Sometimes, as I'm writing, at or near the end, I'll realize (assuming I have point at all to this screed) on a particular day, that perhaps because the wind has filled my sails, I've traveled farther and truer than I might ever do again.
And I think to myself, "junior (I always call myself Junior in these reveries), the next time you want to talk about this stuff, remember these words and use them because you'll never get this close again."
This is one of those days, Valentine's Day. I'm so far ahead of the game at this point that I'll spend most of the remainder of it smiling at how clever I was to fall in love with the person with whom I did. (And to have saved these words.)
I often wonder, in light of the journey so far, if he who travels alone ends up traveling so fast he misses the entire point of the sojourn entirely because he has no one with whom to share it. As someone who was very much, and for a very long time, unlovable, this is a day of major import and minor miracle, all at the same time.
I look at photos of my wife, Sigrid, and I, back when we were fab and she was, as she still is, absolutely beautiful to me. It took zero intelligence for me to fall in love with her at first sight and something far rarer than intelligence to help us stay in love all those years on. I do find myself looking at her, then and now, and wondering if she still sees me as I was or as I am now and if the latter, why does she stay?
We have, she and I, grown old together which causes me to smile as I had nothing nearly so grand in mind when I first saw her. And there are those who knew me back before the day who would be amazed that she kept me nailed to one place long enough for all those years to have become all these years, and to some degree, I share their amazement.
We share a life that isn't and will never be the one I thought I wanted when I believed things worked out the way we desired (if we only wanted something bad enough), but when I reach the end of every day, to include today, I look at her and at our two adult children, Patrick and Michelle, and know that I love, and am loved by, them and I can't complain about some settling of the contents during shipment. Happy Valentine's Day.
Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.
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