I had all these dreams; big ideas that I was going to accomplish “someday.” I was going to win an Oscar for best screenplay by the time I was 40. I was going to write a bookshelf full of novels and short stories. Maybe throw in a bunch of travel articles while globetrotting to exotic places with my wife Tammy. Let’s not forget the tome of poetry I’d produce to rival the likes of Walt Whitman, Emily Dickenson and Robert Frost. Playwrite? Move over Neil Simon. Someday, I might even run for Congress.
Well, none of it has happened. Why? I guess I expected too much. The older I get, the more obvious it is that my beloved list of goals is shrinking in slow motion. At first I refused to believe it. Isn’t there always “someday” to look forward to – that mysterious parallel universe where all dreams come true as long as we wish hard enough?
But time slides by. My cells are surrendering their elasticity, age spots are joining the party without an invitation and I walk into rooms without a clue as to why I went there. And I’m falling well-short of my own lofty expectations. What makes it worse is I know there will have to be an accounting, of sorts, between my Present Self and my Early Self. It isn’t going to be easy. Early Self loves to berate me for what he says I am today; one who has fallen into that most deplorable of states – mediocrity.
He picked today to make another of his unannounced – and unwelcome – visits. I try to stave off his accusations by reaching back into our mutual childhood. “Show some understanding,” I pleaded. “You know our father abandoned us when we were seven. We’ve been trying to prove that we’re worth something ever since; someone who could do lots of things better than most.” When he didn’t answer I added hastily, “And you saddled me with an unachievable list of expectations.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he chided peevishly. “Are you going to use that excuse forever?”
Of all people, I thought Early Self would understand. But he obviously wasn’t listening. He never does. I said, “You haven’t had to haul that baggage around as long as I have.” Early Self thought about that for a minute. Sadly, he whispered, “You still could have worked harder and done better.”
“I don’t think I ever will. It comes with the history,” I explained for the umpteenth time. He watched me, pensively. I thought maybe I had won him over. Not this time. He slowly turned and started walking away.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “And quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
I said nothing.
As she has done so often during our marriage, Tammy shares pearls of wisdom with me. She reminds me that I have accomplished a lot of good in my life, that I’ve helped others succeed and feel comforted and supported; that it’s the accumulation of small good deeds over time that defines a person. It’s easy to forget that being an unheralded Good Samaritan is a much greater accomplishment than trying to prove that I could do “lots of things better than most.”
I’m at the time of life when my “somedays” are, for the most part, in the rear view mirror. What I have left are “todays.” I’m truly satisfied with that. It encourages me to focus on how best to make the most of them now, not later. For sure, faith and family come first, as always. But it’s not too late to do a few things remaining on my list, perhaps toned down, and only for the right reasons.
I’d like to think Early Self would approve. Probably not,though. But he will – someday.
0 Comments
Leave a comment