"This Is the Real Thing": THRESHOLDS, an Exploration of Transitions

My new book of poems. Available in bookshops and online.

My buddy B and I shared a long lunch at a community restaurant today, and wrapped it up with identical slices of coconut cream pie. It was very satisfying, as we talked about wide-ranging topics that matter to us.

Running through much of the hour and a half was a repeated theme: If we're not looking into mirrors, we forget that we've become "old." Of course, it depends on how you define that -- but we're over 70, and when we were young adults, 70 was the edge of Old Age, something that seemed foreign and even spooky. What if you fall down and break a hip? What if your mind starts to slide? What if your relatives and friends think you are boring?

None of those have happened to either of us (*yet*).  But we walk in a landscape that can be mysterious, baffling, and hard to predict. And yes, we watch our footing literally. I climbed a steep ridge before lunch, and on my way back down, I held my arms out to both sides, for better balance.

Aging as a transition is not as drastic as leaving home for college, or falling in love, or experiencing pregnancy or (gulp) loss of a child at any age. It happens that B and I have both experienced loss of a much-loved spouse, to a fatal illness. Time has passed since those losses began, and we mention our husbands' names with affection, more often than with sorrow or pain.

Transition. With it comes the magic of the "liminal," the borderland where things aren't quite confirmed. In poems I often pull up imagery like mists, rivers, boundaries. This is what it is to walk forward into change. To walk up to, and then across, a threshold.

What have you learned from facing and walking into transitional times in your life? This is open for your comments (although they get screened, so you won't see them post right away). Conversation.

Thanks, B, for today's shared and sweet adventure. 

* *

A bit of the poem "Wilderness" from the book:

 There could be worse

wilderness to walk, you know; others have had it hard too, and
they didn't have such good boots to wear. The little things.
Let's count them now, together.