These days, I watch the world go by from a different window. I mean that literally as well as figuratively. I’ve moved to the west side of Rossmoor, perched on a hillside with a view of Mt. Diablo, a grassy common space dotted with fruit trees, and a giant beech tree where a convocation of birds gathers each morning, fluttering around two giant bird feeders. I’m beginning my life over.

The view is different here, but equally beautiful. I’m lucky! I found a place to rent as I transition out of my four-year marriage. Our house just sold. I packed my boxes and left behind the life I’ve lived with my husband, joining a growing number of elders who choose living single in our golden years. I’m beginning over.

Divorce is challenging at any age, but going through it in your 70s merits a special badge for courage. This was a difficult decision, one I hoped I’d never have to make, and one I pondered for a long time. One that will require time to process, grieve, and integrate. As one friend wrote, “How can a love that seems so perfect turn into a bad dream?”

Waking from the Dream

I’m still waking up, stumbling around in semi-darkness, trying to find my way to the bathroom, the coffee, to figure out how the toaster oven works. But fumbling is okay. Feeling trapped in the fun house of distortion that is “pre-divorce” when I was paralyzed by fear and dread was much worse. Even feeling lost is welcome compared to before time.

Now, I talk to myself.

“Hey, look at you. You figured out where to hang the pictures, stash the books, arrange the plants. You’re building a nest!”

I cheer myself on. I appreciate myself. I laugh at myself, a welcome respite from years of dour silence over dinner.

Most nights, dinner is a Trader Joe’s frozen meal, say Cod Provencal, microwaved and eaten in peace. The cat sits on the dining room table swishing his fluffy tail, purring and staring at my fish. I’m at peace with that, Marlowe’s slight smile, his curling whiskers, his happiness.

Getting comfortable with discomfort is a trick. Learning to be still helps. Beginning each day living life one moment at a time through meditation, has kept me (relatively) sane.

Pause, Breathe, and Smile

In the most fundamental way, this breath, then the next, is all we have. No matter what the future holds, in this precious moment, I’m fine. Feet on the ground, spine erect, lungs and heart working in unison, birds outside my window, breath after breath.

Life goes on.

“Pause, breathe, and smile” is a mantra I learned at the Mindful Living Club, our daily meditation group at Rossmoor. It was a touchstone of the teachings of the late Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese monk who taught meditation to thousands of Westerners at his retreat center in France. “PBS” I remind myself whenever I face challenges.

The ones of my own making are the most daunting. I suspect I’m not alone in that. Self-compassion is the hardest of all, self-forgiveness the most important. Both are vital in order for kindness and compassion to prevail.

Practicing Stillness

Now I’ve lived past the marriage long enough to see that this new life is not simple. All those blank hours and frozen dinners. All those decisions like the crumpled sheets of an unmade bed waiting for me to smooth out the wrinkles and arrange the pillows. And so, I pause, breathe, and smile. I watch the birds. I meditate.

The thing about meditation is this: it’s a practice. You do it daily. It’s the repetition that ultimately brings solidity and a new form of dignity. It took me years to figure that out. It’s not a quick fix. In fact, it’s not a fix at all. It becomes a way of life, where the breath brings me back and grounds me.

Pausing, breathing, smiling. That sequence of actions practiced day after day, moment after moment, leads to equanimity. When I turn up the corners of my mouth I just can’t stay stuck in anger, or sadness, or fear. It allows me to get comfortable with my own discomfort.

It takes discipline (gentle) and commitment (fierce) to show up at my chair day after day. The birds show up too! They come for the beauty, for the nectar and the seeds, for the joy. I’m doing my best to learn from  them, beginning over each day.