I’ve been doing a fair amount of assessment and reassessment of my life.

I think it started with my being rushed to the hospital for a brain bleed and recurred during several months of recovery from my concussion, which often left me confused, unsafe, and anxious.

I had some anxious and gloomy nights.

It’s mostly over now, so I can talk about it. I feel like I’m at the juncture of growth, purpose, and aging in my life, and I’ve been thinking a lot about handling it with grace, love, and decency. I had a rough time deciding to let go of my sister; I couldn’t help her any longer. But it hurt and made me sad.

I have a right to be happy; that takes work, thought, and practice.

It’s not easy; I was not taught any good things. I am late to learning, but I have been working to pick them up individually and face them honestly and openly. It comes down to acceptance, I think. At 76, I’m entering another phase of my life.

I am beginning to understand that the purpose of a moral life – a purposeful life – is to define what morality means to me and embrace morality to the end – for my sake, the sake of the people I love, and the sake of the earth.

All around me, I see what I believe is immorality – violence, dishonesty, corruption, and a return to the old ways of cruelly persecuting the different and abusing women

We are becoming numb to cruelty and persecution. It happens so often that it just rolls off our heads and tongues and out of our minds. School shootings are just news now, like another three-alarm fire or car crash. Everybody praises the dead and the injured and then moves on.

There is only so much bad news a human being could or should consume.

This has challenged me to think about things in my life all over again, wherever they come from, and how much they sting.

I don’t know what church means now or why people are being fired and threatened and persecuted for not wanting to read a book they love or have a baby, or wanting to marry someone the Bible allegedly hasn’t blessed. Or ridicule people with low incomes for being hungry.

That’s not the Jesus I read about.

This also has to do with my wanting to age gracefully and thoughtfully. I was discouraged after my collapse and concussion and saw it as a signal calling me to understand the last chapter in my life.

(blogging)

Several months later, I’ve done much of the thinking I needed and landed in a good place. I have almost totally healed from those injuries.

My reimagined foot is good to walk on. I am not waking up to head or back pain for the first time in several months. My diabetes is under control, and I am accepting what it is that I can do now and what it is I cannot do now.

I’ve had to give up several farm chores, but I am fortunate to be married to someone who loves doing them. I can’t herd sheep with my dog now. I can’t move fast enough to train a border collie and don’t wish to subject them to my bumbling around. I can’t walk two miles up a hill. I can’t haul firewood to the wood stoves; I can’t pull the generator out of the barn and get on the ground to take care of my flowers. I can’t help my sister any longer and must let her go. I couldn’t figure out how to love myself.

And I am no longer a best-seller author getting paid much money to write books.

Flying to a place for hours far from my doctor’s and pharmacy stops me cold.

But I didn’t want to spend much time on the things I could no longer do. Instead, I think of what I can do, including some I couldn’t do six months ago.

I can love my wife more than ever and make love to her as often as possible. I can take interesting photos that people love.

I can help raise money for Sue Silverstein’s students and paint, brushes, and shoes for the Mansion residents.

I can handle three dogs who do what I ask of them and love me heartily. I can be pals with an opinionated barn cat named Zip, who has shaken up my life and enriched it. I can walk daily on a beautiful farm with trees and streams, ducks and ravens, and Herons and geese in the pond.

I can talk pictures with two Leica cameras, I never thought I would have. I can use a compost toilet when I wish and avoid rushing downstairs in the middle of the night. I can get my two missing teeth replaced by implants. I can walk a mile up a hill. And more than that, into the woods.

And oddly enough, I am writing more than ever, and despite my Dyslexia, I am writing better than ever. And guess what? I can grow beautiful flowers and tend to them and then photograph them. I am proud of that.

I love my farm more than ever now that I can step back and see how wonderful it is. I can love and hug a donkey (two donkeys) and hug them; I can publish a daily blog that hundreds of thousands want to read. And I can say what I want, no more peckerheads telling me what to write.

And as necessary, I am learning to love myself. I can’t love other people without loving myself.

Life is what I make of it, period. I won’t be a hangdog or moan about my life. I’d rather be content and fulfilled.

I can teach the Mansion residents how to meditate and help the refugee students at Bishop Gibbons do their art and get enough food and warm clothes to wear.

I can’t bend to the ground but can lean easily over my raised garden beds and take the photos I want. I can take portraits of people I like and love, and I am learning to like many more people than I used to.

And I can learn – how to deal with anxiety, how to take care of my body, how to eat the healthiest food imaginable. And how to set aside my anger and embrace my authenticity. I can like who I am.

When I look at the list, I say to myself, “Okay, old man, you’re 76 now, but the list of things you can do is much longer than the list of things you can’t do.” It’s something to dwell on.

It’s time to accept my life and move on with it. I am loving and loved in a way I never thought possible.

I’m happy to be here and so glad to be me. Sometimes, you have to think about it. And think about it again.