Age and time are an undefeated tag team. The older I get, the more I’m reminded of truths I never asked to learn, and I see the changes in the faces of people I’ve known for years. It’s subtle at first — a shift in expression, a new heaviness in the eyes, a softness where there used to be sharpness — but it’s there. Leaves change and fall, grow, change, and fall again, and most of the time we don’t even notice it happening. Life works the same way.
The child in me still carries a broken heart that I don’t believe any therapy can fully mend. The adult in me continues to wish for those simpler times, that age of innocence when the world felt softer and the stakes felt lower. Sometimes I wonder where it all went and how I missed it slipping away. I can admit that the adult in me is afraid, just as much as the child. That’s ok, because that’s my truth and I am not ashamed of it.
Meanwhile, I watch social media turn people and their identities into characters for their own amusement. Everyone is performing, curating, exaggerating, and bending themselves into shapes that don’t always look like who they really are. It makes the world feel different — less grounded, less sincere — and it forces me to confront the reality that fate is not something I can outmaneuver. I am learning not to put myself before faith, even when my instinct is to hold on tightly to control.
I still feel like I’m trying to figure it all out. That’s ok, because it’s my truth and I am not ashamed of it. The child in me is sad sometimes. That’s ok too, because that sadness is real, and pretending otherwise doesn’t make it go away. Still, I am thankful for a lot — love and life being at the top of that list. Gratitude doesn’t erase the fear, though. I think sometimes I am waiting for bad news, bracing myself for something I can’t name. Remember, I said time and age are an undefeated tag team.
I’ve become more cautious than I used to be. I don’t leave the house without a direct plan of action. Even going to the mailbox takes some type of strategy. Rest is often not enough; I need regular opportunities to step outside my normalcy just to gain better clarity. And when I do, I find myself yearning for it more and more — yearning so much that I stay awake, mind racing, heart pacing, waiting for something to shift.
And then it does. The winds are changing. They shift from different poles, ranges, and meadows, blowing in new feelings of angst, anxiety, and humility. I close my eyes and embrace for the chill while I brace for the impact. In those moments, I tell the child in me to stand back so I can protect him. Later, I look for him in random reflections — a window, a mirror, a darkened screen — just to see if he’s still there. I hope he is.
Because even as the winds change, even as time and age continue their undefeated streak, I’m learning to move with them. Not perfectly. Not fearlessly. But honestly — and that’s enough.