"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence."
The opening line of this piece invites the pause. It always stills me.
A copy of this hung on my door next to Kahlil Gibran's "Your children are not your children..." for the entire time I lived in my mother's house, with my son. That took me right back to my old home. I bet I still have that copy somewhere. Someone gave it to me when I was in recovery.
***After reading some of the comments, I was reminded of an experience I had recently, which involves aging. I am approaching 65. I pulled into a 711 one afternoon. There were 2 young ladies with motor bikes. One was blonde, heavily tattooed, beautiful, wearing black pants and a lace bralette. The other, brunette, all I really noticed was her helmet, which she was holding. It had little devil horns. I was flooded with envy and insecurity. I went in, used the ATM, and quickly left, trying not to look.
I got to the laundromat, and while I was waiting for my wash to finish, I thumbed through a book of poetry I'd picked up recently in Easton. "Locally Made Panties" by Arielle Greenberg. It consists of mostly prose pieces wherein she muses about aging bodies, post-pregnancy bodies, and fashion. Greenberg was in her 30s at the time she wrote these pieces, but they really resonated.
I was feeling old and lumpy and invisible, but I was that girl, once upon a time (without my own motorcycle). I was mourning my lost youth, my wild and crazy self who never cared about the future. But I realized I needn't be envious. I wished i had gotten past that feeling quicker and given the girls props, but mostly, I wished I had told them to be careful and stay safe, but to enjoy being themselves.
I first encountered this poem at 17 when I left home for university. I found it on a poster which I promptly purchased and went back to hang it on the wall of my dorm room. I read it a million times as I fumbled my way through a new world. Through many ages and stages of life it has offered me the three gifts of grace, hope, and solace. From starting a career to marriage and babies, from divorce to traumatic grief, I have always wrapped it's words around me, comforted by this trusted friend.
My favourite stanza is missing from your original post:
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
I have wrestled with these five lines as I walk through midlife alone. Gracefully surrendering the things of youth has for me, meant surrendering romantic love. I have found an abundance of love with friends, family and pets. I am at peace with my unconventional life.
Totally agree, last weekend’s letter struck a cord, impressive to read so many further honest replies, I normally don’t have / take to time read so many, but last Saturday, I very much appreciated any single line I read, felt connected to this community and am grateful to be here.
There’s indeed so many aspects in the poem, one was our right to be here, the other ‘whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should’ - this is hard in today’s word, war and climate crisis - maybe, it’s one way to cope?
I can be really hard on myself, so: "...be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here."
I am initially responding to last week's post because I never got around to responding. It was very thought provoking as you will see by the length of this post.
At 64 (65 in September), I am in the second half of my life. I have definitely experienced a shift of the kind you are describing, Susan. I noticed the shift as a whisper last fall and as a yell this summer. I retired from teaching kindergarten in May of 2024. In addition to teaching kindergarten, I tutored children with dyslexia. When I retired, I was tutoring two children, one who has dyslexia and his sister who does not. I continue to enjoy tutoring, especially the boy with dyslexia, for which I am trained. I struggled in school, probably had a learning disability that was never identified.
Having gone undiagnosed, I always thought something was wrong with me. That when it came to academics, I just didn't have what it took. I loved children and decided to go to college to become a teacher but dropped out after two years because it was so hard. I wanted to work to make money so that's what I did.
I married in 1990 and we went on to have two sons. I was a stay at home with my boys until they were 11 and 9. At that time, I taught my son's religious ed class and loved it. The bug for teaching was back and I mentioned to my husband, "that I thought I wanted to go back to school to become a teacher". He quickly responded, "Do it!". Although, I was scared to death to "Do it!" and it was very hard and many of nights my husband was up with me at all hours of the night helping me to write papers, I did it! I went on to get a masters in Reading and Literacy and certification in dyslexia. All because I could relate to the child that couldn't learn to learn. I had been that child.
The boy I continue to tutor is nine now. He and his sister are being raised by their paternal grandmother. She does the best she can. However at time her expectation of what her grandson can do or things he does, irritate her. She thinks he choosing the behavior, which he is not. It's just the way his brain works and I understand that. My hope is that he will never feel there is anything wrong with him. Unfortunately, too many children go through life feeling like something is wrong with them because they don't live up to the expectation of society. They often become their own biggest critics.
