Age fifty approaches. I find flashes of overwhelm, with my things, my tasks, the impossibility of victory over life. Entropy gains on me.
Yes - I teach my classes, I do laundry, cook meals, see friends. I do the things I'm expected to, even appear moderately succesful. Exercise, bathe and dress, do my hair. Vitamins, vegetables, doctor visits.
Yet the realization dawns: health problems will increase. Exposure to injury and harm is unavoidable.
Somehow, accepting this: that I will ultimately lose the battle with entropy, that I'll succomb to whatever kills me, that I'll sink into the earth sooner or later, it's a relief. I'm trying to stay on top, but it's to be expected that I'll eventually fail. Which is how it's supposed to be.
Today I can keep things simple, stay closer to the soil. When it's time, I will more easily slip beneath it. I'll let go of my affairs; the creatures and beings that come after me will carry life forward.
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