Acceptance



When I rise early in the morning I see you.  You are nothing particularly pleasing to look at, because I see you as you are; tired, with bloodshot eyes do to insomnia the night before.  You see me for who I am, and I see you for what you have become.  The look says it all, because of your retirement into marriage—too lazy to exercise, and too busy to care.

Most mornings begin with a blank stare with no conversation.  How many years have I faithfully pulled myself out of a comfortable, warm bed to get ready for work; a job where my supervisor doesn’t even appreciate me?  For all of this I never get any more than a quiet stare from you.

I look into your wrinkled face and try grasping what your silence is saying to me.  As I feel the texture of your graying hair I am made to realize that I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life and there’s nothing I can do about it.  Lately, the longing in my heart to see a much younger face each morning quickly fades into the reality of the moment—you are who you are. 

I pursue my quest for satisfaction in my memories and remember what was, and then agree with myself to accept what I see and to be happy, not miserable for the rest of my life, because of what I have to look at each morning.  It is hard to do this.  When I look at your belly that takes on the appearance of being five months pregnant I remember those once, tight abs that have surrendered to lose flab. 

It’s hard to hold my tongue and not say in disgust, “If you would’ve only kept up with your exercising you wouldn’t be in the shape you’re in today!”  When you turn around I see the varicose veins in your legs and it saddens me to think that these same legs, once trim and free from blemish, are what they are today, because of aging.

When I stop and consider that the opposite of growing older is the separation from my loved ones forever, I want to grow older for sure.  Any day that I wake up on this side of the grass is a good day.  I am determined to be less critical of myself every morning as I have been in the past, and I vow that when I look at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, I am going to be happy and smile even though the mirror speaks the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

I am going to grow older, gracefully, and not think of myself in the manner for which I have written here-to-for in this writing.  My motto for today and from here out is “Don’t worry; be happy!”  Acceptance of one’s self in the morning, rather than fretting and complaining makes the day go much better.

(Psalm 118:24), “This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Written by,

Papa Boyd