So that finally brings me to today and my response to your questions. I used to think the first half of my life didn't go the way I'd hoped because I dropped out of college. However, my struggles became my gifts that allowed me to help other children who were struggling in school become more successful and less shame full. I would have never been able to do that had I not struggled myself.
When I retired last year, I had no intention of tutoring beyond the two I had been currenly tutoring. However at the beginning of the school year, 2024, I had a couple of moms reach out to me asking if I could tutor their kids. I was reluctant but agreed. I didn’t love it. I didn’t even really like it. These children did not need tutoring. They all attended private school and were at grade level, even above in some areas. I felt it was a waste of time and money for all but did not feel comfortable sharing my views. I was happy when most of the families decided to discontinue my services mid-year. I felt pretty free again and was enjoying a much less scheduled retirement.
As the school year was coming to a close, I had one of the mothers reach out to me and asked if I would be willing to tutor her then 3-year-old, 5-year-old and 6-year-old in the summer. In a moment, without thinking, I said yes. I regretted my decision to tutor but was committed to fulfilling my obligation. This led to another mother reaching out, a friend of the other asking to tutor her 5-year-old daughter as well. I reluctantly told myself I could do this. It was only the summer. I was definitely feeling “meh” about tutoring this way.
Last week, after one of my tutoring sessions with her kids, one of the moms said that she would like me to continue tutoring her children through the next school year. I told her I was not sure I could commit because I need to have back surgery this fall, have plans to travel to take care of my grandson as well as several upcoming weddings in October. She said, “No problem, we can work around your schedule”.
The next day you posted, “Are you in the second half of life?” and ask if I, too, found myself no longer chasing the same dreams I once held so dear – and why the thing that used to excite me now leave me feeling meh.” It got me thinking. This type of tutoring doesn’t excite me anymore. I don’t feel I am making a difference in these children’s lives. I committed to helping provide support to prevent “summer slide” but I retired for a reason, one being I no longer wanted to teach. Taking on these tutoring assignments feels too much like work.
Susan, I feel your post last week allowed me to see clearly that I have not lost my way, only that I am ready for my second half of which tutoring “on grade level” kids is not in that plan. I will continue to tutor my one dyslexic student as long as he needs me but beyond that, my feeling today is I am no longer going to tutor other children.
I gave my notice to the one parent who had told me she wanted me to continue to tutor her children through the school year telling her, after careful consideration of my upcoming surgery, travel plans for child care for my grandson and several weddings, I have decided that it is in my best interest not to tutor the girls beyond the current summer session. I hope you understand. She acknowledged me by saying, “Thank you for letting me know.” She seemed a bit prickly at this week’s tutoring session but I’ve come to realize, that’s okay. As Glennon Doyle has said, “Every time you’re given a choice between disappointing someone else and disappointing yourself, your duty is to disappoint that someone else. Your job throughout your entire life, is to disappoint as many people as it takes to avoid disappointing yourself.”
I used to think this sounded selfish. I no longer feel that way. Especially, in my second half of life.
That leads me to this week’s post and if “Desiderata” spoke to me? Yes, it spoke to me in many ways. However, the words that spoke to me the loudest, were “Speak your truth quietly and clearly”. This hasn’t come easy to me. Just as I said above that what Glennon Doyle wrote seemed selfish to me, I used to worry about what others thought about what I said and sometimes would compromise my truth to please others. That has not served me well ever. In my second half of life, I am going to continue to “Speak my truth quietly and clearly” and let others respond as they may without taking it personally. Giving my notice to this mom was hard but I am so relieved I did it!
I recall exactly where I first read this work: in a gift shop on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. At the time, it was still being incorrectly described as having been "written in 1692 and found in a church." I was at a tricky period of my life, and this work helped me find comfort and clarity. I still have the copy I bought that day and return to it often. Thanks for posting this!
I remember when the spoken-to-soft-music version was a hit in 1971. And every hippie shop in Montreal was selling a poster of the poem. I had one. I remember feeling so afluster in that year. I was 19 years old and experiencing so many new sensations, attending a politically charged university after years spent in a parochial school. Re-reading it now, it brings back memories of those confusing times, a sense of “if only I had leaned more toward the REAL peace in those lines.” Still, I’m here now, all these years later, during times that are just as—perhaps more—politically charged, listening to younger people who say “things have never been like this….” Yes, they have, and the advice in that poem still ranks as the best way to navigate these times too.
