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Living in Bewilderment

This poem does not resist change, nor does it glorify resignation.

It speaks from a place where effort, regret, and expectation quietly lose their urgency.

Aging here is not dramatic—it is bewildering, practical, and honest.

What remains is a careful negotiation with one’s limits,

and a fragile peace found in knowing when not to act.

 

Living in Bewilderment

 

I do not resist the changes of my body.

I do not regret what I do not do.

I do not rage over what I can do.

What must be done—I do not rush toward it.

 

I do not endure the aches of my joints.

I do not sink into despair over what I do not do.

I do not summon motivation for what I can do.

What must be done—I give up forcing myself.

 

I do not cling to where I belong.

For what I do not do, I say I have no energy.

For what I can do, I say, please spare me.

For what must be done, I say, expect nothing of me.

 

Let me ask for time enough to match my stature.

What I do not do feels already past.

What I can do feels still ahead.

What must be done feels increasingly difficult.

What I must not do—only quiet watching is permitted.

 

I learn my limits along the road of aging.

What I do not do keeps increasing, one-sidedly.

What I can do goes without saying.

What must be done grows ever fewer.

Is what I must not do simply

to lean back and entrust myself to the chair?


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