GRAND COLUMN
NINA LOVEL
they professionally produce Fire Walks all around the country. Curious, I read more about fire walking over the ensuing year and came to know that I would do it one day. We gathered at dusk and watched as the pyramidal cedar log fire was meticulously tended. To ensure that no pebbles or other foreign objects adulterated the coals, two curators dipped their shovels in water before gently coaxing errant embers back into the stack. A gentle young man shared the history of Fire Walking and led us through meditations. He asked us to share with two people our reasons for being there and what we expected to gain, and he led us to encourage one another. It was Lent, and I shared my faith with a precious young man named Miles who was trying to overcome seeing his fiancé perish in an accident. My Lenten journey had been one of meditation and mindfulness, and my Fire Walk would be a testament to my faith. Miles said he could tell how much I loved my God. It was the first time I had ever shared my faith in that way. After dark, the coals were gently shoveled onto damp grass in a line about eighteen inches wide and ten feet long. We lined up and made friends with those ahead of and behind us. We were told that if we got to the front of the line and couldn’t do it for whatever reason, that was perfectly okay. We could go to the back of the line and try again, or not. We were told that if we started to walk then changed our mind, to just step off to the side. You were supposed to walk gently but with purpose, and we were told that sometimes a coal might “kiss” your foot, and if that happened there was some salve at the first aid tent. Nobody worried about that, and to my knowledge it didn’t happen. I was completely at peace. At my turn I did not hesitate; I just walked. I did not get a kiss; I didn’t even feel the warmth. My last step was onto cool, wet-squishy grass. I didn’t speak with anyone after that; I just went back to my tent and wrote. It was a first time I could never have imagined.
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GRAND SUMMER 2019 READV3.COM
Here’s another question for you: If you’re over 50, do you feel happier than you did in your 40’s? And if you’re over 60 (and up), are you happier still? Research shows that this does happen. While it’s well documented that many of us hit some “doldrums” in our 40’s there is also ample proof that once we get into the 50’s, our overall happiness begins to increase. In a 2014 article from The Atlantic, Jonathan Rauch quotes a conversation with Donald Richie: “Midlife crisis begins sometime in your 40’s, when you look at your life and think, Is this all? And it ends about 10 years later, when you look at your life again and think, Actually, this is pretty good.” The article describes a “U-curve” of happiness that bottoms out in our 40’s and only goes up from there, even into our 90’s. It resonated deeply with me. I’ve watched it happen and I’ve lived it, too. Those of us on the right side of the U-curve have nothing left to prove and everything left to be grateful for. We’ve earned the right to have as many more first-times as we can stand, and may they never stop coming! My next first time is in the pipeline. Several Grand issues back (December 2016), I wrote about my passion for hooping. Rather than the hula-hoop style of our fond childhood memories, I enjoy contact hooping where I play with smaller, lighter hoops that I can flip, toss, spin and roll across my shoulders or my chest (on a good day). If you can’t get a visual image of what I’m talking about, search for Mike Hayataka on Google and watch his YouTube videos. I love his grace and confidence with hoops, and he doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to be my next first-time. Get your mind out of the gutter: It’s going to be the first time I’ve taken private contact hooping lessons! What will your next first time be? Let me know at ninalovel@gmail.com. *https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2014/12/the-realroots-of-midlife-crisis/382235/