but our numbers are sadly dwindling.

This truth for me is mind boggling. Where did the time go? My high school prom seems like yesterday. I mourn for those mates that passed too soon and recognize how fortunate I am to continue to be among the living. Based on the longevity of my parents, I hope I still have a few years to go but no one ever knows. I do not want to be overemotional, but I have been thinking about death more often in the past few weeks.

I recognize that death is inevitable. Senator Joni Ernst noted that “We are all going to die.” I prefer, however, what Haruki Murakami noted, “Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.” Most of us, nevertheless, would prefer to die later rather than sooner. Facing others’ deaths such as my classmates is more difficult that facing my own. In the time I have left, I want to live meaningfully. How can I live my life with gratitude and compassion?

Death is an unknown. The idea of heaven or reincarnation gives some peace. Regardless, the known is the hope that the impact of any person’s life can live on. As I think about my departed classmates, I recall them with warm memories. To know that their families and friends cherish their lives gives me comfort.

The reminder of death also brings me more fully into the present moment as I appreciate the time I have on this earth. I think about how blessed I have been in my own life as well as in knowing those people who have gone before me. My favorite book, Markings, by Dag Hammarskjöld has a quote that sums up my feelings at the moment, “Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment.”

In the movie “UP,” one of my favorite recurring scenes is when someone shouts “squirrels!” and all the dogs go crazy moving in every direction hoping a squirrel is nearby. Most dogs who like squirrels would not be disappointed if they visited Rocky Mountain National Park. If I do not see any animals on my forays into the park, I always see at least one squirrel. Even in the quiet of winter, I can count on seeing squirrels in the park.

In the summer, four types of squirrels thrive: pine squirrels, Wyoming ground squirrels, golden mantle ground squirrels, and Abert’s squirrels.

Pine squirrels are common. These small rodents live in coniferous forests with pine, fir, and spruce trees. I often hear their chatter if I unknowingly get too close to their storehouses. Their tail helps them balance and provides warmth when they wrap it around their bodies in chilly weather. 

Wyoming ground squirrels exist at the low altitudes of the park. Most Estes Park residents do NOT like them and wish they would just stay in the park. They burrow into the ground and look like prairie dogs except that they hibernate underground in the winter.

Golden mantel squirrels often are mistaken for chipmunks although they are larger and do not have stripes on their faces. They live primarily in rocky places in mid-elevations of the park. They also spend most of the winter in hibernation.

Abert’s squirrels are the most beautiful. They are black with tufted ears. They inhabit ponderosa pines in the montane areas. I see them least often among these squirrels and delight most in their unique black appearance, especially if contrasted against winter snow.

Squirrels eat seeds, nuts, and cones. They can also eat fungi, berries, and sometimes insects. One reason I see them so often in the park is that the Pine and Abert squirrels are active year around both during the daytime and at dawn and dusk.

Everywhere I have lived has had squirrels of varying species. I thought they were all brown like in Iowa until I saw the gray ones in North Carolina. Squirrels are not one of those animals that excite people when they are seen. The sightings of Bullwinkle the Moose get more attention than Rocky the Squirrel. Nevertheless, these small mammals are a part of this diverse ecosystem, and I can count on seeing them on every hike. Their contributions are underrated in this vibrant landscape.

“…and she’ll have fun, fun, fun till daddy takes the t-bird away.” That song has been running through my head ever since the recent death of Beach Boys founder, Brian Wilson. The Beach Boys certainly remind me of life in the 1960’s when I was in high school and cars were a big deal in my rural community.

Getting my driver’s license was the most important rite of passage in my life (closely rivaled by getting my National Park Lifetime Pass!) I was one of the youngest kids in my class so most had their licenses before me. I learned how to drive years before and often drove my dad’s pick-up truck when we were doing work on the farm. Having that license and my parents buying a second car for me to use to go to basketball practice and other school events was monumental for me as a 16-year-old. I loved that 1960 2-door International Scout that I used. Limits were placed on where I could drive and I had to cart my sisters around from time to time, but having the license and a car had made for a massive world of freedom.

Most young people remember their first car(s). In my second year in college, my folks purchased a used car for me to drive back and forth from Iowa State. When I graduated, they sold me that 1966 blue 4-door Nash Rambler and it was mine. Once I got my first job and saved money, I bought my first real car—a sporty bright red Dodge Challenger that cost $2000. My parents always bought used cars, so I thought I was cool having a fancy NEW car.

