The Hallways Of Time
Life is what happens when you're making other plans - or so the idioms of pop culture tell us.
But there is a lot of truth in that overused, catch-22, pop-sugar phrase. When we think back to the golden, green-grassed days of our youth, it's important to ask the question - 'How much is actually remembered and how much is idealized by our sentimental minds?' In youth, we want so much to run. We want to move. We want to hit the dusty trail and take no prisoners on the paths that lead us away from everything normal. We raise fists and we declare our mission, and we go.
In adulthood, we understand and appreciate, with a little more trepidation and anxiety, the importance of soaking in the rays of a sunny day - and stopping, and letting the power of that vitamin D pour into our veins - because the rain may not be far off. We still move, but we evaluate the moves a little more carefully. There's more to lose. There's more water in the glass.
We have no control over what will decorate the halls of our past or our future. We might think we do, but we so do not. All we can do is make the best choice that lies before us, and sleep in the bed of the fretful and worrisome decision that we make. If a branch is dead, we can throw it aside - but if a small twig needs nurturing and attention, we need to work on it. Massage it. Help it to grow. We live in a castout, knockdown-dragout world with no grace and little compassion.
In the end, our hallways will be scattered - hoarded. Cluttered with golden stars, odd postcards and faded photographs that we never expected would be fair representations of us, or who we are.
But again - that's life.
