A View from the Other Side of 49

I am over the edge. Or, rather, over the hill. In many ways, decades spent in exile from my child left me hanging by my fingernails and living life from the periphery. It is hard to play center from the bleachers. This is my only life and I should at least be a starting player. Ya' know?

Time has also nudged me over to the other side of 49. Why, only a few days ago, the clock spun to midnight and it was again my birthday. It was unstoppable. I had a couple days of midlife crisis meltdown last week; tears and all. Most of it was a reiteration of my growing awareness of all the effects of surrender on my life and on all of those in my life; a reassesment of where I have been and a questioning of where I want to go from here. Yada, yada, yada... Midlife crisis with very intense surrender/adoption themes.

Time's relentless pressure can build enough force to flip the day to night. And with constant pull, spins warm summer breezes around to expose underbellies of icy winter blasts. And powerful enough, with silent perseverence, to flip the numerals of one's age from 15 to 51.

My view from the other side of 49 is that it is not really so bad here. There really is a little spring of wisdom from which to drink on this side of the hill that I didn't see on the other side.. It could be there too, and I just didn't see it.

And I think that if I continue to try to write about time passing and attempt to create any seemingly original metaphors, anyone reading this post will close out this window within the next 2 seconds flat. So, enough time imagery.

I do, however, have one image that has been persistently popping into my head for several weeks that I have been wanting to write about. I have a very strong image of a thick glass lens embedded within me. It is powerful and unpolished around the edges. Movement or repositioning of this lense causes pain. And most of what I perceive is filtered throught it. One side of the lens allows me to focus internally. I can focus on my feelings, thoughts and my internal life and through it I see my grief.

I think that when the lens is turned to focus on my grief; pressure begins to build. Tears, both physical and spiritual build up enough to flip that lens so that my focus becomes external. With an external focus I find I am better able to see others in the world around me and see myself as a part of that world. And I become more aware of others' pain. I begin to know that my own pain has a reverse side. Perhaps it is called compassion. If the other side of pain is compassion for others and my own self, it might not be too bad of a place to be.