The Age When Work No Longer Fits

Lately, my work feels like clothes that don't fit my body.
It's not that I bought the wrong size,
and it's not so unnatural that anyone else would point it out.
It's just that I, the one wearing them, feel a sense of tightness somewhere.

In the past, I never even thought about such things.
That was because I had the goal of raising my children to be independent.
Dropping them off at daycare, rushing to work, coming home to check homework,
washing lunch boxes, putting them to bed, and preparing for the next day.
Getting angry, laughing, every day was so hectic,
that my own feelings were left behind.

But that was fine.
When people have a 'reason to protect,' they are strong.
Whether it was for a living or a sense of responsibility, it all became fuel.

After my children left the nest, I realized it for the first time.
When the fuel changes, one must also question the meaning of how they work.

Right now, I have many questions.

Is this the work I want to do?
Is it something I'm interested in?
Or is it just for a living?
Am I continuing only out of a sense of responsibility?
What was it that I liked again?
Where did I leave my sense of fulfillment?

The answers are all half-baked,
and it's all the more complicated because none of them are lies.

In the first half of life, I could move forward even if I was just drifting.
There were fewer choices, I had physical strength,
and I could believe that 'tomorrow would work out somehow.'
But entering my 50s, only the choices increase,
while my physical strength and courage dull a little.
That turning point-like place is sometimes painful.

My working life is coming to an end.
Will I regret it if I go on like this until retirement?
If I turn somewhere, will I be satisfied?
If I don't turn, will I be convinced?
I sometimes ask these things to myself reflected in the window of the train home.

Rather than a heavy worry,
it's like a 'letter to tomorrow,' a question without a decided recipient yet.
It feels like leaving an envelope unsealed while wondering whether to send it or not.

I am no longer young enough
to keep forcing myself to wear clothes that don't fit.
But I don't yet have the courage to let them go.

The only thing I think is,
perhaps more than the way I work,
the 'heart of myself' that is working is what's important.
It is thanks to getting older that I realized that.

I think I will wear those clothes and go to work tomorrow, too.
But somewhere in my heart,
there is a part of me searching for the signs of new clothes.

If I don't lose sight of that small sign,
there are nights when I can believe that I will surely be okay.