When I get into the elevator at work,
I almost always move to the back
and look at myself in the mirrors in the doors.
The optics of the highly polished steel doors drop a few pounds off,
much like the mirrors in a funhouse on the Midway.
But today, instead of looking at the thin illusion of my form,
I noticed my hair.
Maybe it was the way the light fell down from the new LED lights,
Or the color balance of the lights themselves,
but there, in the mirror,
was a middle aged man
with very gray hair.
It was as if I had been teleported into another man's body.
And there in the elevator, on my way to run 6 miles,
I had to let go of the idea that I was not a grown up.
For, I most definitely am.
You know what I'm talking about.
It's that moment when you look around
and you see that everyone in the room is younger than you.
It's that moment when those guys who used to look old,
Don't look that old anymore.
I've been having lots of those moments lately,
Where I realize that I must let go of things that I hold dear,
because they don't really exist anymore.
Like my thick brown hair,
and eyes that can pick an entree
in dim romantic candle light,
I let go of love, the possessive love of a child,
And embrace the love of understanding.
I let go of my hate
for those who vote wrong,
and dutifully repeat talk radio programming,
like a trained parrot that talks without knowing.
I let go of that silly sense of self,
that takes it all too personally.
I embrace a self of sanity
that rejects my sense of separation
and this disease of nationalism
that engulfs every news show and talking head.
I let go of my love of hate,
and my hate of real love.
I let go of the violence in my own views
and free the confidence of my convictions.
I let go of the certainty of death,
and embrace the serendipity of life.
I even had dinner with a Republican tonight.
I let that go too.
I embrace the earth
and our family.
and this house
we call home.
And I'm going back
to the fun house mirrors.