Today is the first day of my sixth year of retirement. I get a bit frustrated with upscale definitions of thriving in this phase of my life. That implies something that few have the resources to emulate.

I'm most inspired by folks I've met at the Accordion Club. These are more (senior than I am) men and women who are beginners on their instruments than advanced or professional musicians. They place themselves in front of others -however joyously, proficiently, or hesitantly- courageously and bring forth music. In September, a grandmother introduced her severely disabled grandson (brain-damaged with very little muscle coordination) who mashed a few keys until "Jingle Bells" emerged. A few mashes more and he played March of the Gladiators (what most of us hear as the introduction to the main attraction in a circus).

A woman I met crafting (a bit younger than I) had a heart transplant 11 months ago. On a disability income she spends dozens of hours each week making items for charity. Since her transplant she's taken up contra-dancing. A member of MENSA, she labeled her left hand when she started going to dances because she doesn't immediately process "right hand forward" when it's called in motion.

A woman who regularly attends the monthly acoustic jam to sing along has finally consented to use her oxygen supply. Partially, that's because she'll lose her place on the lung transplant list if she doesn't follow her protocols, but also because the transplanted heart came to the jam to play recorder and spoke with her about how intensely anxious waiting can be and how extraordinary it is to realize you can breathe, walk, sing, and play after years of exhaustion.

One of the guitarists who regularly attends both the craft group and the jam sessions is a former middle school music teacher. She "stalked" me online before we met in person because she realized we had two friends in common. Her husband asked me when he met me, "Do black lives matter?" That opened a dialogue around our shared experiences in communities where we were the minority. They were with me -and the mutual friend who plays flute- when I walked into a room full of accordions in June 2016. Late in August, their 30-something multiracial son was found dead in his bedroom. One row at the memorial service was filled with silver haired folks who never met their son. We left thanking his friends for sharing their stories about his adventurous, fun-loving spirit. Weeks passed before the coroner's report determined he'd accidentally overdosed. The last time we were together crafting, she smiled tearfully, saying she thought she'd healed enough to return to a place where others were enjoying playing and singing.

Not long after I retired, a dear friend of mine suffered a massive stroke. He astounded his medical care team, because even though his traumatized cerebellum couldn't retain the past 30 seconds, he remained cogent. He communicated effectively and demonstrated a sense of humor. A week or two later, he had recovered beyond all expectations. Since then, he's returned to work, mostly out of a sincere understanding that shifting one paragraph in a document full of jargon could make a difference for a child who needs resources to support his educational development;  or because that paragraph advanced a connection with a parent, teacher, or accountant who'll make that happen. He also reminds his youthful colleagues that life experiences call forth as much delight as devastation, maybe more.

When I first retired, I repeatedly stated that what I would miss most was the incredible diversity of personalities and expressions of culture I encountered every day. I missed the voices of people starting every day in the same way, creating rituals they didn't realize were sacred. It took months for me to say "yes" to invitations to groups of old (many of whom are younger than I) ladies knitting; to say "so what?" when I step into a new group of people whose daily routine centers around a mushy free lunch in the senior center. Somehow, that's how my understanding of "thrive" began changing. It opened my heart to doing what would inspire me: tap dancing, coordinating a musical activity, a back-stretching, pretzel-twisting "gentle" yoga class. If all I do is bear witness to these amazing ordinary men and women, I'm grateful.

Whatever we do in retirement that's different, we can't cast off what is most essential to our wellbeing. Some are ahead of the learning curve that defines how to thrive outside the "work," "income," and "evidence of effectiveness" that structured our lives for more than 40 years. We all thrive because our next adventure will stem from any invitation we receive, the ones we decline, the ones we hesitate to accept, and the ones we leap toward without a second thought about which foot is dancing off the cliff. You've been doing that long before your read this, and you will continue doing what you do best because it always works. You may even become audacious enough to change what hasn't worked the way you wanted.

DonnaMarie Fekete
1 November 2017

Today is Memorial Day in the USA. We remember those who sacrificed their lives in war. All too often we forget that our celebrations of home and family mark this holiday because men and women put themselves in harm's way: They ran into storms of bullets; sheltered wounded while receiving fire; moved into the unknown despite odds we can only imagine. If they felt fear, they were compelled by greater faith: in an idea, an experience, a hope that they would secure blessings for others. May we remember them. May we thank them. May we celebrate what we share and become willing to stand powerfully when we see what we share and celebrate is denied in our homes, our communities, our nation, and across the world.

