Life is made up of events. Moments in time. Milestones if you will. There is birth, becoming an adult, falling in love, having children, grandchildren, retirement, and finally death. Not necessarily in this order and not necessarily the same for everyone. But everyone has those times that make us stand still, if only for a short time, bringing about the largest of emotion within ourselves. These are universal. They supersede nationality, color, sex, religious affiliation, social status and money. Everyone who is a human being has these pages in their books of life. These are the threads that bind civilization. A common core that connects us from one side of the world to the other. From the deepest jungles to the highest skyscrapers, we all feel and we all love.
I find that it’s in the between moments, however, where we may find the most clarity. Reflecting upon life. The quiet times. The times when something monumental isn’t happening that takes our breaths, but allows us to really step back and take a look at what is going on. Insight. The capacity to gain an accurate and deep intuitive understanding of ones self and surroundings.
It’s strange how life draws you in and out of perception. Like a vacuum sucking you up and spinning you around. But life, I think, has a way of distracting us, keeping our senses from stumbling upon the eggshells we walk upon on a daily basis and the time limits we actually have.
As I approach 50 years on this earth, I have found myself to be more in tune with my existence. When you reach 50, you think about life a little differently then let us say someone starting out at age 20. I know this because I was 20. It’s not a superior statement, but one from a person a little closer to the finish line. I’ve made many entries into my book of life, and now find myself in one of those between moments.
I watch silently as my daughter plans her future family, and I watch tearfully as my father-in-law struggles to gain his strength back from open heart surgery, where I’m sure most of his heart could not be repaired from the damage inflicted by the loss of his wife and daughter. I look at these two separate moments in life and I can feel the realness of it all.
We will all be born and we will all die, but what happens in the between should be relished, soaked up like the rays of the sun on a hot summers day. We are vulnerable when we are coming into this world and we are just as vulnerable when we are going out of it. It’s the between moments we have some sort of control. A time to grab onto it.
We have all heard the saying “time flies by.” We all know what it means, but somehow we allow ourselves to forget until we are faced with a mirror.
The moral to this I suppose for me at least, is to pay close attention. Very close. Try not to allow myself to become detached from the real of life. That man who beeps at me at the light. The long day at work. The friend who hurt my feelings. The small talk of politics. The cars we drive. The houses we live in. The clothes we wear. The gossip that we all spew. These are the distractions of life, not the real.
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