I planned to buy a new car every two years since I thought that was the sign of status. My values changed, however, after spending 6 months in a developing country, Türkiye in 1974. I altered my priorities as I recognized that new cars were not the most important thing in the world. Being joyful with what one needs is more important than fulfilling “wants.” Since 1976, I have owned only five new cars. Buying one every 12-15 years is enough for me.

I love my 2012 Subaru Impreza Sport but was thinking about a new car this year. Having bells and whistles (i.e., safety features) of back-up cameras, lane centering, and pre-collision braking would make me a better driver. Although I get decent gas mileage with my Subi, a hybrid would be a conscious environmental investment. However, a new car is not appealing now. I’ll continue to have “fun, fun, fun” with the car that I need, and hope that I am a safer driver than 60 years ago.

In Africa, tourists yearn to see the Big 5: African Elephants, Cape Buffalos, Leopards, Lions, and Rhinoceros. I was lucky enough to see them on a wildlife tour in Krueger National Park several years ago. People coming to Rocky Mountain National Park are often most interested in the big animals including Bighorn Sheep, Moose, and Elk. I love seeing them too.

Sometimes it feels like folks are checking these big ones “off their list.” In my travels as well as in Rocky, I have also become excited about other animals including dozens of birds as well as the flora that covers the landscape. Seeing big game is fun, but ecologically the little critters and the small plants enable those big mammals to exist.

Small is beautiful. Spring is the time of babies. Goslings follow their vigilant parents around at Sheep Lakes. Marmot adolescents make their appearances in rocky spaces along Trail Ridge Road. Female elk are forming nurseries to protect their young ones. All sizes of ground squirrels scurry everywhere. I never get tired of seeing babies as I say a silent prayer for their good long lives.

Spring is also the time of tiny wildflowers. As the days lengthen, larger flowers emerge easier to see and add to the diversity of the land.

One of my hiking friends, Susan, has helped me to see the uncelebrated smaller aspects of the natural world—butterflies, bees, mosses, slime molds, and birds. I do not know the names but am recognizing their importance in creating a kind landscape.

I just finished reading an interesting book, Raising Hare, which was recommended to me by another Susan that I know. This memoir is about a young British woman who co-exists with a rabbit in her home during the pandemic. She does not give the hare a name and lets it roam free in and out of her house. Over time, the rabbit teaches her to slow down and observe nature all around her. The book is a plea for people to be gentler with all creatures by granting them room to live. The author, Chole Dalton, emphasizes that “Coexistence gives our own existence greater poignancy, and perhaps even grandeur.”

I value fauna and flora in my life. I am blessed to co-exist with the big things as well as the small.

“Do dogs go to heaven?” I remember asking my mom when I was about six years old and the first dog I ever knew, Tippy, was run over by a car. Tippy was a German Shepard/Collie mix with a white tip on his tail. I didn’t understand death but knew he was no longer around. I don’t remember my mom’s response, but it made me think that our dog was in a happy place.

I am now grieving from the unexpected passing of my dear brown tabby soul cat, Mog. The story of a Rainbow Bridge eases some anguish. This metaphor gives me, as well as others, a form of heaven and comfort for pets who have left this physical world.

The notion describes a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth– the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. On the earth side of the bridge is a land of meadows, hills, and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet such as Tippy or Mog dies, the pet goes to this place. There is abundant food and treats. Frail animals become young again. The animals play all day together.

Something is missing, however, at the Rainbow Bridge. They do not have the special people who loved them on earth. They run and play until one suddenly stops and looks up. This pet runs from the group and sees his/her special friend and they meet again. They cuddle and kiss again and again. Together the person and the pet cross the Rainbow Bridge together to heaven, never again separated.

The idea of the Rainbow Bridge makes me smile as I think about Mog being happy and patiently waiting for me as she had done every day in our home for the past 15 years. I don’t think the idea of the Rainbow Bridge existed 70 years ago, but it now represents heaven to me.

I know Mog is waiting for me as are the other animals I have loved over the years. My dad passed 11 years ago this summer, and I am confident that Tippy is now with him and they crossed over that Rainbow Bridge together. Someday I will be reunited with my dear friend Mog.

My mom used to say to me when I was upset about something as a child that, “This, too, shall pass.” I am not sure if that was the best advice sometimes, but it was a way to move away from obsessive thinking. Today I see the phrase as a precursor to what resilience means for me.

I wrote recently about how trees adapt to climate change–resistance, resiliency, and transition. Being resilient related to withstanding and/or recovering from difficult situations struck a chord for me.

