Never

At this stage of my life, the number of things I realize that I’ll never do steadily increases. I don’t know when I began to notice the deadlines that were slipping past except it was years ago. Some things could still happen, and I’ve given up anyway, as a precaution I suppose.

By the time I discovered bicycle racing it was already too late for me to be in the Olympics. I won’t be a sprint or points or roadrace champion. I’ll never run a 4-minute mile either, or a 10-minute mile for that matter. My six-and-a half-minute mile will have to do.

I’ll never play for the N.B.A. or the N.F.L. or the the N.H.L. or major league baseball. I’ll never win Wimbleton or the Masters. I’ll never get a black belt in anything but a thrift store. I’m probably never gonna climb a mountain, unless I could do it over a period of weeks.

I’m never gonna win a Nobel prize or save a child from drowning or rescue a damsel in distress. I’m never gonna be with a woman more than twenty-two years. In fact, I may not be with another woman at all, a most depressing thought since I seem to be part dog.

I’m not gonna be a hero to anybody, although I realize that the phenomena I know about are few and probably trivial.

I’ve forgotten his name now, but soon after we moved to Chico, I took a workshop with a guy who talked about people wearing metaphorical sunglasses that filtered out some wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation, so that we simply aren’t aware of some things. I’ve discovered enough of my filters to think that I’ll never know about all of them. Giving up on perfect knowledge is a relief and seems to go along with a willingness to accept whatever shows up without any particular expectations or prerequisites for happiness. Following a star doesn’t mean you expect to get there, just that you’ve picked a direction.

I’ve also abandoned the idea of being a grandfather, which not long ago was a life goal for me. Grandfatherhood is clearly beyond my influence, much less control. Our eldest son recently became a father, but that doesn’t count. Although I call him my son on Facebook, that’s only because there’s no “stepson” option, and he and I have long been clear that he has a father, and it ain’t Anthony.

I’m also never gonna win an Academy Award for anything, having stumbled on those possibilities way too late to start such a journey.

I don’t suppose I’m ever gonna explore much beyond my inner life or discover anything important past my eyelids, which seems to be quite enough, thank You very much.

And I’m never gonna get used to Janice not being here. I try now and then, and occasionally I think I’m moving on, but only for a little while. Sometimes it seems like she’s everywhere, but mostly she’s just not here with me.

Posted Monday, September 8th, 2014 under aging, expectation, forgiveness, perspective, self-satisfaction, Uncategorized.

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