Difficult times

I am watching several young adults of my acquaintance go through some difficult times. Emotionally, financially, physically tough stuff. And I am finding it very difficult to hold in abeyance my natural tendency to step in and fix things. Not that I’m sure I could, if I tried.

What’s difficult is the not trying.

My mind is awhirl with dread if/then imaginings of what will come to pass should they not find their way. Not because the world is hard (it is) or because I am frustrated in the knowledge that all of them are so smart and insightful and good people who could own the world if only they understood how to make a start (I am).

They will. Find their paths and make a start, I mean. But knowing the sun will rise doesn’t make the night less foreboding.

It’s not my role as elder that binds this fear to me, not at all. If I looked at things entirely from where I now stand, I would be able to embrace the certainty of their success. I know now that if you just keep chugging, things eventually work out. But we are each a collection of points of view, each from a different age and situation, a different point in time. And each of those snapshots is laden with the feelings that accompanied the versions of ourselves they represent.

The snapshot from when I was their age is of a not very hopeful me. It is a picture of a ‘me’ who had lost the woman who I thought would be the one, of a ‘me’ feeling unloved and therefore unlovable. Of a ‘me’ with no particular career direction, whose attempt at college had been abortive, who didn’t respect himself and saw that lack of regard reflected in the eyes of those around him. A ‘me’ who – thanks to the tender ministrations of a drunk driver – could not be certain that the seizures would ever stop or the memory ever fully return.

I went through a shit-storm of self-doubt during what should have been years of defining and forging a trajectory. Instead, I simply kept colliding with myself. And I grew fatigued by the sheer effort of recovering from self-inflicted failures.

I did recover. A good woman and a caring family and a very few steadfast friends saw me through. I found my path and eventually my stumbling became a stride. Life does get better if you just keep on keeping on. Or to be more accurate, if you steadfastly refuse to finally give up. The dawn comes, the storm abates. Life becomes livable, then enjoyable, and eventually precious.

But you have to trust enough to make the start.

I wish I’d understood that sooner. I gave up much of fifteen years of my life. I can’t get it back.

So, I guess what I would say is simply this: today is your life. Yesterday is gone and next year is never promised.

Please, live today. It’s what you have.