“Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away. I know I have to go.” -Cat Stevens
Upon this steady approach of age 34, I’ve been noting that this age is the same distance from 18 as it is from 50. While one’s age is an arbitrary, trite bit of information, there is, for me, some significance in considering myself a man halfway between an 18-year old man & a 50-year old man.
Recalling 18, I was ambitious & unrealistic in visions of my future: “In ten years I’ll be married with 2 kids while owning my own pizza place.” I would not go to college, citing supercilious convictions that, in hindsight, were born of insecurity & fear of inferiority. I was boisterous, reckless, & spontaneous in public; afraid, uncertain, & introspective in private. Today, I don’t think these afflictions are banished. I do think that I’ve devised more efficient methods in grappling with them.
Many issues remain constant. For instance, I still have an unbridled curiosity for the world, this big blue balloon, creepy-crawly with a prolific, wasteful, & irreverent vermin dubbed humanity. I still think I’m being punished for not believing in God, the Unseen. And I wonder what this punitive entity has in store for me. Also, an unsatisfied fascination with exotic people & places lurks patiently, yet urgently, on unkempt street corners of my subconscious. I still cherish the people that I know.
I had a conversation a while back in which we considered what advice 33-year old Paul would give 13-year old Paul. We decided that 13-year old Paul should have kept his grades up, participated in organized sports, & not settled down with one girlfriend. The consideration then turned to the advice 53-year old Paul would give 33-year old Paul. This, while standing at the threshold at hand–a detachment from someone with whom I’ve spent a third of my life & the emergence of an opportunity to sail to the aforementioned exotic people & their places–becomes a consideration of much more gravity. A smiling, grizzled, & content 53-year old Paul bends ever slightly forward & whispers, “Go”.
There’s also the unknowable advice 2-year old Paul has to offer. I’m thinking of the old photograph of me laying on the sidewalk. I’m wearing a t-shirt and a diaper, my favorite blanket beside me. By the wind of my sweet breath or gentle nudge of tiny pink fingertips, I would spend time altering the paths of ants, ladybugs, or whatever fortunate creature would happen upon me. I remember wondering, in however manner a toddler wonders, without words, only ideas, if these interactions would have lasting impact on those creatures & the communities from which they came. I wanted & still want those interactions to have had a lasting, exponential impact.
There must be some significance in remembering the unadulterated virtues of you as a babe. These must be the virtuous intentions of human aligned with soul. All the emotional & psychological crust that plagues us as we age encumbers the vision of our soul’s purpose. Life becomes a heavy cart, a straight jacket, both burdensome & habitual. Amid real snippets of slaughter in India, a black guard trampled under consumer-frenzied hooves, & the obsession with recession, my only reaction is to detach from my cart’s cargo, unshackle this jacket’s straps, & go sensitively attuned with the stone tablet of my soul.
At 34, I think I may be less susceptible to the trappings of love, money, & convention. These themes & their cohorts will be tossed aside, lightening the load. Hopefully, I’ll be 100 and still grinning & grizzled, or speculatively luring a ladybug onto a fallen leaf, or hopefully, just like today, pondering the simultaneous simplicity & complexity of this life & sharing the thoughts with you.