Learning to be in this season

As I near 70, I’m learning something I resisted for longer than I’d like to admit, my body has its own agenda now.

It doesn’t always move when I want it to move, and it certainly doesn’t move as fast as it used to. Somewhere along the way, “just push through it” quietly turned into “maybe you should sit down for a minute.” And as much as I hate to admit it, those rest breaks? I need them.

Since my knee replacement, things feel different. Not bad… just different. My stamina isn’t what it once was, and I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I can’t do everything the way I used to. That realization has been humbling. It’s also been a little frustrating, okay, sometimes a lot frustrating.

And then there’s this thought that sneaks in every now and then: I likely have more years behind me than ahead of me.

That one will stop you in your tracks if you let it.

But instead of letting it steal my joy, I’m trying to let it sharpen my focus. I’m learning, slowly, to take life one day at a time and truly enjoy it. Not rush through it. Not wish it away. Just… be in it.

And honestly? This new little life we’ve stepped into is helping me do just that.

We’ve been in our new home for exactly one month and one day. Long enough for the boxes to (mostly) be gone, but not quite long enough to feel like seasoned locals. Our home sits on a quiet cul-de-sac, and behind us is one of my favorite places, our screened-in back porch.

We recently had it finished, and it has quickly become our little sanctuary.

There are large trees that sway in the breeze, offering shade like a gentle hug on warm Georgia days. We sit out there and read, share lunch now and then, and listen to the sounds of nature like it’s our own personal playlist.

And then… there are the geese.

A whole flock of Canadian geese visits the pond behind our house daily, and let me tell you, they do not arrive quietly. There’s nothing subtle about a goose landing. It’s a full production, honking, flapping, splashing… it’s like they’re announcing, “We’re here!” whether you’re ready or not.

We laugh every single time.

Just this morning, a great white egret made an appearance, standing so still and elegant it felt like we were watching something sacred. Moments like that slow me down in the best way.

I’ve spent my whole life with animals, and while we’ve talked about maybe getting a small dog (our fenced yard would make it easy), we’ve both come to the same conclusion, we travel too much. As much as I love animals, I think our pet-owning days may be behind us.

And you know what? That’s okay.

These days, I find just as much joy in the birds that visit our feeders and the wildlife that passes through. There’s something peaceful about appreciating them without needing to chase them down or clean up after them.

(That might be one of the hidden blessings of this season.)

We haven’t made friends yet, but we’ve waved to a few neighbors, and that’s a start. This Sunday, we’re planning to visit a local church, and I’m hopeful we’ll find a place to belong, a community to grow into.

I’ve never been someone who enjoys change. In fact, if I’m being honest, I usually resist it with everything I’ve got.

But this change?

This one feels like a gift.

A quieter pace. A softer rhythm. A chance to breathe a little deeper and notice the things I might have missed before.

I’m even dreaming about planting flowers in the backyard, something that will invite butterflies to join us. Because if this season is teaching me anything, it’s this:

There is still beauty to cultivate.
There is still joy to be found.
And there is still life to be fully lived.

Even if I need to sit down a little more often while I’m doing it.