The other day, out walking Juniper on a frigid frost day, Greg and I were chatting (as we always do), and there was a moment where I could not remember an essential detail germane to the conversation. Down the hill to the under the bridge tunnel, now laughing. Sometimes, it’s a bitch getting older, we thought aloud. Important threads of thought lost to the wind.
As I walked, I slowed my pace, trailing a step behind, the tunnel icy with wind and damp. For the first time in memory, I did not mind it: the forgetting. I am nearer to fifty-one than fifty and like it just fine. I realized I have no desire to spin backward the hands of time, to less sagging and wrinkled quick-memory days. Those when I saw so little of my own value and strength. Those when I thought I deserved mistreatment. Those when I was gas lit and sad. Those when I feared to make my voice heard. Those when I saw so many problems.
As I came out the other side, I felt a lightness and strength, a sheer joy I had never experienced. How beautiful the day and my presence of mind to love it for all it was and I am.