Grabbing at the pieces of fragmented memories that are disappearing in the mists of old age. Trying so hard to retain a foothold in a past that is as fleeting as the echoes in a canyon. We try to hold on to those memories because they are what make us whole; they complete us. We look back at that long life, well-lived or squandered, a legacy of our being born, and begin to justify, celebrate, our life choices so far. It keeps us up late into the night, wandering through the years of waste and lost opportunities and accomplishments, and regrets, and wondering about the roads less travelled.

I remember my youth as a time of selfishness, with no regard for the environment or loss, or for the state of the world. We littered, we were homophobic, xenophobic, and we treated women as sexual objects and not as equals; in other words, we were misogynists. We were invincible, we were kings, or knights, or champions, in our little, limited minds. It was a time of discovery, debauchery, innocence, carelessness and self-assurance. We knew everything about the world, and did not need lecture or guidance from our elders. Boy, were we stupid! We were insensitive, too busy enjoying life to pay attention, or accept responsibility for our actions.

I have always loved nature, mist over a pond at dawn, a beautiful sunrise or sunset, the moon, of course, warm dew under my bare feet, and the fragrances of the flowers, or the woods, or the tangy smell of salt in the sea breeze. But I always took those things for granted, could never imagine not being able to enjoy nature in its fullest splendor. I am also grateful for all those blessings, because in moments of despair, I recall those gifts from Mother Nature, and at 3:00 in the morning, the hour of the wolf, it calms me down and lets me fall asleep for a little while. And now I know that I should’ve slowed down, enjoyed those moments a little longer, with the same intensity and appreciation and sensitivity, that I feel right now

So, we keep grabbing at those fragments; they keep us sane, remind us of the lives we’ve lived, the ones we’ve loved, the ones we’ve hurt, and we start thinking of atonement and redemption. We see things completely differently now. We see that it was an honor to have been born, to have lived in the times we do, to have thrived and suffered and lived and lived and lived! And most importantly, we loved, and will love hopefully, till the day we die!

“Old age hath yet its honor and its toil,

Death closes all, but something ere the end

Some work of noble note may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with gods!” — Ulysses