I came home from work today feeling the small death of my spirit. It’s about the same as I felt when I heard Gene Wilder died this morning. Today has been full of small deaths. And that’s what aging gives you. Little deaths sprinkled like confetti over your life. The older you get, the more substantial those deaths become. Your favorite actors age out. They die. Your family dies. Your friends die. Your mentors wither into solid examples. They die, too.
There’s just no earthly way of knowing.
You become resilient.
I am learning a bad day at work isn’t something to lose your mind over. There may just be, perhaps, no such thing as a job that doesn’t drive you bonkers. It is just another reality to grow hard to. To prevent that frustration and anger and sadness from seeping into your soul. I am happy today even though, even though. And the more of these little deaths I feel, the more I will be accustomed to this feeling. The sads that are simply meant to be sad.
So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you.