There was a day when jumping onto the tailgate of the truck from the ground and then back down again without thought was possible. And holding onto the top of a wooden post with one hand and spring boarding over a barbed wire fence was quite common.
I’m fully aware that these two simple examples of youthful abilities – along with dozens of others we all have memory of, have long since swirled under the bridge and are out to sea. It’s also fair to say that we have dealt with or are, dealing with our own “transitioning.”
The hours are few. Everyone is eventually, naturally, drawn to the other side.
The horses in the pasture graze peacefully and pay us little attention.
A couple handfuls of shell corn in an empty can rattled long enough changes their focus and they join us in the corral. The bridle is calmly slipped over their ears and the bit into their mouths.
It’s been weeks, perhaps months, since they’ve been saddled. They take a dim view of the attempt to be ridden. We are immediately rejected, eating dirt as they stand above you, probably laughing with each other in equine language.
A familiar station wagon passes by yours on the strip and both cars rendezvous at the nearest available spot; five or six passengers bail out and spread the word, a field party at Breen’s farm, refreshments furnished for a small fee. With joy and anticipation, everyone knows and everyone shows.
The bonfire burns with intensity, still more pallets are thrown on top.
A long haired friend named Steve thinks he can fly and vaults himself over the flame. He gets reassurance after the leap that his hair will grow back, aloe vera will soothe his charred palms and that his tennis shoes were ugly anyway.
The years after college or trade school provided further evidence that certain lifestyles were unsustainable, but it takes many souls several jobs or relationships to figure that out. When your parents told you that “nothing good ever happens after 10 o’clock,” you look at them like they’re crazy, thinking to yourself, “everything good happens after 10 o’clock!”
Slowly without fail, the changes in your mindset begin to appear.
It takes some a touch longer to come to the realization that poor clock management and reckless checkbook accounting practices have consequences. They can be ignored or denied or faked for a time, but the shadow that follows you will never leave or go away; the shadow of an “adult” creeps in.
A different type of lifestyle starts to emerge, one that has been hidden away deep within your inner being. The vegetables of practicality that were once pushed aside are now beginning to find flavor for your financial and recreational well-being.
Activities that once curried favor are beginning to be abstained from. Rest and relaxation in quiet surroundings are becoming the new norm and admitting such is the focal point of conversation; conservatism takes its initial inhale.
So out you step into the light, unafraid to be who you really are, soon to join the ranks of those brave individuals before you that saw the light and accepted the facts of mortality. And you wonder why it took you as long as it did; the epiphany of education through aches and age.
If you aren’t in bed and asleep by 10, you’re getting very close. You’ve taken your medications, brushed your partial, said your prayers and dreamt of a new high in the markets; everything is in good order. Your parents were right; just an “eye roll,” no parades.
