The folly of youth to the wisdom of old age. Passion to practicality. Erratic speed to steady progress. Tortured love to deep bonds. Anger to acceptance. Somewhere in between lies the resilience of middle age. (I hope the early stage of middle age, but as I count the grey hairs in my mirror, I know this battle could go either way). I play pickleball with my team, try to keep up with their youth, the energy. Does it make me feel younger or just old? I can’t drink like a fish anymore, my body knows it even though my mind may forget it sometimes, especially post 4 drinks. Routines now not only excite me; they are like the best friend that my body needs to feel its mediocre best. Back pains creep up if I skip more than 3 days of the gym. Being a woman is a cruel fight against a “ticking clock” of what society thinks I must have achieved by now. But oh, the resilience of middle age gets me through! I may not be wise yet, but I am wise enough to know that if...
"A dawn to end all nights, that's all we hoped it was"