Something I wrote to a friend last night.

H.

The nearer our destination, the more we're slip-sliding away.


I always felt we would live forever. Never felt older after 35. Just looked it, but still never as old as I was.

It's become the "my later age" occupation, fingering the beads of the "those I know" rosary. Fewer now with the gaps of the missing I do not need to see: a touch is all it takes. And the prayers have changed - from "Lord protect us", to "Lord let us not forget or be forgotten," another sort of protection. A rear guard action now, to cover the charges into life I planned and never got quite mounted.

And I know my place: on other's strings of beads. I have some of the same sort on my string: a cautionary one here, an inspirational there and the special "don't it beat fuck all" squeezed in.

Sometimes it goes with a soundtrack, the music of our lives, the beads are cues for memories, dreams, and occasional disappointments. The danger being of course that while an uncontemplated life is sad the over contemplated life is pathetic.

Happiness in a person's history is a cusp between sadness and pathos. I aim for that sweet spot in the middle and mostly I've achieved it.

A saving grace in my life was realizing every sort of bad thing that happened to me was periphery and just a splash of terribly bad things that were happening to those who meant and mean a lot to me. The pain I owned was only partial and out of my commitment and obligation to people I loved and respected. It hurts to see it burning someone down, but its the pain assumed out of connection. I'm still standing.

I understand that when I looked away time snuck in. But that's just a function of what it does and on the whole I've had a wonderful life filled with opportunities: some taken, some wasted, some paying off handily, some cracked and fallen like a personal Ozymandias:

And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

I have had a good life and I am satisfied with it. I am not anxious to to cut my string of beads. But I am cognizant the the string is wearing out.

No mater what or when, I am happy to be here and I would be glad to have been here when I am gone.

h.