So what’s it really like?
Having moved from my home of 1000 square feet living into an assisted living apartment less than half the size where the meals are provided, people are curious to know how I’m doing. And like anything in life, it depends on my spiritual condition.
If I believe there is a God who has my highest good at heart, that all things work together to that end, and that He has orchestrated every last detail right down to my favourite salad dressing then I have nothing to fear.
If I'm able to let go of my false self of who I think I am, if I’m totally open to of being filled up in completely new ways, then being here is like a dream where I have to pinch myself. Where every day is adventure that has something fresh, stimulating, and exciting to offer.
If on the other hand, my spiritual condition is in poor shape, that I sorely neglected to realize it’s importance or failed to follow its lead “I’m stuck here because I can’t take care of myself”.
The apartment is cute as a button. Shauna was great at measuring and I was able to choose the right furniture to bring. It is a bit like living on a boat where things have to be done in sequence because I couldn’t bear to part with my most treasured clutter I have to admit. But all the more incentive on what to stop collecting.
Though I am no longer unique among my peers with my distorted walk and feeble hand, I am unique in that I’m at least 20years younger than most. I could be disillusioned and bored with my meal mates after a week but I see their souls, appreciate them, and who, like myself, lived a full and satisfying life before here. So I get to challenge myself to find out who they are and tease out their strengths so we both feel good about ourselves.
There are learning curves and plenty I could gristle about. Like every guy and his cat having keys to my suite and not in the least timid about using them. When I’m home. I’m could be irritated, but see it an an opportunity to set some boundaries. And they are incredibly receptive to respecting them.
I could be disappointed that the maintenance man took a few days to unplug the kitchen sink or impatient to always be behind an elderly person when the elevator can’t get here quick enough. I even dabbled with the what-if game on how things might’ve played out differently had I made different choices. And wandered down the dead- end lane of missing my beloved cat and dog terribly when I heard another brand new person brought their cat.
But it wasn’t long before I realized I hadn’t left the premises in seven days because of a wicked snowstorm and was happy as a snail I didn’t. Unheard of in my old place.
So what’s not to like about being immersed in sincere concern and diligent effort over my personal health care and creature comforts?
Nothing.
That’s what assisted living is like.
It’s amazing. Really.
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