Back then, the future was a promise—
not a calendar invite
with a reminder set for “colonoscopy prep.”
Not a fear of my April 27 cancer scan.
But lately, I’ve had this unsettling thought:
What if this—
this slightly creaky, beautifully complicated,
emotionally upgraded version of life—
is it?
What if the good old days
aren’t behind me,
but hiding in plain sight—
between a cup of piping hot chamomile tea
and the realization I no longer need to impress anyone?
What if I’m not falling madly in love,
but I’m ascending or growing in love?
Yes, you know who you are.
You are the object of my affection,
but also an experiment in unconscious intimacy.
Expecting nothing in return.
I’ve come to realize that our connection isn’t a destination,
but instead a gateway.
It gives me a glimpse into
how open and expansive my heart can be.
What if wisdom is just former
embarrassment that’s now been metabolized?
What if joy is quieter now—
less fireworks, more fireplace—
and I’ve been overlooking it
because it doesn’t come with a marching band?
I look around and see
friends who’ve survived things
they never posted about,
loves that deepened
not because they were easy,
but because they stayed.
And yes, my body now negotiates with me.
There are terms.
There are conditions.
There are mornings when it sends a memo
before I even get out of bed.
Beware of your creak, you ol’ freak!
But there’s also this:
a strange, liberating freedom
in knowing time is not infinite.
It makes the ordinary glow a little more.
It makes the trivial easier to ignore.
It makes “later” feel like a risky strategy.
So maybe the good old days
aren’t a sepia-toned memory.
Maybe they’re this moment—
imperfect, unscripted,
slightly sore but surprisingly sweet—
where I finally know enough
to pay attention.
And if that’s true,
I should probably stop
waiting for them to begin.
-Chip