Love Is All Around*

*with apologies to Mary Tyler Moore

We tell ourselves stories about who we are, how we are to live, who others are and how they should live... and we live our lives by these stories, true or not. Our stories arise from what we experience, what we hear from others, what we notice on our own.

I have some stories about a small community of which I am a part. We are a group of women, mostly over 60 years of age, who meet several times a week at a swimming pool at a local gym. There we do vigorous (!?!) exercise - aqua tai chi and aqua aerobics and other aqua variations, singing along LOUDLY to the sixties and seventies music that the teachers bring in (well we don't sing during the tai chi class...). I know the names of several of the women - but I only see them at the pool. I don't know if the others are friends outside of these activities or not, but it sure feels like we are part of a community while we are there.

During classes, a couple of lap lanes are left open. Most of the days that I come, I see an older man - looks like he is in his eighties and like he might have Parkinson's or some other neurological condition - climb into a lane and walk very slowly from one end of the lane back to the other. Over and over again. At one end of his lane, sitting outside on the edge of the pool, is a woman - could be a caretaker, a daughter, his wife, who knows? - who sits patiently, quietly encouraging him as he nears her end of the lane.

Over and over again, back and forth he goes, slowly slowly. And she sits and waits and smiles a big smile at him when he nears her. When he is finished with his exercise, the woman helps him out of the pool and he goes to stand always in the same place near the door. She gathers up their belongings and goes over to him, wrapping him snugly in a big towel, whispering to him as he looks trustingly at her. They walk slowly together toward the family changing room, and she waits outside for him to change clothes, ready in case he needs help.

The woman's affection and respect and care for the gentleman are crystal clear.

There is a woman, L, who takes a lot of the same classes that I do. She is tiny - no bigger than a minute as my mother might say - and energetic and cheerful, so cheerful. For months, we would engage in conversation, during which she would ask me my name. I would tell her, and she would say in a self-deprecating manner, "Darn! I am sorry. My memory is terrible!" Over and over again.

A few weeks ago, she greeted me with a big smile (as usual), saying in a voice that I can only call triumphant - "Hi Mary Beth!" I don't know what strategy she used to remember my name. I do know that it meant something to her for her to remember. And I felt really touched that she did so. I felt seen and known in some small and meaningful way.

Today I walked into the locker room and saw J, a woman who has lost the use of her right arm. She and her mom come to classes regularly but she was on her own today. When I came in, she was seated on the bench and another woman stood behind her as her mother usually does, brushing her hair and clipping it up so that it wouldn't get wet during class.

Affection, respect, and care, all around me.

We are told stories that foster feelings of scarcity, separation, mistrust. And should we take these stories in and hold them close, watering them and feeding them regularly with more similar stories, we are doomed.

The cool thing is that we can choose our own stories, consciously shifting our gaze to places where we see evidence of abundance and generosity and love. Intentionally looking for, noticing and nurturing these stories helps them grow and spread from our own little lives to other people and communities.

May we look for and tell ourselves and others stories of love.