September 23, 2008

A Different Man (Thoughts on Aging, Part I)

This week marks the first in a series of essays about growing older. Everyone who knows me knows I enjoy listening to Randy Travis. I was recently reflecting on my three favorite RT songs. They all have two things in common: tragedy and aging. Both have been on my mind more than usual lately. This blog reflects on the song, “Good Intentions.” So give it a listen, read the blog, then give it another listen. Then, (this is step four), add your comment below. Enjoy.

There’s a small plaque that has hung above the doorway of every place I’ve lived for the past nine years. My grandfather gave it to me just before I graduated high school. It reads: “You cannot build a reputation on what you are going to do.” That plaque serves as a reminder that words are cheap. We’re ultimately judged by what we do, not what we say we’re going to do.

I believe the gap between what people say is important to them and what is actually important to them is immense. The best gauge of what’s really important to people is how they spend their time.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

*******

I ran across some old pictures the other day. I actually found myself staring at a picture, wondering who that person was. It was me. I felt disconnected, like an outsider thumbing through someone else’s stuff. I barely remembered the stories behind half the pictures.

The setting, the people, the circumstances, all seemed a million miles away.

Was that really me? I felt like an entirely different person from the guy in those pictures. How do we change? And what happens to the “old us?” The characteristics and traits… where do they go? Are they replaced or suppressed?

Friends will often start sentences with, “remember when…”

The memories feel like they’re from someone else. Not in a bad way, just a strange way.

It occurs to me that we’re constantly being shaped, like giant sand dunes in the desert.

Some changes we understand, some we don’t. Some we don’t even see. Some we have control over, some we do not. Five years from now, I believe I’ll be a different person than today.

For all my thoughts about how I’ve changed, it still surprises me to see it in other people. When I run into someone I haven’t seen in a while, it shocks me they’re not the same as the last time I saw them.

“Wow. They’ve changed.”

On the positive side, I think I’m much calmer than I was three or four years ago. I tend to see more of ‘the big picture.’

On the negative side, I’m less focused. I’m more vindictive.

The list could go on, but details are not what this is about.

In the setting I’m in now, I’m older than most people around me. I don’t feel older. I just feel different. I feel like I’ve gained some precious maturity I didn’t have five years, months, or minutes ago. I feel like I’ve learned some really valuable lessons from my many mistakes. For all practical purposes, I should be improving in every area of my life.

But I’m not entirely a better person. Along with some of the immature, idiotic things I’ve lost, I’ve gained other bad traits. Many times, I’m still idiotic.

I’m older. But not entirely better or wiser.

The forces that change us are very interesting to me. Every decision we make has a consequence, no matter how small.

It’s like touching a finger onto a wet piece of clay. One touch doesn’t make much difference. But keep touching. The longer you keep it up, the more the clay changes shape. After a while you have an entirely different piece of art.

This reminds me of another quote floating around my house: “We are the choices we have made.”

Perhaps the real gift of getting older is that you’re able to see the changes, not stop or influence them. I’m only 27, but I’m beginning to get some perspective.

The man I want to be is on the horizon, shifting and stirring just as much as I am. It’s foolish of me to believe I know who or what I’ll be in five years. Aim for the target, knowing you won’t make it? Just hope you land somewhere good?

To not aim is to become one of two things: stagnant or an unguided missile. And simply talking about it doesn’t do much good. You gotta do.

Sometimes you hit where you’re aiming.

© August 29, 2006

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