Present Over Perfect

If this journey has been the peeling of an onion, layer by
layer, or the un-nesting of Russian dolls, shedding external
selves like skin, it seems we are reaching the center.
The center is reached, once again, through silence, time,
honesty, loss; by leaving behind all the voices and
expectations, all the selves and costumes of other times,
things that worked then but don’t work any longer.
This is, I realize, middle age. But here’s the thing: every
new season of life is an invitation to leave behind the things
of the season before, the trappings and traps that have long
expired, right for then, no longer right for now.
Whatever passage you’re facing—entering your twenties
or your sixties, facing life alone for the first time in a long
time or learning the new dance of partnership, becoming a
parent or becoming an empty nester, leaving student life
behind or becoming a student once again—has the potential
to be your sea-change, your invitation to leave behind
what’s not essential and travel deeply into the heart of
things. This is a pattern we can recreate all our lives, over
and over, because who’s ever totally finished leaving things
behind?
One new thing that began to emerge: as I stopped
ignoring my exhaustion and burying some of the
brokennesses in my relationships, I started to have opinions.
I mean, OPINIONS. I’ve always had opinions, certainly. But
I’ve always been surrounded by people with strong
opinions, too. And I’ve learned a very complicated
geometry about which things I’m “allowed” to feel strongly