I am writing this the day before my 32nd birthday which leads me to immediately think that this is the day of my cousins 35th birthday. The latter is probably irrelevant to you, and, becoming increasingly more so to me. We’ve grown apart. I only mention this because it seems to be a recurring theme in the narrative that has opened and closed most of my days lately.
Growing apart is the slowest form a change, I think. Its subtlety is akin to the gentle rocking of a boat; a motion so slight it lulls you into a sense of calm until you find you’ve floated too far to contemplate a return to shore.
In the last few years I’ve grown apart from my need to look 20-something. I’ve grown apart from pretending to be happy when I wasn’t. I’ve grown apart from a few friends and even more family. What I’ve come to realize is that while all of those things sound like a loss, they have given me a sense of freedom in return. I’ve come to understand that the operative word here is “grown”. Out of these changes I have grown.
So with my 32nd year I proceed with the idea of growth, even when it means losing.
On a lighter note, I had the good fortune of attending a small group session with United States Poet Laureate Kay Ryan. She was humorous and generous with her time and her talent. Her commitment to reaching out to college students was impressive. Her latest, The Best of It, is worth the read.
I also attended a reading by Ms. Elizabeth Woody, renowned poet and visual artist, who is the current national judge for poetry in the League for Innovation contest where I took First Place at the local level in early May. She, too, was generous with her time and openly talked about not graduating high school (at least, not on time) or college due to her stubbornness. It was nice to meet a fellow hard-head.