Month: May 2011

I return exhausted, frustrated with the state of my body. Though youth has allowed me retain my strength, I have little stamina to speak of. It becomes work to remain physically dominant. Energy no longer rushes forth as it did in the great floods of the past. I look in the mirror and see my once lush hairline thinning in favor of pasty white skull. I take note of the first couple of light hairs in my beard and watch as the surrounding field becomes lighter, tinted red, chestnut, and gold, all leading to the inevitable gray bush. I flex my hand and my coarse skin shines beneath the sunlight, allowing me to see the many fine lines and scars. My body tenses and I feel muscles flare up beneath layers of fat, layers which have been stored for a winter that has never come. The weight of age begins to feel like one. I consider my future, my assets and holdings, what I would leave for the wife I couldn’t fathom and the children who seem to call on me from some distant date of birth. I remember my past and its opportunities taken and missed. Time moves onward.

What is age if not an opportunity to gain an understanding? Never a full understanding, but simply an accumulation of experiences that form the concept of a life. Will the past be fondly remembered or despised? Will it be regret or rejoice? Of course. If life has been good, how can there be grievances? And when faced with continual disappointment is there a reason to venture forth at all? It is all answered with every passing minute, and hour, and onward to days, weeks, months, years, until each step forward becomes less a burden than a blessing. An opportunity to look back on one’s time and remember that it has happened, but not lament that it has passed. If alive, live.

I do not know if that is possible—accepting the progression of time. Not for some, I know. Not for me, once, sometimes still. But I look out across this river near here called the Willamette, where ships, boats, kayaks, and canoes flow along its wide expanse, and watch them move onward, whether they choose a direction or not. I feel the wind whip through my hair and wonder what it would feel like if it wasn’t there. I feel my muscles and see a sun that has watched over every moment in our time. I see a future that is ever-changing and think that nothing lasts forever. I blow warm air into my palms and smile because it’s alright, it’ll last as long as I remember.

I return exhausted, frustrated with the state of my body. Though youth has allowed me retain my strength, I have little stamina to speak of. It becomes work to remain physically dominant. Energy no longer rushes forth as it did in the great floods of the past. I look in the mirror and see my once lush hairline thinning in favor of pasty white skull. I take note of the first couple of light hairs in my beard and watch as the surrounding field becomes lighter, tinted red, chestnut, and gold, all leading to the inevitable gray bush. I flex my hand and my coarse skin shines beneath the sunlight, allowing me to see the many fine lines and scars. My body tenses and I feel muscles flare up beneath layers of fat, layers which have been stored for a winter that has never come. The weight of age begins to feel like one. I consider my future, my assets and holdings, what I would leave for the wife I couldn’t fathom and the children who seem to call on me from some distant date of birth. I remember my past and its opportunities taken and missed. Time moves onward.

What is age if not an opportunity to gain an understanding? Never a full understanding, but simply an accumulation of experiences that form the concept of a life. Will the past be fondly remembered or despised? Will it be regret or rejoice? Of course. If life has been good, how can there be grievances? And when faced with continual disappointment is there a reason to venture forth at all? It is all answered with every passing minute, and hour, and onward to days, weeks, months, years, until each step forward becomes less a burden than a blessing. An opportunity to look back on one’s time and remember that it has happened, but not lament that it has passed. If alive, live.

I do not know if that is possible—accepting the progression of time. Not for some, I know. Not for me, once, sometimes still. But I look out across this river near here called the Willamette, where ships, boats, kayaks, and canoes flow along its wide expanse, and watch them move onward, whether they choose a direction or not. I feel the wind whip through my hair and wonder what it would feel like if it wasn’t there. I feel my muscles and see a sun that has watched over every moment in our time. I see a future that is ever-changing and think that nothing lasts forever. I blow warm air into my palms and smile because it’s alright, it’ll last as long as I remember.