try

One day after I made us coffee, I asked her: “What’s the secret to being successful in your 90s?”

“Just try, dear. So many people are old at 60. They just want to sit all day. You won’t make it to 90 like that. You have to try.”

“Try what?”

“Try walking,” she said. “Try gardening. Try cooking. Trying doesn’t require a lot of trying. Just try a little. Like, with this coffee you’ve made us. I know you tried.”

From At 93, Teaching Me About Possibility

I am at the age where it’s clear to me those who have stopped trying. Stopped reaching out. Stopped calling. Stopped having hard conversations. Stopped asking questions to better understand. Stopped exploring new parts of life. Stopped showing up for folks. Stopped being curious. I can feel the ways it’s creeped into my own life. The way some days can so easily slip on by and friendships slowly start to weaken until they dissolve entirely.

The part of me that tries feels so precious. I want to protect it, encourage it, and listen to it. That protection piece is likely what’s changed. I used to throw my energy at most things and, as my life has deepened, I’m getting better at discerning when to. I want to be someone who tries my entire life. As the year starts to end, I am proud of the ways I’ve tried and recognize ways I could try more.

One way I want to try again is in writing postcards and cards. I’ve always loved the written word with some early pen pals playing an outsized role in my life starting quite young. Soon after the pandemic started, I began a nearly weekly writing ritual to build on this habit and help me stay sane, keeping track as I went of folks I sent letters to. I did it mainly to keep in touch with my grandma but to also bring some cheer via the mail during such an isolating time. When my grandma died in March 2022, without fully realizing it, I mostly stopped writing folks. It was too painful and words quickly failed me. It didn’t feel the same and the profound emptiness of not having her to write left me unwilling to try. My brain hadn’t kept up with my soul though as I kept snagging more and more cards on my travels leaving me with a current stockpile.

Since starting this dedicated effort in 2020, I’ve mostly kept track of the letters and postcards sent with a total today of 318 sent out to 91 different folks, not including all of the letters I sent my grandma (too annoying to keep track). In the last six months or so, I’ve had a return to words and have started sending out a cluster of notes to folks here and there. I keep the bar low. When I think of someone, I jot down “write ____” on my personal to do list and eventually I get to it. I’m sticking mainly to postcards with less room to write on and more ease in sending.

A big part of what’s helped is dating someone who loves words as much as I do (or perhaps more). I’ve dated folks before who didn’t engage in that way and it feels radically different to have someone who gets it. She leaves me notes around my apartment just for fun, welcomes long emails from yours truly, and started a shared journal that we pass back and forth. She helped me get back in touch with that part of myself that was slowly shutting down and letting work writing rule my life. The part of myself that was trying to keep in touch, trying to show I care, trying to stay open. I’m incredibly thankful to feel some renewal here.

I admire those that try. I hope to try my entire life. Heading into the next year, I want to be intentional in keeping close that part of me that tries when it comes to keeping in touch with others with a quick text, a hand written postcard, a hand carved spoon, or a trip to their doorstep. I want to try in new ways too: more writing on Surrogacy Stories, more art for the Museum of Block Art, more photos in the WordPress Photo Directory, more tea time, and more ways of moving my body. To go along with the “more”, I also want less: less distractions, less mindlessness, and less bullshit (to be simple and blunt).