Thank you Susan; I've had this on my desktop since before I had a desktop (printed copy on the wall back then) and have found it comforting and beautiful. Favourite lines: "Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here."
Susan, I found the Desiderata at age 14 ( I am 68 now), copied it by hand and have kept it with me all these years. Years ago I found a print copy of the poem, framed it and it hangs on my bedroom wall. Over the decades I have loved and been moved by every single line. I remember when I first found the poem the opening lines were like a mantra or centering prayer through adolescence, "Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there maybe in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons". The other line that had a profound impact on my youth: "You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here." I had no idea I had such a place in the world. This poem was may way out of the suffering I did not know I possessed. It ignited the seeker in me and I have not stopped seeking since.
My parents had this printed out behind the loo door growing up in the 70s and 80s in suburban Brisbane, Australia. I memorised it and this is the line that I carried with me since I was a young girl. "Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story." Thank you for reminding me of this wisdom.
“Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.”
I just returned from visiting Sequoia NP, where I was fortunate enough to go stargazing through the Sequoia Conservancy program. The part of the poem above brought me back to that moment of connection with nature, as I was surrounded by the gentle giant sequoia trees under a sky of stars.
Thank you, Susan, for everything you have done for me, and all powerful introverts.
"Listen to others even the dull and the ignorant for they too have stories to tell." I needed this reminder, because my ability to suffer fools is diminishing with age.
“And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” That line is a hard one to swallow. This is probably because my religious perspective is “lapsed Catholic with a lot of questions.” If there is divine intervention in this world, it seems arbitrarily selective. I don’t want to discount the need to consider a higher being, bigger than myself, but I can’t help feeling this entity is largely a bystander.
On the other hand, I get that life isn’t fair, you don’t always get answers to your Big Questions when you want them — if at all —and you have to see the world as it is, warts and all. Acceptance of what is might be easier on paper, but I don’t believe there is always a “should” behind what is, unless the point is that the “should” is what sometimes compels us to effect change if “what is” is wrong.
Raise your hand if you are old enough to remember the recording of the poem. It reached #8 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1971. It seemed otherworldly.
"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence."
The opening line of this piece invites the pause. It always stills me.
A copy of this hung on my door next to Kahlil Gibran's "Your children are not your children..." for the entire time I lived in my mother's house, with my son. That took me right back to my old home. I bet I still have that copy somewhere. Someone gave it to me when I was in recovery.
***After reading some of the comments, I was reminded of an experience I had recently, which involves aging. I am approaching 65. I pulled into a 711 one afternoon. There were 2 young ladies with motor bikes. One was blonde, heavily tattooed, beautiful, wearing black pants and a lace bralette. The other, brunette, all I really noticed was her helmet, which she was holding. It had little devil horns. I was flooded with envy and insecurity. I went in, used the ATM, and quickly left, trying not to look.
I got to the laundromat, and while I was waiting for my wash to finish, I thumbed through a book of poetry I'd picked up recently in Easton. "Locally Made Panties" by Arielle Greenberg. It consists of mostly prose pieces wherein she muses about aging bodies, post-pregnancy bodies, and fashion. Greenberg was in her 30s at the time she wrote these pieces, but they really resonated.
I was feeling old and lumpy and invisible, but I was that girl, once upon a time (without my own motorcycle). I was mourning my lost youth, my wild and crazy self who never cared about the future. But I realized I needn't be envious. I wished i had gotten past that feeling quicker and given the girls props, but mostly, I wished I had told them to be careful and stay safe, but to enjoy being themselves.
I first encountered this poem at 17 when I left home for university. I found it on a poster which I promptly purchased and went back to hang it on the wall of my dorm room. I read it a million times as I fumbled my way through a new world. Through many ages and stages of life it has offered me the three gifts of grace, hope, and solace. From starting a career to marriage and babies, from divorce to traumatic grief, I have always wrapped it's words around me, comforted by this trusted friend.
My favourite stanza is missing from your original post:
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
I have wrestled with these five lines as I walk through midlife alone. Gracefully surrendering the things of youth has for me, meant surrendering romantic love. I have found an abundance of love with friends, family and pets. I am at peace with my unconventional life.
Totally agree, last weekend’s letter struck a cord, impressive to read so many further honest replies, I normally don’t have / take to time read so many, but last Saturday, I very much appreciated any single line I read, felt connected to this community and am grateful to be here.
