I lost ten years somewhere, maybe more. Of greater concern perhaps is that I’m not even sure which decade is missing. I think I kept pretty good track of the last twenty years, but before that it perhaps isn’t too surprising that things are a little, uh…blurry.
Back then I was a drinking man, and although I don’t remember the particulars, I remember I got thirsty every day around three in the afternoon. Knowing that, it is fairly easy to piece together what I don’t remember: I sat in a gin mill swilling whatever pleased my palate, Springsteen played, the television above the bar blared and cigarette smoke from my drinking buddies filled the air. Hangovers were a feature of the situation.
But that was almost twenty years ago. Since then I have kept the jug plugged and enjoyed a sober life. That life has provided all the good stuff: passion for mountains, a family that lasted the best part of those children’s lives, and my own complement of self-indulgent fun in the place I have chosen as home. Believe me: I’m not complaining.
Yet I am confused. I feel like I missed something; more likely forgot it. Looking back, I wonder how I got from there to here. Any logical progression is confounded by what life affords: waking up, living the day, and falling asleep. The day, of course, is the crux and determines falling asleep.
Every once in a while I reacquaint myself with one or more of the skeletons I left back in the closet. Almost everyone has skeletons in their closet; mine stand tall and periodically kick the door open to come out and play. I left a lot of skeletons in that closet, and why not? Some of those old bones: I can’t think of a better place to keep them.
It is unsettling to get eyeball to eye socket with some of those specters, albeit unavoidable. I expect to better acquaint myself with those bones as my life progresses. After all, I doubt I can avoid reviewing my life as I approach its end. You pays your money; you takes your chances.
I am looking back at the first two-thirds of life and anticipating the final third. I figure the first third is for acquiring stuff—wherewithal, knowledge, experience—the second third is for enjoying what you’ve accrued, and the final third is for divesting it. Slim it down; there is no point in acquiring any more. One thing I haven’t forgotten: you can’t take it with you. Time winds; seize the day.
Back then I was a drinking man, and although I don’t remember the particulars, I remember I got thirsty every day around three in the afternoon. Knowing that, it is fairly easy to piece together what I don’t remember: I sat in a gin mill swilling whatever pleased my palate, Springsteen played, the television above the bar blared and cigarette smoke from my drinking buddies filled the air. Hangovers were a feature of the situation.
But that was almost twenty years ago. Since then I have kept the jug plugged and enjoyed a sober life. That life has provided all the good stuff: passion for mountains, a family that lasted the best part of those children’s lives, and my own complement of self-indulgent fun in the place I have chosen as home. Believe me: I’m not complaining.
Yet I am confused. I feel like I missed something; more likely forgot it. Looking back, I wonder how I got from there to here. Any logical progression is confounded by what life affords: waking up, living the day, and falling asleep. The day, of course, is the crux and determines falling asleep.
Every once in a while I reacquaint myself with one or more of the skeletons I left back in the closet. Almost everyone has skeletons in their closet; mine stand tall and periodically kick the door open to come out and play. I left a lot of skeletons in that closet, and why not? Some of those old bones: I can’t think of a better place to keep them.
It is unsettling to get eyeball to eye socket with some of those specters, albeit unavoidable. I expect to better acquaint myself with those bones as my life progresses. After all, I doubt I can avoid reviewing my life as I approach its end. You pays your money; you takes your chances.
I am looking back at the first two-thirds of life and anticipating the final third. I figure the first third is for acquiring stuff—wherewithal, knowledge, experience—the second third is for enjoying what you’ve accrued, and the final third is for divesting it. Slim it down; there is no point in acquiring any more. One thing I haven’t forgotten: you can’t take it with you. Time winds; seize the day.
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