On Approaching 50⁠↗

And while I do what I can to strive for good health and longevity, to stave off weakening muscles and receding bone, I have a mantra I insert into those reckless thoughts that try to derail me: I accept. I accept the marks and the loosening skin, the wrinkles. I accept my body and let go of the need to be perfect, look perfect, defy gravity, defy logic, defy humanity. I accept my humanity.

My most lasting mistakes and the mess that comes with them have all stemmed from me not standing fully in my truth and speaking from it, come what may. Saying the words that could have spared seasons of heartache and repercussions. No. This does not feel right to me. Your expectations are not appropriate. Your behavior is not appropriate. This relationship is no longer right for me. This project is not right for me. You are no longer right for me.

I am a searcher, and I can bring you along on my quest for meaning.

And that “this being human” as the poet Rumi says, is a canvas that will be filled with the many colors of who they are, an abstraction that will continue to reveal itself. That knowing comes with time. That balancing the scales of acceptance and accountability is also an art.