There’s indeed so many aspects in the poem, one was our right to be here, the other ‘whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should’ - this is hard in today’s word, war and climate crisis - maybe, it’s one way to cope?
"Take kindly the counsel of the years." It is a challenge getting used to an aging self. Just retired...
I can be really hard on myself, so: "...be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here."
I am initially responding to last week's post because I never got around to responding. It was very thought provoking as you will see by the length of this post.
At 64 (65 in September), I am in the second half of my life. I have definitely experienced a shift of the kind you are describing, Susan. I noticed the shift as a whisper last fall and as a yell this summer. I retired from teaching kindergarten in May of 2024. In addition to teaching kindergarten, I tutored children with dyslexia. When I retired, I was tutoring two children, one who has dyslexia and his sister who does not. I continue to enjoy tutoring, especially the boy with dyslexia, for which I am trained. I struggled in school, probably had a learning disability that was never identified.
Having gone undiagnosed, I always thought something was wrong with me. That when it came to academics, I just didn't have what it took. I loved children and decided to go to college to become a teacher but dropped out after two years because it was so hard. I wanted to work to make money so that's what I did.
I married in 1990 and we went on to have two sons. I was a stay at home with my boys until they were 11 and 9. At that time, I taught my son's religious ed class and loved it. The bug for teaching was back and I mentioned to my husband, "that I thought I wanted to go back to school to become a teacher". He quickly responded, "Do it!". Although, I was scared to death to "Do it!" and it was very hard and many of nights my husband was up with me at all hours of the night helping me to write papers, I did it! I went on to get a masters in Reading and Literacy and certification in dyslexia. All because I could relate to the child that couldn't learn to learn. I had been that child.
The boy I continue to tutor is nine now. He and his sister are being raised by their paternal grandmother. She does the best she can. However at time her expectation of what her grandson can do or things he does, irritate her. She thinks he choosing the behavior, which he is not. It's just the way his brain works and I understand that. My hope is that he will never feel there is anything wrong with him. Unfortunately, too many children go through life feeling like something is wrong with them because they don't live up to the expectation of society. They often become their own biggest critics.
So that finally brings me to today and my response to your questions. I used to think the first half of my life didn't go the way I'd hoped because I dropped out of college. However, my struggles became my gifts that allowed me to help other children who were struggling in school become more successful and less shame full. I would have never been able to do that had I not struggled myself.
When I retired last year, I had no intention of tutoring beyond the two I had been currenly tutoring. However at the beginning of the school year, 2024, I had a couple of moms reach out to me asking if I could tutor their kids. I was reluctant but agreed. I didn’t love it. I didn’t even really like it. These children did not need tutoring. They all attended private school and were at grade level, even above in some areas. I felt it was a waste of time and money for all but did not feel comfortable sharing my views. I was happy when most of the families decided to discontinue my services mid-year. I felt pretty free again and was enjoying a much less scheduled retirement.
As the school year was coming to a close, I had one of the mothers reach out to me and asked if I would be willing to tutor her then 3-year-old, 5-year-old and 6-year-old in the summer. In a moment, without thinking, I said yes. I regretted my decision to tutor but was committed to fulfilling my obligation. This led to another mother reaching out, a friend of the other asking to tutor her 5-year-old daughter as well. I reluctantly told myself I could do this. It was only the summer. I was definitely feeling “meh” about tutoring this way.
Last week, after one of my tutoring sessions with her kids, one of the moms said that she would like me to continue tutoring her children through the next school year. I told her I was not sure I could commit because I need to have back surgery this fall, have plans to travel to take care of my grandson as well as several upcoming weddings in October. She said, “No problem, we can work around your schedule”.
The next day you posted, “Are you in the second half of life?” and ask if I, too, found myself no longer chasing the same dreams I once held so dear – and why the thing that used to excite me now leave me feeling meh.” It got me thinking. This type of tutoring doesn’t excite me anymore. I don’t feel I am making a difference in these children’s lives. I committed to helping provide support to prevent “summer slide” but I retired for a reason, one being I no longer wanted to teach. Taking on these tutoring assignments feels too much like work.
Susan, I feel your post last week allowed me to see clearly that I have not lost my way, only that I am ready for my second half of which tutoring “on grade level” kids is not in that plan. I will continue to tutor my one dyslexic student as long as he needs me but beyond that, my feeling today is I am no longer going to tutor other children.
