Dammit!

where the hell is my phone?

Aging, Apparently

(a conversation with myself)

I say to myself:

What were you doing going upstairs like that,

so certain, so purposeful?

And I answer:

I was going for my glasses.

And then I laugh!

because there I am standing in my own house

like I’ve just arrived without a map,

and the glasses are sitting on my head

like two quiet elders watching me forget myself.

I say:

This is not how it used to be.

You held things.

Names, places, stories. . .

they came when you called them.

And I answer:

Yes, that was true.

But perhaps I was living inside a smaller room then.

I say:

Today I lost a name: a good one, a loved one.

Georgia O’Keeffe ~

gone from reach like a bird

that knows me but will not land.

And I feel something tighten in my chest.

Then I say to myself:

Be careful.

Do not rush to call this loss.

You are changing the way you carry things.

I ask:

Then what is happening to me?

And I answer:

You are no longer a tidy cupboard

where everything is labeled and placed just so.

You are becoming a field.

A field? I say.

Yes!

a field where things grow without asking permission,

(literally and figuratively!)

where paths appear only when you walk them,

where not everything needs to be found

on command.

I say:

But I liked the cupboard.

It made me feel reliable,

Together, in control.

And I answer:

Yes.

But it also kept you believing

that knowing was the same as living.

I say:

And now?

And I answer:

Now the light on the floor is enough.

Now the warmth of being here

Arrives without needing to be named.

Now the moment does not wait

for you to remember it.

I say:

So what do I do when I forget why I came upstairs?

And I answer:

You pause. You stand there

as if you have just arrived in a new country.

You look around.

You feel your feet.

You notice the air.

You see the willow tree

waving to you in the wind. . .

And maybe? You laugh.

I say:

And when the names don’t come?

And I answer:

You let them circle until they return

or until you no longer need them.

I grow quiet.

And then I ask:

Am I losing something?

And I answer:

Yes.

And no.

You are losing the illusion

that you were ever in charge of it all.

And you are gaining a life

that can still be lived even when you forget

how you got there!

I sit with that.

Then I say:

Well…

if I’m going to get lost in my own house,

I might as well enjoy the view.

And maybe!

next time . . .

check my head before I start looking.

JG 2026