It’s remarkable, the contrast.
Just a few years ago,
near enough that I can still perceive it,
I needed to control.
Gather in. Assess. Amend.
Demand more of myself than I could handle.
Old habit, pushing it.
Trying to force time to bend to my will.
Somewhere along the way,
responsibility had become indistinguishable
from vigilance.
As though the world might come undone
if I loosened my grip.
Today I sit in this chair,
looking out over a heavy gray day,
seemingly pregnant with moisture,
always needed in these gardens.
And what I’m feeling
is not so much a need to shape the day,
but to allow the day to reveal itself.
There is a difference
between abandoning responsibility
and relinquishing the belief
that everything is mine to carry.
If there are things to be done,
there are plenty of willing and able souls
to do them.
I can rest.
Sisyphus can stop rolling the stone.
Atlas can gently lower the burden
from her shoulders.
The world was not made in a day.