Today, I have the pleasure of writing at the High Calling on our journey into aging. Some of us face this part of the journey with a sort of resigned acceptance and others walk the road marking the milestones with their own small rebellions. I would love for you to meet me at the High Calling and join in the conversation.
I thought I’d leave you with this poem today and encourage you to continue listening to the voice you recognize as yours. May it encourage you in a few small rebellions of your own.
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.
~Mary Oliver
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