03 January 2007


Bill Emory put his finger on exactly what I feel has been missing these past 2 weeks. All the rumination I've done individually on the passing of the year and my hopes for 2007 has no audience (unless you include my cat). It's a truism that, as you age, the years shorten and the individual days mean virtually nothing--they become seconds compared to the span of your life. Entire eras eventually become condensed to brief descriptive paragraphs divulged to auld acquaintance at reunions.

When I was a kid, I did as kids did: Christmas was for buying (and receiving!) lots o' prezzies, constantly visiting people, and flitting from one social event to the next. New Years was for partying with a whole bunch of people I didn't know well but called friends. In a fun and superficial sense, they were friends. They didn't mind that I invariably spent January 1st hungover. Some would crash (read: pass out) and help with the trash in the morning. "Morning" began no earlier than 10:30 a.m. Others would join for a late breakfast (read: lunch) consisting of Bloody Marys, aspirin, and all the eggs we could eat. Anyone who is willing to put up with your binge-drinking and come back the next morning for cleanup duty is a friend, even if you don't know their hometown, their life dreams, or the names of three family members. But it was indicative of a simple, youthful outlook--one in which time is for spending, not for cherishing.

That was then, this is now. Now I feel the passage of time less, but feel a need to remark it more. There is a hurdy-gurdy quality to the end of the year that shellacks the passage of time, reflecting our hectic modernity in both style and content. One year you are 21, the next you are 41. 50 is the new 30, blah blah. But it isn't true. Just because we have the ability to cheat and ignore time, to play truant and play God until the average expected life span is 110, doesn't mean we should take for granted the time that is given us.

As Bill said, the passing of a year is a weighty thing. Perhaps a time for reflection and good, quiet company. For reassessing who you are and who you want to be when you grow up. For we are all, still, growing up.

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