reconnecting with the past

Why is it that as we grow older, the past seems to insistently knock on the door, so to speak? Is it desperation or indifference to our aging body and mind, or is it that, as we notice the sunset glowing red on the horizon, we sit down and watch it vanish, knowing that behind so many sunsets that we have ignored in our busy lives there were some memories that we buried which we invariably never wanted to face or saving for a more quiet time to enjoy them?

You start to remember that friendship in high school that you had made which you didn't follow through after graduation. You went on with your life and so did your friend. Once in a while you stopped and wondered how she or he is doing? Has she or he found a friend better than you? Who do you blame for letting this friendship just disappear? You start to think, did you ever make an attempt at finding out.

Well, look, the sunset is glowing gold and the sky is turning to deep dark blue. Age has got to do with wanting to reconnect, even if you do not want to. You have succeeded in your life, on your own terms. You played by the rule, now you want some peace and quiet to reminisce, to enjoy of what was left. You pick up the phone and find out if your friend is still there, but the wrong voice answers. You wonder what has happened? Then regret sets in, a sense of loss overwhelms you. But is it worth it? Didn't the old folks say the past is past, it is gone. But your mind asks you, is it?

In our teenage years or in high school, our character was reinforced in its mould. It was the time when we were left alone to make the little decisions - prelude to the big ones we would make later on - you chose who your friends were, you adopted the study habits that are comfortable for you, you made your first alliances, no matter that the choice of alliance was wrong or defective, because that was how we learned. We were permitted to make mistakes because that is the only way you could see the wrongs and the rights. You chose that pretty girl with the long hair who seemed so quiet over the girl who laughed out loud. Or you chose that dashing cadet over the quiet mousy intellectual who slipped a love letter inside your literature book.

And that was how your life went. Those became one of your measuring sticks. Was it too late finding out that the quiet girl was a scheming little welch who had no respect for others; and the girl who possessed a loud laugh became a nurse at the paediatric hospital and so well loved by the children patients? The handsome cadet never finished college, worked odd jobs and never made anything of himself. And you find out that the mousy quiet boy who slipped that love letter in your literature book is the president of a large international company? And you ask yourself: was it that your measuring stick was short and uncompromising, or was it too long you got lost in your measurements?
c.v.summerfield; november 23, 2007