ALL that GIVES LIFE~
Today may I recall those whose lives
were given in trust they served a greater good.
May I remember their youth, innocence, experience
faith, and willingness to place themselves in danger for
what they held sacred: An idea, a place, a person,
a nation, nature, structures on land, among the stars,
across oceans, in places they had only dreamed.
They ‘believed’ through love beyond fear, that
Life is an irrepressible gift to
be shared equally, joyfully, freely.
Help me understand that where
Others are not allowed Your gifts, that
I am right to address oppression,
Risking my security
Courageously as those whose
Sacrifices kept me safe.

DonnaMarie Fekete
29 May 2017

Christmas dreamed me awake with images of newborns, whispering that we cherish each baby, as a Holy Infant, tender and mild.

We may forget as we individuate, become independent and adopt ideas of accomplishment, talent, and ownership that Holy, Perfect PRESENCE is always within us, at every stage of our being. We are always vulnerable, soft, and perfectly lovable. In our first six minutes, at 6 months or 60 years, we reach for connection; we long for recognition; we seek love to nourish us and we return it with gratitude.

Each of us is as miraculous as the baby Christians celebrate today. Our lives, however tangled, tortured, or tickled they seem, express the POWER and LIGHT that formed the universe.

May you give and receive COMFORT and JOY today and every day!

When the Force that explodes galaxies into being, constructs planets,
boils oceans down until continents emerge,
and molds eons of fantasied, fabled, and physical creatures
(to crash through centuries as prototypes of
what we pet and cuddle in our homes)
considers its Might, Glory and Omnipotence,
what else can It do to prove It is ALL Love?
It dissolves with need
into Its smallest, weakest, fragile form.

We welcome the infant.
We adore its soft, small, pure perfection.
We marvel at it as our self-made miracle.
We treasure it, tickle it, wrap ourselves around
tiny fingers and toes, clean, soothe, coddle, nurse, and exalt it.
Infants change our world, recalling the Joy of innocence;
the miracle of Recognition; the exquisite moment of
Union that led to its conception.
Our hearts melt the moment we hear a first breath,
the cry that calls for help or milk, for arms to cover and
comfort the shock of separation.

From that first gasping, vulnerable moment,
every celebration, birth to death,
recalls that great source of Power and Light
lives here, within us all.
Rejoice!
We are
Emmanuel.

~DonnaMarie Fekete
December 25, 2016

Our area of the mid-Atlantic USA had a deep freeze overnight Friday. By dawn Saturday, dangerous conditions became deadly; one interstate near Baltimore was a mix of fire, smoke, and water. More ice formed by extinguishing blazes, increasing the danger and closing the road for hours.

From dark night through midday and into evening, ice encapsulated every blade of grass, every last leaf clinging to the oaks, and each needle on the soft pines around us. Even as the temps rose from well below freezing to nearly 40 degrees, we marveled at how hard the ice stayed. Overnight, we had another huge shift in temps; they rose to F50+ degrees. This morning, there's haze near the ground where the melting ice dissolved and transformed.

If that's not an analogy for how hearts melt with love, it's science. If it's not the melding of science and spirit, I'm not sure what is. For a few moments today, please check your heart for cold spots and send yourself a bit of love. You may find that warmth expands, like mist or steam, wanting to be shared with others.

DonnaMarie Fekete
18 December 2016

As we prepare for Thanksgiving in the USA, please take a moment to reflect on who went before you, planting and harvesting ALL that benefits you.
Then please remind yourself that you are going to be supporting others through your example, in action, with prayer, and with purpose-filled intention to be openhearted and open-minded.

For more than 15 years, I worked with an educational program that supported a "Harvest of Hope." It supported the wishes and dreams of agricultural workers for their children to access the full range of public education services, wherever they traveled, from Florida to Maine, Texas to Michigan, California to Idaho, from Puerto Rico, across all 48 continental states, through Alaska and Hawaii. It only took me a few months to understand at a gut level that these families were working for *my* welfare and comfort. Ever since, no matter how I purchase, prepare, and enjoy my meals, I'm aware of their labor, their poverty, their dignity, their hopes, and (because I was able to meet some of the families and educators who worked with them) some of their successes.

May your Thanksgiving bring you awareness of how you benefit by those who shared their hopes, dreams, and prayers to help and guide you. May you become more generous as you cultivate your world and grow your deepest desires.

How will we harvest Hope?
Everything we gather grows from what was planted.
If we measure rows, careful to drop
one kernel, then another,
opportunities align.
Scattered seeds, windblown or at will, 
call to songbirds, brighten meadows,
dance with bees,
turn to honey. 
If we broadcast dreams,
stars appear to guide the lost.
When we give thanks for acts of kindness;
savored sweetness; light through darkness,
we are gleaning Hope.
Our whispered prayer of
gratefulness, leaves a
bit of Hope to
feed another soul.

DonnaMarie Fekete,
November 23, 2016