Stuck in the Middle With You

“Do you remember when we used to do this all the time?”

“Yeh, don’t remember why we stopped.”

“We got old. We started to act the way we believed we were supposed to. Our dreams became a reality, and I think we just got scared.”

She’s probably right. We used to do a lot of things we don’t do anymore. I don’t know if its that we got old, or that we got old, because we stopped doing things we used to do. 

We have a tendency I think to believe our own stories, our own lies, our own expectations, and if we do this or that, everything will work out the way we’d planned. And for the most part, I think it does. Or it could be, we attach ourselves to a star that after a while, we are afraid to let go of. We begin to believe if we do, we have to admit we’ve made a mistake. 

We get used to adjusting. We do it so often, we don’t even realize we are doing it. It becomes a routine that we excuse ourselves for enduring. We not only excuse ourselves, but we embellish the reasons for doing so. 

I think we get so confused that we no longer remember what we started out to do, to be, and are left with what we have, not necessarily what we wanted, or looked for. The problem with adapting, is that it becomes a habit. We stop questioning the reasons we change. We have convinced ourselves it is a necessity of life; and in many ways, it is. But it should not become so embedded in our routines that we no longer question the reasons we’ve changed.

I know, it is a philosophical grab bag that we turn to when answers can’t find questions, and questions refuse to believe answers, but we should not stop looking in the bag. I fear that is what happens to us. Not looking becomes so much of who we are, we forget who we were. 

“You going to get on this thing, or just wait until a shooting star gives you permission. I’m getting cold. If we are going to do this, for whatever reason, let’s do it.”

I guess I didn’t know attempting to recapture a time, a moment, a place, would be so difficult. The hill hasn’t changed. There are now, houses surrounding it, but if that makes a difference to the hill and the possibilities it encouraged, we are in worse trouble than I have imagined.

Perhaps, it has become to easy to accept change without questioning it. For one thing, the ramifications of being wrong are less than what they were. Failing today is not the same as failing yesterday; but then neither is succeeding. Things have gotten better. Not perfect, but then I’m not sure that is even a possibility, except perhaps in our dreams or in an animated version of, "A Perfect Life." 

Starving to death today is less likely than fifty years ago, societal systems taking the place of neighbors, but it’s systems taking their place, not people. And yet starvation continues to exist.

Shoot outs at the OK corral, not as likely, but being gunned down on the way to the store, probably possible. A marriage of words that both proves, and disproves, in the same time. Gives us the option to rearrange our options, get out while we are still ahead.

I would imagine that even some of the prophesies of the past, will come to pass, the blind being able to see, the deaf being able to hear. But I can’t help but wonder, with all the advances, if we aren’t leaving something valuable behind, and don’t realize it.

This simple machine, If I may call it that, uses a shared concept, to propel us to the bottom of the hill. A concept we live with every day, and never stop to think about the ramifications of it, not existing. I see myself tethered by it, to the world in which I exist, and floating off into space, without it. And yet something monumentally important, has been lost in translation, as they say.

As we come to believe technology is more of a necessity in our lives, do we chance losing our connection to the reality in our existence. With each new step towards a more sophisticated future, others become less necessary. We become more satisfied in being alone. Not only gratified to find ourselves in that position, but actually demanding it in so many ways. Will we eventually become so removed from life itself, that life will cease to provide a direction, have a purpose? 

“If we are going to do this, can we please do this. I’ve got some things I have to get done for tomorrow. Would be nice to stand out here all night, and pretend the world has disappeared, but it hasn’t. You ready to show me what it was like when we were young, and possibility, was even younger.”

As I climb onto the old Radio Flyer sled, I can’t help but realize, I have changed. For one thing, either this sled has shrunk, or I have gotten noticeably larger. I have changed in other ways as well, which bothers me more than the fact that I have begun to find the necessity of multi-vitamins, fish oil, and Ginkgo, essentials.

As we speed down this probable mistaken possibility for rejuvenation, I find the sensation, although not what I remembered, more than I forgot.

The tree near the bottom, I have no recollection of, nor do I need a reason to avoid it. When you begin to play the game, sometimes you find the rules can’t be changed. You are forced to accept the responsibility, the liability, the maturity of your actions, for what they are, what they mean, if only to you. 

As the cold reminds me of the black in past night skies, and the stars, a glimpse of an eternity I’d hoped was there, I begin to believe once again, I exist.  But then, ginkgo might just be what it’s cracked up to be. 

I feel her leave, arms releasing, the dream disappearing, the tree appearing closer, and eternity looking more like a sequel; one I care not to watch again.

Leaving is always an option but staying provides many more opportunities to indulge in the possibility, that God may one day decide to speak to me. I know the chances are slim, but then running into the one tree, on a four-acre landing, gives me hope that I’m not here alone. 

By the way, if you aren’t doing anything this winter, join me. You’d be surprised how much you’ve forgotten and how little you’ve really changed. Who knows, maybe God will speak to you too. I hear, Gods are prone to moving past histories that have forgotten they too, once had a beginning, and an end. After all, it’s the time in the middle that counts.