WISTFUL OR JUST WEARY?

This was never the life I imagined for myself. It’s a far cry from playing piano in a smoky piano bar, which was what I often dreamed of doing after college. Of course, I disregarded the fact that my keyboard skills were adequate for accompanying the chorus in my small parochial high school in rural north Jersey, but probably were not going to support me full time in the real world.  But that’s what separates dreams from real life, I guess.

But to end up here, 45 years removed from that piano bar fantasy- well I didn’t see it coming. Not any of it.

I sometimes save interesting or intriguing thoughts in a note app on my phone. I re-read one recently that contained this “reflection” question: What personal limitations—physical, spiritual, emotional—make me wistful?” That, of course, sent me to find the definition of wistful – “having or showing a feeling of vague or regretful longing.”

Vague or regretful longing. Kind of describes how I feel, looking back on the life I’ve lived and being surprised at where I am. Not a shocked surprise or astonishment, but more like the feeling you have coming out of light sedation and trying to figure out where you are.

Wistful. I feel that word sums up most of my life, as if I was always just a little bit off course yet I couldn’t quite figure out how to get back on track.  And those “limitations”- well that’s the real conundrum; the reasons for that winding, wandering course.  There were the times when confronted with decisions that I was either emotionally unsure or spiritually a bit “off the beam”, and those opportunities slipped by; and now, at 66 years old, the physical limitations play a huge role in the choices I make, resulting in that sense of wistfulness.

The piano bar dream was exchanged for the coffee shop dream (the change in focus predicated largely on the switch to a sober lifestyle; piano bars are not really conducive to sobriety).  Then there was the bed and breakfast in Maine.  This latter plan would have been a clear attempt to escape, to run away from the grief I was experiencing after the death of my husband while I was expecting our second child.  But there are still days, over 30 years later, I wonder “what if…”

I’m not saying that I’m disappointed in my life, or that I regret the choices I’ve made which have placed me where I am today.  I don’t think that’s what “wistfulness” is.  I remarried after that loss, had another child, and have a good life.  I’ve been married for over 25 years to a wonderful man who has been a devoted father to our children.  Even though we married later in life, we have grown up together, and continue to hone our relationship with grace and compromise.  I’ve had a career as an attorney, and have worked as a substitute teacher, as an adoption worker, as a support person in a special needs classroom, and even did a stint as a barista. I never envisioned myself as a wife and mother, but those have been my most rewarding roles to date, as well as the most challenging.  When I say I never pictured this life I don’t mean I regret it.  I think the key component of wistfulness is the vagueness; the longing you can’t really put your finger on.

I had to laugh to myself as I was writing this, and Jackson Browne’s song “These Days” came on my Pandora station.  The lyrics are so descriptive of a wistful life: “Well I’ve been out walking.  I don’t do that much talking these days….These days I seem to think a lot about the things that I forgot to do

And all the times I had the chance to….”

I guess I’ve been thinking about the things I had the chance to do but didn’t because of those “limitations”.  Mostly times when I could have been kinder, when I could have shown someone more grace and forgiveness, when I could have been less judgmental and more compassionate; about the times when I let fear or selfish desires get in the way of doing.    

That reading I referenced earlier goes on to ask this question: “What do I hope to do for God that I think requires more strength than he is able to give me?” (Oswald Chambers, The Place of Help). It really comes down to this- Those limitations are often self-imposed excuses for not doing those things I have the chance to do.  When I start to think I need to prove myself or accomplish things entirely on my own strength in order to have worth, then I have those feelings of regret or wistfulness. 

As I prepare to enter into an entirely new “season” of my life (some of you know I really dislike that term, so I use it tongue in cheek), I’m acutely aware of feeling wistful.  I am realizing that I no longer have to prove anything or accomplish wildly remarkable things to be useful.  And I don’t have to walk through any of it alone, as I have learned time and time again in this journey called life.  I have family and community, and the God of my understanding will certainly equip me with any strength I think I’m lacking, if only I ask.

I’m not saying any of to sound morbid; I rather like the feeling of wistfulness, but I don’t want to regret. I think being wistful involves letting go of past dreams and desires in order to make room for new ones; regret involves hanging on.

 I read a few different things recently about being able to laugh, and I really want that.  Lysa Terkeurst posted about, after going through a few difficult years, that she’s surprised about how “honest (her) laughter is now”.  Suzie Eller, in her book Prayer Starters, talks about “laughter that is deep and authentic”  and I want that too.  That’s what makes me wistful.  I must remind myself to “wear the world as a loose garment”, today and each day, and not miss those opportunities to laugh honestly, deeply, authentically.  And to be a woman whose “strength and dignity are her clothing”, who “laughs without fear of the future” (Prov. 31:25).