I used to think getting old was like a tsunami
It heaps on you when you reach 50
But the closer I get the more I guess
It’s like a slow forming storm
That starts with a drop, the clouds chasing the sun
You look around and realize
Jack was not a giant after all
Mondays begin on Sundays
Some days you don’t remember
What you had for breakfast the day before

You don’t know how it feels
To be 20 until you are 40
Looking back you can’t believe
How lucky you were
To gamble your life to please _____
(A name you can’t even remember)
The landmine of youth would get you killed
Or in jail living a life very different
From this one you’ve come to know

Then come the milestones
Faster than lightning in a thunderstorm
Dropping a child off to college
Would snap you out of your college daze
Thinking that was just the other day
The elasticity of your skin starts to lose form
All the sit-ups in the world won’t stop
Your washboard abs from losing their ridges
When the end of a pickup game feels like a rock on your chest
You know why 40-year-old athletes are a rare phenomenon
But… Who knew getting your fingernails filled with dirt
Bests a manicure before the ball

I have become close friends with an old enemy
I used to call her boredom
Now I know her as solitude
She is a great listener
In the early morning and early evening hours
She knows I’m a mixed bag
Of self-doubt and arrogance pride
A mixed bag of accomplishments and failure
Often it’s hard to see the former
Like it’s hard to see the keys after you put your shoes on
Ready to step out the house.

Someone wishing you good health free of pain
Is the most underrated act of love

Slowly I get how my parents felt
When we didn’t show up when we said we would
When the market was not sweet but we needed to eat

Thrill is not the biggest motivating factor for drive
For that security would do just fine

There is a mountain in every mole hill
Any warrior worth their scar would tell you
Not every battle is worth the fight
Said my grandfather when I was a child
Never has a short shelf life
Pretense and belief are children of the same mother:
Like pretending to believe death is not a thing
That lurks in every breath we take