Space
It's an odd thing to be in my fifties. I'm only into my second year of it and so far its most prominent characteristic is the bittersweet. While I am enjoying so much and learning to be open to the universe more than I ever have been, I can also see the beginning of a lifetime of loss that I will also have to endure. I suppose I am still so blue about missing my Gracie, but it's more than just that. It began with losing John's dad. That was a big and terrible loss; but there are all sorts of small losses along the way. My childhood icons are disappearing from the planet, all the things that I remember from my past are coming off me in small pieces.
I think of myself sometimes as a satellite that loses bits and bobs of herself as she leaves familiar orbits and goes exploring into space. I have no clue what I'm doing, where I'm going. I try to have plans and goals, knowing that some of them may end up being smart and others--not so much. I watch friends who are behind me on the trail, who are just barely started with their young families or jumping off into their great adventures. I want to tell them to pay attention, to take it all in. I want to tell them that I was so busy, so tired sometimes, that I ended up shitting all over what could have been really good times. I want to tell them to not be so certain of their happiness, to dote on every second of it because it may not survive for long. I want to reassure them that even as it is delicate and fleeting, their bliss is out there for them to find--over and over again.
This is the age where I have lost my arrogance and traded it for an appreciation of the things I have yet to know. I'm more of an adventurer than ever. I'm more forgiving of myself and others in some ways. In others, I have less tolerance than ever for charlatans and narcissistic con artists. Mostly, I'm gobsmacked by the shortness of our time here--not so much mine, as others. I am having to get used to saying goodbyes much sooner than I expected. Life is a big, beautiful gut punch, kids. Enjoy every infuriating beautiful messy moment of it.
I think of myself sometimes as a satellite that loses bits and bobs of herself as she leaves familiar orbits and goes exploring into space. I have no clue what I'm doing, where I'm going. I try to have plans and goals, knowing that some of them may end up being smart and others--not so much. I watch friends who are behind me on the trail, who are just barely started with their young families or jumping off into their great adventures. I want to tell them to pay attention, to take it all in. I want to tell them that I was so busy, so tired sometimes, that I ended up shitting all over what could have been really good times. I want to tell them to not be so certain of their happiness, to dote on every second of it because it may not survive for long. I want to reassure them that even as it is delicate and fleeting, their bliss is out there for them to find--over and over again.
This is the age where I have lost my arrogance and traded it for an appreciation of the things I have yet to know. I'm more of an adventurer than ever. I'm more forgiving of myself and others in some ways. In others, I have less tolerance than ever for charlatans and narcissistic con artists. Mostly, I'm gobsmacked by the shortness of our time here--not so much mine, as others. I am having to get used to saying goodbyes much sooner than I expected. Life is a big, beautiful gut punch, kids. Enjoy every infuriating beautiful messy moment of it.