When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly

The words of Sara Teasdale—“When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly wise, life will have given me the truth, and taken in exchange—my youth”—carry the weight of bittersweet revelation. In them is captured the eternal tension between innocence and wisdom, between the fresh fire of youth and the cool clarity of experience. Teasdale, the poet whose heart was attuned to beauty and sorrow alike, saw that truth, when it finally reveals itself, often comes at the cost of wonder, of passion, of the reckless joy that belongs to the young. To see life clearly is to lose the soft illusions that once made it radiant, and to stand with open eyes is to acknowledge what time has quietly taken.

The ancients knew well this trade between youth and wisdom. They told stories of heroes who left behind innocence in exchange for knowledge: Prometheus, who gave fire to mankind and suffered for it; Odysseus, who gained cunning and endurance but lost the carefree joys of home. In every age, to gain the truth is to surrender something of the lightness of spirit, for truth is often stern, unyielding, and cold. The young dream that life is eternal, that love is without end, that beauty never fades. But as the years pass, the veil lifts, and the soul learns that all things are touched by impermanence.

We see this in the life of Queen Elizabeth I of England. In her youth, she knew the sweetness of courtship, the thrill of power newly won. But as she grew older, as she looked life “in the eyes,” she became calm and “coldly wise,” understanding that to keep her throne, she must remain unwed, sacrificing love for power, intimacy for sovereignty. Life gave her the truth—that rule is lonely, that crowns are heavy—but it took from her the youthful illusions of companionship and freedom. This story mirrors Teasdale’s words: truth is a gift, but it demands a price.

Yet there is also strength in this exchange. To be coldly wise is not to be without warmth, but to be steady, no longer swayed by every storm of feeling. It is the wisdom of one who has endured loss and yet stands firm, the wisdom of one who sees life as it is, without disguise. Such clarity, though it may chill the heart, also arms the soul with resilience. For illusions, however sweet, leave us fragile; but truth, though harsh, leaves us unbreakable.

Still, we must not despise youth and its illusions. For in youth lies the fire that begins great journeys, that dares to love without counting the cost, that believes in beauty even when the world is cruel. The poet reminds us that these gifts, too, are precious, though they fade. Youth is not meant to last, but it gives us the memories and passions that shape who we become when wisdom arrives. The tragedy would not be in losing youth, but in never having lived it fully before it slips away.

The lesson is clear: welcome truth when it comes, but cherish youth while you have it. Do not seek to rush into cold wisdom too soon, nor cling to illusions when time calls you to let them go. Live with intensity in your youth, but prepare your heart for the steadying hand of truth. When life has taken your illusions, let it not leave you bitter, but strong, calm, and clear-eyed. For wisdom is not the enemy of youth, but its final flowering, the last gift it leaves behind.

Therefore, O seeker, remember: truth and youth cannot dwell together forever. One day, you will exchange the fire of illusion for the calm of understanding. Accept this not with despair, but with gratitude—for each has its season, and each is holy. Let youth blaze like a torch in its time, and let wisdom guide like a lantern in its turn. In this way, life will have taken much from you, but it will also have given the greatest gift: the clarity to see, and the strength to endure.