I woke up this morning wondering why I had spent so much of my adult life married when I could have been having fun instead. Lol.
But then again, if one had spent his time single, one would no doubt be wishing he had married and had the experience of wife and children.
Can't win.
I do understand, however, that children are the great thrill of life. Especially in hindsight. There is so much that one cherishes, precious memories, the pride of a job well done, the gift of seeing them become full grown adults.
I was reminded of the lasting value, the lasting comfort of this in a passage from an excellent novel I am currently reading--A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles:
"Perhaps it is a matter of celestial balance," he reflected. "A sort of cosmic equilibrium. Perhaps the aggregate experience of Time is a constant and thus for our children to establish such vivid impressions of this particular June, we must relinquish our claims upon it."
"So that they might remember, we must forget," Vasily summed up.
"Exactly!" said the Count. "So that they might remember, we must forget."
The trouble is, I'm not quite ready to forget. I still covet that June. I still crave those vivid impressions. I want to put them on paper (or, rather, the screen). I want to feel them through my fingers, touch the essence of wonder and desire and consummation, feel the sunlight, embrace the woman, immerse myself in the crisp, brisk, living waters before they freeze solid. The only thing holding me back is my old, unhealthy, unable body, which my recalcitrant mind refuses to join.
Somehow, my life has not prepared me for old age, though I know people who have long been prepared, well before they grew old. Would I welcome such a blessing in any case?
I think not.
Of course, the Count was perfectly right. For when life makes it impossible for a man to pursue his dreams, he will connive to pursue them anyway.
But then again, if one had spent his time single, one would no doubt be wishing he had married and had the experience of wife and children.
Can't win.
I do understand, however, that children are the great thrill of life. Especially in hindsight. There is so much that one cherishes, precious memories, the pride of a job well done, the gift of seeing them become full grown adults.
I was reminded of the lasting value, the lasting comfort of this in a passage from an excellent novel I am currently reading--A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles:
"Perhaps it is a matter of celestial balance," he reflected. "A sort of cosmic equilibrium. Perhaps the aggregate experience of Time is a constant and thus for our children to establish such vivid impressions of this particular June, we must relinquish our claims upon it."
"So that they might remember, we must forget," Vasily summed up.
"Exactly!" said the Count. "So that they might remember, we must forget."
The trouble is, I'm not quite ready to forget. I still covet that June. I still crave those vivid impressions. I want to put them on paper (or, rather, the screen). I want to feel them through my fingers, touch the essence of wonder and desire and consummation, feel the sunlight, embrace the woman, immerse myself in the crisp, brisk, living waters before they freeze solid. The only thing holding me back is my old, unhealthy, unable body, which my recalcitrant mind refuses to join.
Somehow, my life has not prepared me for old age, though I know people who have long been prepared, well before they grew old. Would I welcome such a blessing in any case?
I think not.
Of course, the Count was perfectly right. For when life makes it impossible for a man to pursue his dreams, he will connive to pursue them anyway.
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