Middle Age

The exquisitely edged path of middle age runs between regretting what I haven’t done and embracing the new paths of my life.

Looking back, my heart droops for all those lost opportunities of youth – adventure, exploration, burning and freezing love, children, family roots, backpacks, oil and brushes, typewriters, endless reams of paper covered with ink in meaningful shapes, fantastic voyages, sick beats, pointe shoes, leotards, Julliard, glow sticks, lollipops and suckers, judo, and flying.  I mourn my lost fearlessness, so rarely used, belief in my own immortality, blind idealism, insatiable curiosity about everything, boundless and endless hope in humanity.

I miss my childish eyes and youthful heart.

Forward is different, an unfamiliar and awkward adjustment in thinking and being.  I long for the undiscovered country of grace, wisdom, gentle silver beauty, vibrant color and sounds that thrill.  I feel my heart open to the warmth of intimate gatherings, happy dancing friends, food and growing things, exploring unknown areas where words and music and illusion meet, thrive, and move, a world of complexity and chaos, a world that needs us to care for each other above all.

I welcome my soft eyes and gentle heart.

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