All Fours

by Miranda July

If birth was being thrown energetically up into the air, we aged as we rose. At the height of our ascent we were middle-aged and then we fell for the rest of our lives, the whole second half. Falling might take just as long, but it was nothing like rising. The whole time you were rising you could not imagine what came next in your particular, unique journey; you could not see around the corner. Whereas falling ended the same way for everyone.

Bearing the unbearable. But it wasn’t only bravery, it was also submission. This is happening and my only option is to accept it. I cannot fight it. I can only move through it.