Category: Tenneson Woolf Poetry

In my young 60s, I’m finding that there is a different way of being that has come to get me.

It’s a bit confusing. But perhaps quite natural.

The 20s are so much about being formed — school and jobs and income. Early family. In all, I was rewarded for my tenacity.

The 30s and 40s are so much about discovering craft and contribution — finding place, promotion. Growing in gift.

The 50s, well this is often a honing time — a dance between what has been consistently important in our earlier times, with what is now changing and stripping away from clutter.

My 60s, I’m finding, have come to get me with not just a frivolous way of wander, but rather, with an imperative. And often leading with joy.

All of that leads me to this mornings poem.

I wander.
This is what I do.
It is what I prefer.

I like moving, 
my mind and my heart particularly, 
with fluidity. 

I like feeling guided
aaa by water and by river banks.

It hasn’t always been this way.
I’ve also loved commitment to one task,
and tenacity pushed to get things done.

But these days, in my young 60s,
there is new meaning, purpose,
and calling.

I so much love and need to flow.
aaa To choose wander as the way I live and contribute.

I’ve been journaling for decades. Sometimes paragraphs. Sometimes sentences. Sometimes a light word salad.

I’ve now been prosing much of that journaling over the last ten years. I like seeing it take shape. I like the invitation to find brevity and commonness.

Here’s a recent insight (which is to say, a familiar insight that keeps coming round — a bit like a dog faithfully retrieving the tennis ball tossed in the field).

Think of it as game plan. Maybe for the day, because, well, it’s today. Maybe for the week, some lingering. Maybe for each time the joyful dog that is Life returns with wagging tail and spitty drool to retrieve one more toss).

The basics,
they come ‘round, pretty often,
to give needed advice.

Most often, gentle.
Sometimes a slap.

“Trust your gut.”
“Be kind.”
“Stay clear, simple.”
Sometimes, “Fuck it.”

I suppose I oughta listen better.

A few words of wonder, over coffee this morning.

This time of life and of living,
it is familiar,
isn’t it.

Because, well, it’s connected to all the other times.

You’ve learned how to persevere before.
You’ve learned to lean to friends before.
You’ve learned to start again before.

But then, this time of life and of living,
it’s also new,
isn’t it.

Because it asks us to go beyond the known 
aaperseverances,
aafriendships,
aaand new starts.

Beyond all those good and sensible compromises.
Beyond all those convenient animosities and outrages.
Beyond most of those things that keep us busy and distracted.

I sit with my cup of coffee.
Perhaps you do with yours.

And we think of living heart-filled lives, 
living with kindness in the knowns and the news
in these times, don’t we.