I gave my notice to the one parent who had told me she wanted me to continue to tutor her children through the school year telling her, after careful consideration of my upcoming surgery, travel plans for child care for my grandson and several weddings, I have decided that it is in my best interest not to tutor the girls beyond the current summer session. I hope you understand. She acknowledged me by saying, “Thank you for letting me know.” She seemed a bit prickly at this week’s tutoring session but I’ve come to realize, that’s okay. As Glennon Doyle has said, “Every time you’re given a choice between disappointing someone else and disappointing yourself, your duty is to disappoint that someone else. Your job throughout your entire life, is to disappoint as many people as it takes to avoid disappointing yourself.”
I used to think this sounded selfish. I no longer feel that way. Especially, in my second half of life.
That leads me to this week’s post and if “Desiderata” spoke to me? Yes, it spoke to me in many ways. However, the words that spoke to me the loudest, were “Speak your truth quietly and clearly”. This hasn’t come easy to me. Just as I said above that what Glennon Doyle wrote seemed selfish to me, I used to worry about what others thought about what I said and sometimes would compromise my truth to please others. That has not served me well ever. In my second half of life, I am going to continue to “Speak my truth quietly and clearly” and let others respond as they may without taking it personally. Giving my notice to this mom was hard but I am so relieved I did it!
I recall exactly where I first read this work: in a gift shop on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. At the time, it was still being incorrectly described as having been "written in 1692 and found in a church." I was at a tricky period of my life, and this work helped me find comfort and clarity. I still have the copy I bought that day and return to it often. Thanks for posting this!
I remember when the spoken-to-soft-music version was a hit in 1971. And every hippie shop in Montreal was selling a poster of the poem. I had one. I remember feeling so afluster in that year. I was 19 years old and experiencing so many new sensations, attending a politically charged university after years spent in a parochial school. Re-reading it now, it brings back memories of those confusing times, a sense of “if only I had leaned more toward the REAL peace in those lines.” Still, I’m here now, all these years later, during times that are just as—perhaps more—politically charged, listening to younger people who say “things have never been like this….” Yes, they have, and the advice in that poem still ranks as the best way to navigate these times too.
Keep pace with it,
Thank you Susan; I've had this on my desktop since before I had a desktop (printed copy on the wall back then) and have found it comforting and beautiful. Favourite lines: "Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here."
Susan, I found the Desiderata at age 14 ( I am 68 now), copied it by hand and have kept it with me all these years. Years ago I found a print copy of the poem, framed it and it hangs on my bedroom wall. Over the decades I have loved and been moved by every single line. I remember when I first found the poem the opening lines were like a mantra or centering prayer through adolescence, "Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there maybe in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons". The other line that had a profound impact on my youth: "You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here." I had no idea I had such a place in the world. This poem was may way out of the suffering I did not know I possessed. It ignited the seeker in me and I have not stopped seeking since.
My parents had this printed out behind the loo door growing up in the 70s and 80s in suburban Brisbane, Australia. I memorised it and this is the line that I carried with me since I was a young girl. "Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story." Thank you for reminding me of this wisdom.
“Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.”
I just returned from visiting Sequoia NP, where I was fortunate enough to go stargazing through the Sequoia Conservancy program. The part of the poem above brought me back to that moment of connection with nature, as I was surrounded by the gentle giant sequoia trees under a sky of stars.
Thank you, Susan, for everything you have done for me, and all powerful introverts.
"Listen to others even the dull and the ignorant for they too have stories to tell." I needed this reminder, because my ability to suffer fools is diminishing with age.
“And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” That line is a hard one to swallow. This is probably because my religious perspective is “lapsed Catholic with a lot of questions.” If there is divine intervention in this world, it seems arbitrarily selective. I don’t want to discount the need to consider a higher being, bigger than myself, but I can’t help feeling this entity is largely a bystander.
On the other hand, I get that life isn’t fair, you don’t always get answers to your Big Questions when you want them — if at all —and you have to see the world as it is, warts and all. Acceptance of what is might be easier on paper, but I don’t believe there is always a “should” behind what is, unless the point is that the “should” is what sometimes compels us to effect change if “what is” is wrong.
Raise your hand if you are old enough to remember the recording of the poem. It reached #8 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1971. It seemed otherworldly.
1971 was when I found the poem, but I never heard it! Dang!!
Take a listen on YouTube. That was certainly an interesting era in radio - mostly AM for me.