When I was a senior in high school, I remember going to a
movie one Friday night with some friends.
The older guy in front of us in line, seeing my letterman’s jacket,
asked if we were seniors. When we
confirmed it, he told us that he had gone to the same high school, class of
1987. I distinctly remember thinking
that I can’t believe this guy is so old.
He had already been out of high school for ten years. At the time that seemed unfathomable to
me. I was young. I had plans.
I had no concept of “real” life.
Now, as my 20th
high school reunion draws near, I think how naïve I was back then. That guy was only 28 years old. He was still incredibly young and probably
had many more adventures ahead of him. I
would love to be 28 again with so many unknowns and dreams ahead of me. But I didn’t enjoy them at the time. No, when I was 28, I was stressed and
anxious. I had just been downsized from
my company. I was worried about
money. I was stuck in an unpleasant
marriage. I was miserable. I certainly didn’t have any adventures awaiting
me.
I look at my life now, and I count the passage of time not
in weeks, or months, but in entire years.
I was just telling my spousal unit the other day that I can’t believe it’s
almost October again. I remember handing
out Halloween candy last year, and now here we are again already. It seems that I am grossly aware that every
day I grow further and further away from the day of my birth and closer and
closer toward the day of my death. I
feel as if I’m in that in-between stage.
Halfway through and halfway to go.
I’m just afraid that the second half will seem to go so much faster than
the first half.
