There’s a knowing that comes with age—that everything is, in fact, finite, that loss is on the other side of every joy-filled moment.
Years 35, 36, 37, and 38 saw me holding my breath in anticipation for the proverbial other shoe to drop. The heavy, concave ceiling due to crash in over me any day now. And the aged Moroccan rug to be pulled out from underneath the feet I was desperately trying to plant somewhere between the known and foreign versions of a life I was creating.
Any sudden movements could spell out disaster.
And then there are the moments where finite is replaced with infinite, and you’re somewhere soaring above all anxieties, and lightness all but takes over the entirety of the human body your soul inhabits.
You’re united at last with what it might feel like to be a child again—a place where time felt endless and there was no question in your mind that you would awake the next morning, along with all the people you love—safe and sound and ready for more. Next days meant newness and all the unread books of life were stacked higher than your little eyes could make out through the cascade of sun that drenched your days—even in the rain.
39 feels like the marriage of these two foes. A truce was called after they realized there would never be a clear winner, that the finish line is indeed death at the end of every road. So I stand hand in hand with the reality of both. To my left, finite bows her head to my life, exposing every memory made as a reminder to relish in the variety of moments—dare they be traffic lights, brutal fights, and otherwise. To love and cherish my adored ones with everything I’ve got. Hug longer. Feel deeper. Smile with a purpose to cure pain. Allow myself to get drunk off the words that cross the lips of those we love, for we never know what last words our ears may hear.
To my right, infinite wears a silk robe in just the right shade of gold, so attractive it lures my librian taste. He is perfumed with the endless possibilities of life, and I am high off the energy of his aura. He reminds me that time is to be used to fulfill my deepest desires. Touch, taste, feel, plan, and execute. Reach high and big and farther. Do it all now; squeeze out every last drop.
I guess this is the gift of being human—to feel it all and make peace with the past, present, and future, not favoring one over the other, but enjoying each like a well-balanced meal.
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