I often wonder what was more foolish – we built something on cracked joists and broken beams with expectation of strength or created a façade of beauty to hide away the ugliness inside.
Only specters remain of what would have been. A forgotten time – a forgotten place built on the promise of potential. Cracks in the foundation only wilt under pressure and strain – imploding on one’s self. We laid waste to our hopes and dreams only to reveal the decay and untold truth inside.
Desolate reminders that everything has its time and its place and nothing lasts forever, only snap shots of memories captured in time.
I had a very interesting revelation a few days ago.
This year, I will be 9 years older than my mother was when I was born.
My mother and me at Disney World. I’m probably 7 years old here.
I thought about what year my mother was the same age as I currently am, and of course, the age I was at the time. I then did this for each year to where I could vividly remember both myself, my parents, and life in general. For each of these, I compared my mother to myself at the age we would both be. I thought about our experiences, the times we lived in, and how we faced challenges and situations.
I’m not really certain what I wanted to obtain out of this exercise. And to be honest, I am not even sure what conclusion I arrived at. But, it is interesting. We always see ourselves as young – no matter what age we are. Case in point? My grandmother, who just turned 94, told my father a few years ago that she doesn’t care to go down to the pool at her complex because there are “too many old people there.” Right.
I’ve never thought about being the same age as my parents because my parents always seemed “old.” Well, because they were old. They have obviously always been older than me. But it seemed like they were from a different time. And now, I am from a different time. Recent events have found me working with individuals in the theatre that are young enough to be my children. And it is clear to me they don’t see me as a peer but see me as “old.”
It is amusing though that, being the same age as my mother once was, I saw her as old at that time but still see myself as young. Everything is based upon perspective and our experiences. Have you had this experience or ever thought about this topic and if so, what conclusions, if any, did you arrive at?