*There are a lot of new people that have come to subscribe to this little corner of the internet that I have cultivated into a home. I welcome you and hope that we can have times of co-learning. This substack is called musings from a broken heart because it best describes the way that I do scholarship, write poetry, theologize, and relate to others. I write a restful musing on Sundays in the hope and the belief that we all need a moment to breathe before the start of a new week. Much love to
and who have lovingly pointed so many to my substack.*When I was a younger man, shy on one hand and overly egotistical on another hand…I thought I had all of the time in the world to show people that I could measure up to all of the stereotypes that comprises a real man. I lived life moving from one crisis to another and one thrill to another. I didn’t have the bandwidth or the privilege to settle down. But, in the wake of my 40th birthday, I am so aware of how much I have slowed down. Maybe its my age or maybe its the softening of my heart, but I walk slow. I read even slower. I think simply. Maybe, and if i’m honest…probably…I will never be considered the brightest person/writer. Maybe I will never create works that will make people go “WOW.” My age is catching up to me.
soft bones
by Robert Monson
I want to die reading a good book of poetry.
Preferably Clifton.
And as I turn the last page
and take a deep sigh like I do
I want to sleep and wake up
jumping into the great expanse of the unknown.
A word of a good poem on my lips.
My age is catching up to me and I truly don’t mean that in a morbid way. I am not running from it. I never thought I would make it to 40 and so this precious time I have is sacred to me. As friends from all across the country wished me a happy birthday and asked me my plans I turned inward as I reflected to this kind of life that I have shaped for myself. (Clifton) It is something that I am proud of. Although I fear dying, I am not afraid of my age. I welcome it as I welcome each iteration of who I am. What is your age teaching you? Are there things that still sting you or that you want to work through? I’m so curious to hear some of you all reflect in the comments.
By the way, below is a beautiful post that my friend
wrote recently that made me cry for quite a bit.And…please go and buy my friend
new book here.
You cried at Rose’s post, too? I wasn’t ready. 🥹
I’m so glad you were born. Your presence is so cherished to me, brother.
I turned 25 a couple of months ago and for the first time in a few years, since my birthdays became a marker for how long I’ve been chronically ill, I felt proud of my age. God said to me “it’s twenty five years of being loved by Me” and it flipped my whole perspective.
I don’t live like I thought a 25 year old would but that image was carved by societal, capitalist pressures and intrinsic ableism. I’m 25, disabled and proud.
(I’ve been wanting to write a post on this for my own blog, thank you for inspiring me further!)