The Wisdom Loop

I still remember that first time I was at an airport getting ready to board a flight. I was six years old, wearing a new striped polo and a paper crown, and was enjoying a strawberry starfish popsicle while holding a red balloon. It was my birthday. I had a pin that showed it off to everyone, and everyone was so kind all day. We were heading to Florida for the weekend to visit amusement parks, and I did not have a single worry running through my mind. Just before boarding the flight, I bumped into an elderly gentleman sitting just outside the gate, near the check-in booth, and facing out watching the planes come and go. He seemed so calm, but there was this unspoken pain behind his eyes. I could see them glistening, like shaky pearls, from the light that peered in through the windows.

               “Happy birthday young man,” he said in a hoarse voice. He was alone, but I noticed he had a half-eaten cupcake with an unlit candle on it on the seat next to him.

               “Happy birthday to you too sir,” I said astutely. I handed him my balloon, and he perked up a bit.

               “How kind of you,” he added. “I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Keep your kind spirit, and don’t forget to work hard in life for your dreams.”

               I remember it being such a cheerful and optimistic comment when I initially heard it, but looking back at that moment throughout my life, his advice always stuck with me no matter how odd it was to mention to a kid. I tried to be as kind with people as this stranger had been with me. I tried to work hard for my dreams as well. Even at six years of age, this resonated with me immediately. It got me thinking about my future, about what I was going to do every day to ensure I achieved everything I wanted in life. In hindsight, maybe this is not something a six-year-old should have been focusing on during his birthday vacation in Florida, but I couldn’t shake it. It was like a parasite of an idea that grew into the man I eventually became. I was industrious and focused all throughout school. I knew that I wanted to be successful in my business endeavors so I could earn an honest and comfortable living and provide for my family. I had an advantage over all others in life. I had been honing my focus since day one at the airport for my sixth birthday, and it led me to jump ahead of others and squash my competition. I had made a name for myself and had accumulated a level of wealth fit for Forbes. I owned several homes, had traveled the world for business, had put my kids into the best schools in the world, and had nothing more I could possibly ask for.

               As the years piled on, I retired comfortably and dabbled in time spent acquiring hobbies I didn’t know I could even perform. The sunset of my life was quickly approaching and there was nothing I could do to slow it down. I wanted more time to paint. I wanted more time to travel for fun, not just for business. I wanted more time to spend with my children and grandchildren. I wanted more time to learn and laugh. I had all this money, but very few memories of fond time with even my children in their youth. I can’t even remember how my first trip to Disney World panned out because of how focused I was on the rest of my life. I was shriveling away, unable to create new memories for me to cherish as I lost my mobility and freedom. The diagnosis didn’t help. I had a few months left and all I could do was spend them commiserating in bed with the memories of business deals and meetings that hold absolutely no value in my heart. I couldn’t remember the birth of my children, or how and when I met my wife, or my first family vacation. There were no pictures, no videos, absolutely nothing to account for those moments lost in the past. I regret it all. I know everyone talks about being afraid of dying, but nothing compares to being so close to death and being more upset about the things you didn’t get to do in life than death itself.

               There was a flash in my room, and I jokingly thought “Ah, this is it, the light at the end of the tunnel.” What a cliché. My private doctor walked into my room, and the closing glass door had flashed a glare into my eyes. How silly of me.

               “Good afternoon how are we feeling today?” he asked.

               “Same as before doc,” I said. I kept insisting I was fine and that I wanted to go out for a swim, but everyone said I was unfit to even walk, and that I’d never even used the pool I’d fitted to the house. It’s all I want to do now. I stare at it all day from out my window. Sometimes the grandchildren will go in, and I see them playing with their beach balls and inflatable animals. I wish I could join them and splash my feet with them one last time to ensure they remember those days better than me.

               “Do you know what today is?” he added. In all honesty, I had no idea. “It’s your birthday sir. Ninety-six years old today. The family is gathering to come up in a few hours. I know its against your current diet, but it’d be cruel of me to deny you,” he said, handing me a small cupcake with an unlit candle.

               It had been so long since I was allowed to have sweets from the diet. I could not remember the last bite of pie, or ice cream, or even a lollipop I’d had. I took a bite immediately upon receiving the cupcake and reveled in the delight of sweets and icing. It was emotional and I teared up at the thought of the number of birthdays I’d missed. Not just mine, but my children’s birthdays, my wife’s, my parents. The warmth of the sunset peering in combined with the sweet cupcake was sadly one of the most cherished recent memories in my life.

               As I opened my eyes, I found myself at an airport, sitting by a busy gate boarding for Florida. I had no tickets, so I could not go, but I placed my cupcake down and tried to find my doctor. As I looked around, a small kid bumped into me. He was young, wearing a striped polo shirt and paper crown, and enjoying a strawberry starfish popsicle while holding a red balloon. The pin on his shirt read “Birthday Boy!”

               “Happy birthday young man,” I said, in a familiar voice.

               “Happy birthday to you too sir,” said the young kid, handing me his red balloon.

               “How kind of you,” I said. “I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Keep your kind spirit, and don’t forget to…” I whispered the rest in his ear.

               The young kid smiled and energetically boarded his flight.

               I remained at the gate and finished my cupcake with a tearful grin as I watched his plane fly away beyond the horizon along with my repressed regrets.