Today is August, 9, 2012, and I’m in the mood for musings. That’s not to say that I have suddenly – After all these years! – Been given access to a Muse, it just means…Well, it means, I’m going to “muse,” so if you’re not in the mood for a muse, I completely understand.
And what puts me in a musing mood? Well, my birthday is a few days away; now, that doesn’t mean that you should all rise up in a rousing rendition of the “William Tell Overture” (which has much more memorable lyrics than “Happy Birthday”) or even “Happy Birthday;” actually, it doesn’t really mean anything to anybody including, I think, me – Which is how this musing begins.
Why do we count birthdays? Many of us just find it depressing; in fact, unless you’re on the brink of a driver’s license a ballot or a bar tab, it doesn’t really matter – Does it?
We’ve learned to make it matter: in some carefully prescribed situations, “How old are you?” is a perfectly logical question. Doctors have learned to care. Social Security cares – Deeply. Medicare cares. And lots of agencies, institutions and businesses act like they care, but all they really want is our D.O.B., as a part of making sure that we’re not somebody else – Fair enough.
So, from 0-21, we care. At 65, we care; but between 21 and 65, who cares? And after 65, we are well past caring, so why do we count birthdays? Frankly, it seems a bit…counter-productive.
Are we measuring how much closer we’ve come to being dead? I mean, since we don’t generally know exactly when we’re going to morph to the next phase anyway, what are we measuring? We’re not – We’re just guessing – THERE’S a morale-builder for you! But it feels like we’re “measuring”…something: That we’re still alive? OK, congratulations! Maturity?
Really? Is that a guaranteed fringe benefit of bunches of birthdays? You and I both know it isn’t.
Wisdom? Maybe. Sometimes. Wiser than we were, certainly – Hopefully. Does it help to put a number on it? After all, what we often seem to learn from is…
…experience! And we have the scars to prove it! Is that we’re measuring – Scars?
No, it feels like we’re measuring something that feels like some sort of “achievement:” A milestone, a goal accomplished, usher-out-the-old, ring-in-the-new…Another chance.
Another chance! Oh, that talks to me! – Another chance. And “chance” be damned! – It’s another OPPORTUNITY! A gift from a generous and forgiving Universe, with short-term memory loss:
Another chance. WOW! And you’d darken this blessing with black balloons?? Yet another chance to try to get it right?? After all the silly, egotistical, self-centered, it’s-all-about-me screw-ups over all these years, I’m being given another opportunity??
Wow. I’m just beginning to get it: Who I might be, how I might be, who I don’t have to be, how I could be…
…how I want to be. And that I don’t have to lower my voice when I say, “I love you.”
After all these opportunities, I think I know who I’m not, and who I’ll never be, because I made all those choices a long time ago, in past opportunities, so is that something lost? Or something gained? I’ve noticed that when I spend too much time looking back, I have a nasty tendency to run into things. If I don’t have to be anything that ends in “…est,” I could just be…Mark.
Just “Mark” – With another opportunity. Wow. Another opportunity to tell my best friend, “I love you” – Out loud.
Some years back I said something that I thought was very catchy: I said, “Aging is not an affliction, it’s an achievement” – But I don’t think I really understood it. I think I’m just now beginning to understand why we always get the same thing for our birthdays, year after year:
Another opportunity - Because God wouldn’t have it any other way.
No comments:
Post a Comment