INVISIBLE

At sixty-five, I often feel invisible.

I don't wear the current fashions or desire to expose my breasts, legs or gluteal muscles. I wear relaxed and comfortable, whatever their date.

My hair is silver, and I use little makeup.

Without advertising, I don't attract much male attention. Besides, the men my age are usually hustling younger women.

I don't need or want center stage or even the peripheral limelight. I think this comes from being content with my life and comfortable in my own skin.

I no longer compete with others or race anyone for first place. I yield the right-of-way. I'll take the turtle's pace. It's steady and sure.

Actually, I am enjoying this time in my life. Invisibility removes the stess, and I can just be.

BIRTHDAYS

Yesterday, I traversed my 65th birthday. Yes. Medicare.

I received two wonderful cards. I'll lay some of their wisdom on you.

One began with, "On your birthday let's analyze your mind with this fun test! The answer will reveal your mental attitude?"

"Which of the following would you prefer to receive?"
A. a cake
B. a present
C. money
D. a card

With retirement in mind, I choose money.

The test results were printed inside the card. If you choose -

A. (a cake)It means you are practical. You are satisfied with the barest essentials of life.

B. (a present) It means you are optimistic and you enjoy surprises.

C. (money) Indicates you are highly imaginative. You believe in the impossible(like opening this card and finding money in it).

D. (a card) This shows you are a realist. You don't expect too much, and in this case, you were not disappointed.

A good laugh was had by all, especially me.

I'll share the second card later.

Many Blessings L.B

TRANSITIONS

As we evolve spiritually, we travel to our centers and our truth.

For many years, I have recurrently dreamed that, even as an M.D., because of a clerical error, I had to repeat my senior year of high school to receive my high school diploma. I was humiliated.

Because of childhood programing, one theme in my life has been that regardless of my achievements, I could not succeed. Prior to medical school graduation, I became intensely suicidal. To approach an assault on my programing, such as walking across the stage and accepting my diploma, created almost unbearable stress.

During those four years of living hell, I thought I would surely die of a brain tumor or leukemia before I received the coveted degree.

For eleven years after graduation, I trained and practiced in the field of pathology. Following considerable, personal growth, I realized in pathology I dealt with dis-eased bodies, which were often the result of dis-eased thoughts and the subsequent emotions and actions they generated. Twenty-five years ago, I retrained as a psychiatrist, the field in which I currently practice.

As I approach retirement, my dreams indicate that I am having difficulty transitioning from a human doing to a human being. For several years, I have dreamed, because my skills were rusty, I must repeat my pathology training. Again, my achievements are not "good enough," and there is more for me to do before I rest or play. On awakening, I felt guilty about the many times, during my medical training and career that I was unavailable emotionally or physically for my three children.

Because of my commitment to my patients and my fear of financial insecurity, I have pushed myself to continue my practice. My gastrointestinal tract is a perfect barometer of my emotional state. Eighteen months ago, my alimentary canal went into full revolt. It informed me, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn't quickly do something, drastically different, death was eminent. So, out of desperation, I decreased my patient load and my hours in the office.

For several months now, when I go into the office, I often feel as though I am dying. Last night, the dream of returning for a second pathology residency was more vivid than ever before. I had an infant. She was malnourished, lethargic and near death. If I attempted to perform the tasks entailed in the residency, she would die. I awoke knowing the child was me.

Soon, I know that I must leave my psychiatric practice. This phase of my life is drawing to a close. If I am to continue to help others, I will do so via another vehicle.

For many years, I have been drawn to follow my passions, art and writing, which issue from my center, my true self. As of yet, my literary footprint has been invisible, and I have not publicly shown my art. I am coming to know that it is not important that I have an audience, receive praise or earn an income from these endeavors. What is important is that I follow my passion and my truth, and so it is.

ON THE BEACH

Abandoned, yellow, plastic starfish smiling,
Passed on to waving toddler.
Pampered child crying,
Enjoying being inconsolable

Bikini body show,
Strutting wares,
Muscled surfboard daddies,
Looking cool

Nippy, at eighty-three,
A true beauty queen

No perfect shells for me,
But shards tumbled smooth,
In dancing patterns, and
Glistening hues of ruby-red,
Gold-to-brown, gray and white

YOUTH

Runway model in red,
Girl child masquerading as woman,
Eyes brightly painted,
Face powdered and rouged

What can she sell me at 64?

Do I desire her youth?
No.
I have done my work.
She has yet to do hers.

Do I want her face?
It took me these many years to love my own.
Why change now.

Do I envy her figure?
God, no.
I rejoice being without bra or bikini.
She remains hostage to womanhood's illusions.
Having shed those many barnacles,
I am free to be.
And, hopefully, someday, so shall she.