Like everyone, I wear two faces. But there in my bed, in the middle of the night, those faces are blurred, shared skin grown blue and translucent.
Middle age, like the middle of the night, can be a strange beast, a wild dream state in which tidy compartments sprout sudden leaks and I am left trying to discern what is real and what is not. It is an exhilarating time, to be sure. Most days, I am certain that I have grown into the skin I was intended to wear. But there, in the in-between hours, I feel weighed down, realizing how many last chapters are before me.
The losses, like the joy, accumulate. And my heart tells me to pay attention to it all. Such an impossible task, this emotional fence walking. How else is there to live, though, but openly and honestly, dipping my toes into the salt and the sweet?
It is morning now. And, still, my heart beats, this steady companion, and the sun rises, just as the newspaper said it would. Still, the Carolina Wren sings its noisy, throaty song, out of place and at home all at once. Like me.
Like all of us.
A strange beast indeed. My sense is that you have grown very nicely into your intended skin. It's just that, if we stay open, there will always be more growing to do, and growing pains to endure. Otherwise we've died - physically or spiritually. You, my friend are very much alive.
ReplyDeleteA strange beast indeed. My sense is that you have grown very nicely into your intended skin. It's just that, if we stay open, there will always be more growing to do, and growing pains to endure. Otherwise we've died - physically or spiritually. You, my friend are very much alive.
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