I find, lately and sometimes, that I am one of “those” people whom I swore I would never be when I was “older.” Those people who regard individuals younger than them and utter the timeless phrase “When I was that age…” This behavior creeps up on you, and before you know it you’re doing it constantly.
I’m not that old but the last time I checked the waistband of your pants belonged somewhere around your waist, not hanging down around the bottom of your ass.
I’m not that old but the last time I checked it was expected, even required, that you’d work your way up, not that you’d start where your parents finished after a lifetime of effort.
I’m not that old but the last time I checked oral sex was recognized as sex and still counted on the “how far have you gone” scale as a step toward “doing it.” (Though I have noticed as I’ve gotten older and more experienced that what qualifies as “it” truly depends upon the person you’re talking with.)
It’s babies that do this to us. My friend Lori gave birth last week to a lovely little angel she named Samantha. I got to meet her today and it struck me, holding her and looking at fingernails no more than a quarter inch across and the world’s smallest toes, this person has her entire life ahead of her.
Why do we spend so much time planning for what we see down the road, and worrying about what is behind us when the true gift we have is now? I don’t have an answer but I know that when I finally do reach the point where most of my life is out the back window instead of unrolling in front of me I’ll be happy to have taken a look around while I had the chance.