How painter Joni Wehrli conquers acrophobia swinging high in the air
When I learned a good friend of a good friend of mine, who happens to be well over 50, had been flying on a trapeze, weekly, over the past decade, I knew I had to witness it and then show the good readers of Realize that things you never thought possible at our age can be done with agility and grace. Joni Wehrli gives us a voyeuristic thrill and talks about how the art of flying influences the art of painting; for her it is not only a source of exhiliration but of inspiration for her work as well.
There is a place we can go, when we allow our minds to go silent, a place full of delight and joy. I have glimpsed it before, mostly walking in nature. But in this case, residing for four days in the foothills of the Sierras, it comes to me in spades. Because here, beneath cobalt blue skies and between bosomy hills draped in dry yellow grasses and peppered with pines and manzanitas, is where my Zen retreat is taking place.
I soon learn this state of joy can happen anywhere, even facing a blank white wall. For there is an essential joy residing in our natures as well as in nature herself. That joy is waiting patiently beneath...
Nan Doyal vividly describes a grueling 12 hours in America's longest cycling race
The women at the starting line are young. I pretend not to look interested but I am secretly sizing them up. You can’t tell how good someone is by the shape of their legs. Whether or not they are wearing a team jersey doesn’t help either because some of the best cyclists in this part of the country don’t race for a team. I wonder where I would be now if I had been a bike racer at their age. When I was in my 20’s and 30’s my five-speed was rusting with flat tires in the back of my parent’s garage and I was on my way to work with a brief case and high heels.
We believe sex is as important at this age as ever. For the intimacy, the liberation, the joy. And we think that guys of a certain age don’t get enough space to unburden themselves about their sex lives. The media is full of patronizing pep talks or downright negativity about anyone over 50 ‘doing it.’
Perhaps the search is no longer for quantity but quality. Perhaps we learn to be connoisseurs of sex as an art form. Or not. You tell us.
I can define myself any number of ways, but always, at the core of it all - I am a swimmer. I began this life as a guppy in my mother’s womb, a star child in a universe of living liquid - and I have a bone deep urge to reclaim my former paradise.
When I have bad dreams, they are most often about anticipating and preparing to swim but then finding myself before an empty pool. Or a half-filled one. Or a polluted one. Or one that an absurd array of circumstances prevents me from diving into. These are very bad dreams.