August 5, 2009

i am getting older but i can hardly feel it.
it shocks me, daily, to see the effects of times handiwork: the little lines around my eyes that curl up as i smile... and although i can not prove this has anything to do with times passing, i swear that my hair is getting curlier... i don't mind these changes. truly. i am just amazed by such haste.
my father described to me once, his surprise as he looked into the mirror one day and did not see his 17 year old self staring back.

what an odd thing to realize mid life.

lately, i've realized everyone around me obsessively planning ahead for the future. it seems a pity to not be just as satisfied with the now.

i have spent my entire life living in the moment, collecting the details of every split second, and storing them in the mossy memory banks of my mind. harboring the magical minutia of daily life is fantastic and a little deceptive; i don't miss a single detail other than the actual passing of time. such realizations are alarming and at times leave me paralyzed to see who is staring back at me each morning.


  1. It's a funny thing this aging. I was reminded recently as I was asked to contribute my time toward gathering the rest of my past companions who are soon to be a decade out of high school. It begs a moment of reflection.

    While I noticed the little crows feet that curl in from all that laughing I've done over the years, and the patch of white that has all but vanished from the corner of my bangs-area, it's really not so bad. Sure, I've aged. Sure, I see the difference in my face when compared to older photographs.

    Then I'm confronted with my peers: there's an acute difference. In fact I may appear a smidge older somehow, perhaps a result of the hells I've put myself through here and there, or perhaps just genetics, or even the intense personal critical eye. Who knows. Instead though, what I see in their faces isn't age necessarily: but a tiredness. Beaten down by life, surrendered to become mere passengers to their own workings. Sort of a Stockholm Syndrome to the abuses they do to themselves.

    I'm not a very good "living in now" person. I tend to take a slow march toward my desires. At the most I take on things I cannot yet do, but figure I'll adapt a long the way. History has taught me I do this well. Mostly I do the big picture thing awesomely and then find a way to fake it as I go.

    I do however feel well alive, and perhaps early twenties. I feel I can change jobs, careers, life paths, even educations at whim. Still, for the moment, mostly invincible.

    Thanks for the post and the mirror. It's a funny thing: are we getting more, or counting down? Perhaps best not to ask of the things we cannot know.

  2. :) well put my friend. i find that confronting these questions throws me deeper into the moment, shaking myself awake to the realiteis of here and now. such experiences engulf me and pose a greater question of my perception of reality. to most, i spend far too much time fantasizing... i obsess over silly impossibilities such as: selling my every posession and moving out of the country. from my experiences, the result of such ideals equates to a 50/50 chance. i either pursue this dream with reckless abandon or waist a lot of time pretending.

    my life is very simple. i am a dreamer, whoes inability to accept a common life frightens and excites me equally.

  3. Perhaps that's the big secret? Daydreaming? I have to admit that despite my busy and productive aerospace life my work notebook is stuffed full of daydreams in the form of thoughts, possibilities, inventions, and other ideas. If 5% becomes reality I'd be pretty content. So far I'm doing pretty good on that count.

    PS: I'm pretty sure my hair has actually gotten straighter and stiffer. At last check, uncut it grows a good 6 inches up and out without any hint of losing its wildness. I wonder how ridiculous it could actually grow if I let it.

    Stay frightened. Stay excited.

  4. Robert frost's poem swinger of birches was him day dreaming during the winter; when birch trees would become weighed down by snow pointing towards the ground, instead he would see in his minds eye that a boy was jumping from tree to tree swinging on the tips until they were worn down. People made fun of him for his silly thoughts he said "one could do worse than be a swinger of birches"

    for me it always meant.. one could do worse than be a foolish day dreamer.. one could be without dreams