I don’t like aging. I wish my body was as supple, my mind and vision as sharp, my potentialities as boundless as in my long-ago yesteryears.
Nevertheless, I accept aging. For manifold are my gleeful moments of recognition of some reality or truth that I, only with years of experience and accumulated wisdom, can see and know.
And, with less life and labor before me than behind me, the moment of my dying is far closer than the day of my birth. Thus, I don’t have enough years of life left to try to remember all the things that I’ve lived long enough to have forgotten. In this awareness, my soul is warmed by a spirit of peace in the release from one more care, the relief from one more worry. And that is not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all.
© 2022 PRA
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