Yesterday, I was twenty-eight years old.
It was Thanksgiving, just as it had been twenty-eight years ago when I was born. That happens rarely; I suppose the conjunction should happen every seven years or so, though leap years somewhat perturb its progression (a day each year, otherwise).
Tonight, I'm continuing a fairly lazy day. Beth and I slept late; when we got up, I got a haircut, and we did some shopping (for the Christmas party at work and for our house). Some of the afternoon was spent preparing leftovers for lunch; Beth had a turkey sandwich on toasted saffron bread, and I fixed a turkey curry. Some of the time was spent setting up a new humidifier, to combat the dry air we suffered through last winter. Some more time went to weatherizing the house slightly, by installing a plastic barrier over our picture window. I also read the paper, actually the past two days of it.
It was a day much like any other day when we don't have to work. (We're lucky to have the Friday after Thanksgiving off.) Some time spent out, some time in the house, and a lot of it spent with housework just to keep up. Yes, we spent a lot of time reading, as well; it's probably our favorite way to relax. But the day is past now; it's after 9:00 as I write this, and I'm starting to feel tired despite the late morning.
While doing dishes a few minutes ago, I was listening to music by the Australian folk singer, Eric Bogle. Several of his songs made a particular impression on me tonight. Two were anti-war, and perhaps I'll write down some of my feelings about that topic on a later date. The one which I'd like to mention now, though, was a song of nostalgia, of how time can change dreams into wishes.
That made me stop and think. I'm nearly thirty now, have been out of school for six years, and have been working full-time for five. It was five years ago, in fact, that two friends and I founded our own company. That's hard to believe. So much has happened during those five years&emdash;a death, a wedding&emdash;and yet, in a way, so little. Where are my dreams today?
Some of them are obvious. I've married Beth, whom I've known for many years and loved for several. We own a house, and are planning (or, perhaps, dreaming) of a new house which would be exactly what we want.
And there, in a way, the list ends. I know I've had other dreams, but not all seem relevant today&emdash;I'm not the same person I was at fifteen. I no longer dream of being famous, or becoming a great scientist. Perhaps I should. It might focus my life as I move forward; I've begun to fear complacency.
My father said a very important thing yesterday: I should take time to enjoy my life, because I'm not going to get any younger. In my head, I know this. In my heart, perhaps I've ignored it. I enjoy my work&emdash;partly because it provides an atmosphere in which I'm extremely good at what I do. I've not been very comfortable in environments where I'm not as good as others; that's a failing of mine, and it's kept me away from some activities I enjoy&emdash;swimming and music, to name two&emdash;for no good reason.
As I grow slowly older, I need to find new dreams, and to reach out to them. Living in comfort is all well and good, but it does not provide much incentive to try new things. I spend much of my free time in comfortable ways&emdash;mostly reading&emdash;and far too little of it experimenting. At some point in my life, probably five or six years ago, I became too comfortable, and I need to reverse that now.
I'm twenty-eight now. It's time to realize that, in some ways, I'm very much a child, sticking to what I know, afraid to try new things for fear of being embarrassed or simply not liking them. Part of growing up for me will be learning to dream again, both alone and with Beth, and to experiment with achieving those dreams.
Copyright © 1997 by Anton Rang.