Resilient people know that even when things are problematic, they can keep going until they make it through. Instead of despairing or hiding using unhealthy coping strategies, resilient people face life’s demands head-on. One of the concepts that youth development research frequently addresses is related to how to help kids be resilient. Children often face difficult situations that they have little control over, and yet with support, they can persevere and thrive.

I know people whom I admire for their resilience. Individuals have overcome illnesses to recover to a healthy life. Others have lost significant others both early and later in life and have managed to continue and find ways to be happy.

I feel fortunate to have not faced the catastrophes that others have experienced. The most challenging time for me was when I was denied tenure at the University of Wisconsin. I seriously contemplated leaving higher education and doing something else unknown at the time. I continued, however, into the career that I had desired as an educator and researcher. I was able to thrive beyond that setback. I am grateful that I was resilient.

Emotional resilience also involves regulating emotions during times of stress. Resilient people can calm their mind and manage their emotions when they are dealing with negative experiences. Even with unimaginable circumstances, resilience allows people to not just survive but prosper. I strive to be one of those people who have purpose, a social network, problem-solving skills, optimism, and the ability to act.

I don’t know what “doing thing” means. I have a terrible time doing nothing. My upbringing valued hard work. Retirement offers a reprieve from busyness and labor that I have yet to experience.

The Protestant work ethic, a concept popularized by sociologist Max Weber, is the belief that hard work, discipline, and frugality are morally virtuous and lead to success. It suggests that diligence and worldly success are signs of divine favor. This ethic played a key role in shaping my individual responsibility. I was indoctrinated by the ideas. I feel best when I have a full schedule and a moderate “to do” list. Yet, I also recognize that doing nothing could and perhaps, should, be a daily habit.

To “do nothing” has varied meanings. At its simplest, it refers to a state of inactivity—refraining from work, movement, or deliberate action. It may mean a lack of physical or mental effort such as resting or relaxing, simply sitting, lying down, or engaging in mindless activities like staring out a window. It can be effortless action rather than forcing outcomes.

Further, philosophically, “doing nothing” can also be an intentional act such as meditation, reflection, or simply allowing events to unfold without interference. Buddhists suggest that non-action allows for a sense of observing thoughts without reacting to them, which can be peaceful.

It’s easy to get caught up in the “doing” of life and not simply “being.” Yet, I long to rest, recover, and allow myself to be unproductive without guilt. Although hard to implement, I have committed myself to do “nothing” periodically. That desire comes from the privilege I have due to limited caregiving responsibilities and financial stability. Therefore, I ought to be able to consciously do nothing, hang loose, and enjoy rather than feel guilty about that time spent on what appears to be unproductive.

I am learning that doing nothing might look like idleness, but it can be a conscious way of engaging with life, avoiding unnecessary struggle, and focusing on deep reflection. I need that right now. After 75 years, that approach is not easy, but intentional inaction from time to time is worth considering.

The older I get, the more I recognize how complicated the world is. I am partial to the Chinese philosophy of yin and yang that describes the dualistic nature of the universe as well as the substantial relationships. It represents the idea that opposite forces are interconnected, interdependent, and constantly in flux.

Yin is typically associated with qualities such as darkness, passivity, femininity, and the moon, while Yang represents light, activity, masculinity, and the sun. Rather than being absolute opposites, Yin and Yang complement each other. They balance to create harmony in nature, human life, and the cosmos. The symbol of Yin and Yang, the Taijitu, illustrates this balance with swirling black (Yin) and white (Yang) sections, each containing a dot of the opposite color, signifying that within each force lies a seed of the other.

Similarly, the notion of “both/and” rather than “either/or” is a personal and professional philosophy of mine. Rather than focus on hyperbole, I acknowledge that like yin and yang, ideas can complement each other.

I was reminded of the yin and yang on my recent vacation. Although being away from home is a contrast to daily activities, I cannot help but think about both as I travel. I love being away and then I love being back home.

The yin and yang also remind me of other contrasts in my world. For example, I love the outdoors and the differing experiences I have with landscapes. I see order and chaos, solitude and community, and cacophony and harmony. Recognizing these differences is a way to realize the richness of where I live, as well as the larger world.

I am seeing the yin and yang, the “both/and” as I remember by dear sweet cat, Mog. I mourn her loss but smile as I remember our days together. To dwell on only one emotion is to miss the value of contrasts—happiness for 15 years with her, and sadness because she is no longer physically with me.

Contradictory to yin yang is the amount of hyperbole I experience every day. I am tired of hearing exaggerated statements or claims about things being the greatest or the best. It reminds me that life is not meant to be lived in exaggerations or in statements that are dichotomously right or wrong. Yin yang helps me understand my emotions in this complex world.