It's the eve of my birthday and shock, horror, I'm writing on my blog. I'm not sure why, but after innumerable conversations about the fallen status of the world and the equally post-lapsarian descent of my chest, sometimes I just need to untangle things on the screen, to write it out, as it were, in some sort of attempt to get my head into gear. While I do try and take the Gordian knot approach to some aspects of my life these days, this time it's just not working.
When you get to a certain age, say, 26, do things start to make sense? I had always assumed so, but as I currently have about 45 minutes or so for the lightbulb to appear, it seems less and less likely that age will confer wisdom within the hour. Or, is ageing just a process of accepting? Do you just 'come to terms' with things, try and understand that they never really will add up, and make your peace with a small corner of the world. I'm not sure, but right now neither is working as one might hope.
It's just, there's something precious in my life right now, but it's also something that seems slightly out of reach. I'm not sure what to do, we're getting so good at banging heads that I'm worried we'll forget how to enjoy each other, how to live well. I want to hang on, but every time we clutch at one another in the search for something solid, we both seem to come away puzzled, empty handed, like participants in a magic trick that's worked too well.
Like Peter Pan, I've found my shadow but can't quite sew it to my feet.
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