The Finite Magic Of Youth

I’ve been away too long I suppose, too far gone to just sit down, and feel comfortable at the keyboard. I noticed earlier today that the chair at my desk was a little higher than I might have liked at that moment, and the question then became– did I set it at that particular height 8 months ago, or had I changed… had my posture changed dramatically since I sat here last.

I am forced to sit and stare at a crossroads, one of many– which was not foreseen, and one which I am hopeful will progress towards some perfect direction aimed at long ago.

It has been said that we don’t change, although everything around us does.
At one time, I would have absolutely agreed with that statement, all the while hiding behind the ever-increasingly invisible shield of a diminishing youth. Now, in the years that follow youth, and even those annual commemorations which creep on towards the ending of middle age, I’m not so sure that we stay the same. In fact, it might be just the opposite of the saying. Could it be, that in some way… in some almost imperceptible fashion, things around us change– changing along with us to a point where both person and object are “different”?

Old Books on shelf

I am not so quick to rule this out, and as it stands, this new theory is the only thing which might grant me a stay of execution as it were, preserving what little normalcy and tendency towards a liveliness and young-at-heart sentiment I might pretend to possess. And if everything changes, does that render me somewhat less responsible for decisions and/or actions I had taken in my youth, while still under that impression that my humanity would always remain unshake-able and intact?
It seems that, even those things which are static, and in all ways lifeless, are capable of change. I have often referenced pictures, those prints which are often the only vestiges of life as it once was, as being the only truly tangible and steadfast beasts of burden, carrying undying memories of our past into the later years of life. However, if we look closely, the colors in the paper fade. Even a print made long ago and produced in black and white shows a dulling of sorts, and in some strange ways, urges the colored prints to fade in a much more unpredictable nature. Such is also the case with our homes, with the structures that surround us, our cities and towns…, nearly everything. It all changes and it all grows old, ages, crumbles, and in time is either reduced to rubble by the wrecking ball in favor of a new structure or remodeled to suit our changing and ever widening needs.
Indeed– I am increasingly convinced that as the creatures, things and places around us do change, that changing of scenery necessarily changes us. If we can simply rule out the age factor as that which would be the element of change, it is easy to discern that at a person’s core, except in perhaps very few among us, there is without question profound change in our beings as time reveals itself. border townThis, in conjunction with the material world around us, which is also in constant change, makes it very difficult to recognize what an original pathway might have been, when the one that a person may be traveling now, along with all the changes mentioned, has become a rather UN-recognizable landscape– perhaps one fraught with a loathing of wrong choices and woeful outcomes. And yet, this is the reality that, once carved into the stone of our existence, cannot be changed. The pathway is the ONE thing which will not wither, or crumble to some pre-existent state, however or how little we may wish this to be the case.
The walk, our walk of life, no matter how carefully it had been planned out, is also our indelible mark upon the world. Predict your direction and footsteps with care early on, and know that surroundings and people will absolutely differ from what those plans were drawn against, and so will you. This must be true! For, as age comes down upon us, the trajectories of our lives become harder and harder to change, and even impossible to soften or erase if our original intent was misdirected, and will continually compound if we should become errant in our wanderings.
Let us choose wisely in our youth, if that is at all possible, so that in our age we might not suffer unnecessary torment.

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