The Clock on the Walls (Originally published 3/7/2012)

I am too sentimental – too sensitive to the time we spend going through the motions just to get through one day and then another. Trying to get from one paycheck to another without too many “turn-off” notices.  I spend too much time regretting the time I spend away from my true self and even lament the loss of the identity of that person.  So many of my standards lowered unknowingly or perhaps subconsciously with the inner understanding that I had no true choice – not crashing to the ground but not a soft landing either.

I see pictures of times that have past – strangers, family members or even of myself and I lament the time since. Have I lived it or have I just floated? Have i been the husband and father I always wanted to be?  Have I done my best to reach the top bar or have I lowered that as well so its attainable?

Oh poor me? Well, not all the time – just some passing moments when the seconds clock skips a number or two and I find myself stranded – out of time.

I see the smiles on the old pictures – with smiles and the looks of determination and arrogance in the eyes of the posers. I ask myself where have they gone?  Have they lived their lives as they had felt so strongly and confidently that they would? I know, I sound kind of morbid or depressing – but reality can sometimes cause me to overdose on the truth I try to suppress.

Basic truths that too much time has passed since I say with my love face to face over a candlelit dinner.

Truths that the bills need to be paid but only a supreme juggler could catch them all while looking down at a puzzle finding a way for the pieces to fit to create a full picture of, what? Life? Bank statements?

The truths that time is passing us by and the time for showing gratitude, affection and honor has passed along with the flying seconds hand. People have left us and we are left to wonder just what it was we could have done differently if we had the chance. Can we ever get that chance?

Our patience runs thin and the seconds hand keeps on turning up on that clock on the kitchen wall.

We conceive our dreams, conceive our love, conceive our children and they grow up and turn into walking talking commentary on how badly we live our lives – but we stand there, in pride  and just hope they can improve on what we are, who we are and hope that they never lower the bar too low for their own expectations, their own standards.

Life happens and repeats itself over and over again – at times we silently adjust to the changes and adjustments – some times not so silently. We sometimes find ourselves fighting for the right to be true to who we truly are and know in our heart of hearts – that no one can ever truly understand that true definition.

Our hairs thin out – the muscles slowly turn soft and so many memories once stored in our mind – silently disappear ceasing to exist.

Forgive me for this trip through the tunnel of life and personal seconds of contemplation. Some times  the water surrounding me feels kind of cold and at times I remember that I truly don’t know how to swim and that I have been faking it all along. Will the audience discover that I am an actor who has somehow forgotten his part to play and his lines? Can the audience actually tell that I have been substituting the lines that were written for the ones I could make up on the fly?

Ah well – I am my own writer so I can guess I can flub all I want – as long as I keep the audience and my cast mates entertained I should be allowed to stand here on stage until the lights dim and the curtains meet center stage.

Yup – you see what looking at old pictures can do to me?