Growing old means growing up.
It is moving away and falling apart
and hoping you’ll land on steady ground.
It is an admittance to time and space
of values and ideas you formed,
but cannot claim as your own.
It is lessons learned,
wisdom you recall,
now a part of who you are and what you’ve become.
It is putting on a seatbelt
just to back out of the driveway
to move your car.
It is a road trip,
a long adventure to somewhere obscure
guided by look at that.
It is a feeling of calm,
finding a solution to a problem
that really isn’t the end of your world.
It is a slow and steady swing,
keeping your eye on the ball
to build focus and confidence and character.
It is gentle turns and casts,
easing lines and ropes
toward a dock or still and shaded pool.
It is a carefully crafted story teasing
the possibility of your imagination
that keeps your closet door closed.
It is the laughter,
private and silly and strange
at jokes only you understand.
It is a peanut in a book,
a monkey at a fair,
a tunnel filled with mystery,
the hilarity of window lock,
and knowing looks in unspoken exchanges.
It is a quiet voice,
a reminder of a lifetime of knowledge,
cherished and unshakeable.
It is unconditional and forgiving,
running deep into roots untouched,
protected from a world you’ve moved onto.
It is returning to a place and time
you never really left,
but maybe took for granted.
It is the embrace that greets you,
that welcomes you in
and reminds you that you’re ok.
It is the home you know,
the person you can always come back to,
the steady ground you’ve been seeking.