Winter Gal | Learning to Float on Wintry Clouds | By Annmarie Ragukonis | Inspiring Story #231

Spring: When I entered this world decades ago, I knew nothing about it. As I grew, I learned about my family, got to know my neighborhood, and eventually crossed the threshold of an elementary school and began making friends. In high school and then college, my knowledge and relationships expanded as I attended classes and explored my interests. 

Summer: Then suddenly, I was grown up. When I followed my heart and decided to marry, I did so with confidence and hope-filled dreams. Soon, motherhood enveloped me, suiting me to a tee, so much so that as the years passed, I barely noticed. 

Fall: When the youngest of my brood started school, I began working full time. Still, my world was my home, even as one by one, each of the six fledglings flew the coop to find independence. All the while, I was aware of global changes and challenges, never anticipating that within a short time, I would be facing an emotional loss of my own. 

Winter: Well, here I am now, an official senior citizen, retired for over three years, and living the winter portion of my existence. I enjoy my “I-don’t-have-to-do-anything-unless-I-want-to” lifestyle. The quiet, the lack of a schedule — it’s all fantastic! Except when it isn’t.

Entering Retirement: Living in the Winter of Life

Retirement is not all sunshine. In the depths of winter, I sometimes feel a rawness that makes me disagreeably cold. When the sun does entertain, it sometimes sings SAD songs. Senior Affective Disorder, like Seasonal Affective Disorder, can cause mood changes, insomnia, and depression. 

Nor is retirement all roses. Living in the winter of my life means I’ve survived three prior seasons. Unfortunately, roses don’t bloom naturally in winter soil, and when they do bloom, despite their beauty and fragrant bouquet, their stems are thorny. 

Thus, since entering these frosty days, I’ve had to develop a different outlook to appreciate less sunshine and thorny roses. Realistically, nothing can ever be purely pleasant, happy, and carefree. Thus, I have discovered ways to combat the wintry clouds that inevitably invade my days, and instead, I figured out how to float on them. 

Finding Blessings in the Winter of Life

Mostly, I learned to count my blessings. I’m not an apprentice at tallying good fortunes and God’s graces, but I will never be a master at it either. Rather, it’s a challenge I consciously continue to work on daily, hourly, and each waking moment, seeking to find that grand blessing and the ones I nearly miss or forget.    

If I think of under-activity as a gift instead of hibernation, then I appreciate the extra time for reading, writing, and learning new things. If I pick up a new hobby, I have time to indulge in it. And if I want to sing loudly and dance like crazy or sob uncontrollably and use tons of tissues, no one is the wiser. 

There are things in my senior season I can label as the worst, but I acknowledge that there is much more of the best. A sore knee means I can no longer run three miles, but I can practice yoga moves and other softer exercises. I cannot fit into my wedding gown, but my diet includes plenty of nutritious and fun foods which I no longer need to share with a household of children. And though my eyesight has declined, I have much more time to spend with books and to lounge with new and favorite authors.  

Reflection, Gratitude, and the Meaning of Life’s Later Years

For me, the winter solstice has passed, and unlike the sun, which has continuous cycles, I cannot start over. The summer of my youth is gone, and I will never regain the same spring in my steps that I had as a young woman.  Instead, I have fallen into a journey that has become a “winter soul-stice”, one that, despite occasional darkness, includes resilience, reflection, and the promise that light will return.

As an added pleasure, I get to share winter with my fellow senior fellow, my husband who not only claims to love me but proves it by always standing by my side. He might shake his head at me in wonder or confusion, but for forty-five years and counting, he has been through all the seasons with me, and together, we weather each thorny, sunny day. And as long as we’re able, we’ll watch our children experience their seasons and enjoy this time that is ours.