A Letter From My 90 Year Old Self

Hello, 47 year old me. Forty three years have passed and we are now 90. You are struggling today and have been caught up in a phase of struggle for some time. It was only right that I rescue you with the truth. You’re gonna make it. That’s it. That’s the secret.. All this worry, you will find senseless, believe me. As I sit here, old and gray, thinking back on times I long to relive, fleeting hours of frolic and fun I could have lengthened, but was in such a rush to the next assignment the next commitment, the next obligation. How I wish I’d lingered in each season of life. But, we don’t always know this until we are nearing the winter of our days. As I sit here, in my favorite chair beneath a quilt made by my grandmother, oh, I suppose another 90 years ago, I am staring at the snow piling peacefully upon the landscape- replacing the defined edges of shrubs and fences with soft lines of pure white, a veil that wont be ignored or stopped. So, darling, YOU must stop. You cannot change what demands to have its day, its season. But, you are welcome to live in it, to be a part of it, to sing and dance and play, to make plans and nurture yourself and others with as much enthusiasm with which you embrace July’s rays…that lovely season you chose over all the others, the only one for which you deliberately postponed joy in anticipation of its arrival…that spirited  beauty of summer. How I wish we’d given all our days a prayer of gratitude, and that the silly, miniscule upsets of not having our way were recognized as just that. That we’d have dismissed them. But, you see, you often forgot you had the choice. We clung to hurts. We analyzed the words and actions of others. We defined them- made them as a fact of our life and then reacted. All the while, with our head turned from our own path, the hour glass was running- through it- irretrievable, precious grains of time, each wasted moment, a lost opportunity. Hear me. Only in this second, when we place our hand over our heart and feel that incessant reliable connection to life are we truly alive. When only the body is present, the mind murders the potential in the hour glass. Sometimes, you will stare at the sand yet in the top of the glass. This, too, child, is a senseless slaying of an already fleeting life. The key is in the grain that, ever so briefly, is suspended between the top and bottom of the hour glass. Act up THAT grain. And, let it go. As another takes its place, build upon the action from the one below, and so on. Abide in the narrowest passage of the glass, for there and only there does your power lie. I must close for now. There is a magnificent, perfectly mounted peak of sand resting beneath the narrow passage. Oh, the view from here. We did it all, darling. Remember, in those tightest passages are your broadest opportunities. The snow has stopped, and so must I. I must be present for the few grains that remain above. You’re gonna make it. But, you still have time to make it even better.  Love, Dawn

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