He drove up the hill heading towards his house. It was that first day of a new spring 2023 when the awakening of a vibrant colored collage jumps out at all of those who are still breathing after the chilling frost. A day that is not noted on the calendar with holiday status, but a day that metaphorically represents, for all of those residing in America’s Northeast the end of winter. A day in the ides of April when all of nature puts forth its brightest hue. A day when the fresh warmth of the spring sun can only be absorbed, not memorized. As his car continued to climb the rutty city road an inferno of fire roared straight into his eyes. There was not a single cloud to the block the fire’s glare. The glittering pyramid of colors was peaking to new heights. Shades of yellow, green, purple, red blending into the backdrop of a deep blue sky as the sun was setting in the west. Days like the one in front of him brought with them an energy that connected him to springs in another place and time. All the way back to those long-ago springs, when there seemed to be no time to soak in the miracles that the circle of seasons provides. He had always felt a sense of relief back in the years that March went out like a lamb. On a day like this in his youth his thoughts turned to summertime and all the possibilities that included. In April, November seemed like a lifetime away. There would be lots of golf, too many Molson’s, and perusing adventures deep into the night with the queen of hearts.‘ So much fun and games to be had before another snowflake flies,’ was his thesis for seasons in the sun that lay ahead. On days like today all the bad visions had disappeared and the good vibrations were reverberating into the future.
In the late seventies, driving a very different looking gas guzzler, he had to negotiate a mountainous road to get to his childhood home. Although a dissimilar road in a neighboring town, the views maintained the same theme . In the spring of 1978 on prime April days his thoughts turned towards ocean waves, tanned bodies, sun worshipping and late-night shenanigans. Those were the top priorities for a teenage boy growing up in small town America. Driving away from the village, in his grandmother’s hand me down 1967 Ford convertible he investigated the ocean green and the tower at the top that stood as a beacon to the people of the valley. Top of mind subject matter mostly pertained to sophomoric delusional dreams. He would have loved to make a living playing golf but didn’t have the talent or the discipline to put in the work. He knew it was time to get out of his one-horse town but was having major trepidation about cutting the cord. He wanted to have meaningful relationships, but he lacked the maturity needed for such. He ended up running on empty chasing all the things he could not get. In our younger days we don’t make the time to take in the messages that are staring right at us every day. We live with a frantic urgency that makes you feel taking time to think is wasting time. His generation had been programmed to believe it was all about going… never stopping. Practice, condition your body, make money, win, find the girl. He kept score in all categories and unless in all of them the aesthetics of a spectacular spring day would not be a talking point. He didn’t know back then that taking in the moment could only help one appreciate the obstacles he gotten passed and ones that lay waiting ahead.
There are very few people, who, in the youth of their lives, can comprehend what awaits them if they make it to the other side of 60. The problems that are right in front of us distract us from ever thinking about what is on the other side of the mountain. Over the hill is a place you arrive without warning. What life is going to look like 40 years down the road is not something that 18-year-old boys spend much time focusing on six months before their final summer of freedom. “I got to get out, I got to break it out now before the final crack of dawn, but we got to make the most of our one night together, when it’s over we’ll both be so alone,” Meat Loaf was pleading his case about transitioning from his hometown on his new ‘Bat of Hell’ track. In the hot spring of 1978, he knew the time to put away childhood pipe dreams had arrived. The time had come to be independent and create his own persona as an independent adult. He was leaving all the privileges and entitlements that go along with mommy and daddy on standby. The weight of the next step made him shiver with the fear of leaving all the comforts of his parent’s nest behind. On those spring car rides heading back to the home of his youth his mind was far too cluttered to notice the miracles of colors that go along with the transitioning seasons. His thoughts were consumed by birdies flying over the short green grass, of new faces on a college campus, and on leaving childhood behind in the past.
At a time when he still hadn’t figured out a career, or if he wanted to have a family, or a clue as to his purpose, he blindly chased haphazard dreams never finding a single answer. He was chasing what we all chase in our youth: money, independence, and freedom. It was the jingle that made all the rest seem reachable. At the time he was convinced that money talked, and bullshit walked. One side of himself understood the evils of money but his more practical side could see the doors that opened just by letting some Benjamin’s fly around. The cynical side of him believed ‘people who say money isn’t important don’t have any.’ And without the power of the dollar the independence and freedom could not be obtained. There are very few people who can obtain and maintain all three without being born into wealth. The fact is the first thing any person on a journey to success must do is get over their sense of entitlement and privilege. As a young man he had a hard time grasping that nothing in this life is guaranteed, and that all human life at some point gets shattered. In those golden twilight springs of his life his mind raced faster than his grandmother’s 1967 Ford. In those days it raced so fast he never saw the forest through the trees..
Despite all the rumblings regarding the earth’s health you could not notice any scars on this day in April of 2023. The scenery may look same as it did back in 1978 but the visions dancing in his brain were all about finding a game or wrestling awkwardly under dashboard lights. The aesthetics in the spring of 2023 may have seemed familiar but the games that were played in 1978 were now only clouded memories. Driving towards home in the present he can see a bittersweet collage from the past filled with both goals achieved and dreams that died on the vine. The yellow forsythias were brighter than he could remember, they helped him recall how they glowed in the prime of his years. He had always looked forward to the time in early spring when all things were filled with unconditional hope for the upcoming season. All these years later he was headed home one more time. To a place where wild ambition had morphed into practiced calm. All the way back to squaring ledgers that could have easily gone unsettled. He squinted as hard as he could driving directly into the sun. He was approaching a new realm, high up to the peak of the hill that few reach in this short lifetime. The mountains had been climbed, now he was hoping to find the time to take in the view.
It was 4/20/23 and the old man was running down a dream thinking of the springs gone by. He smiled reminiscing of the heartbeats that never turned into heartthrobs….. all the dreams that came up short….. and still the place he had ended up did not look much different from the one he imagined. He was still climbing but his mind was in the present thinking about the treasures that were on the other side of the hill. The other side of the mountain where all the glitter of your youth is replaced by a slower and steadier fire. The other side meant transitioning to a life of grandchildren, of telling tales of battles won and lost. It is about discovering parts of the mind that during the climb there was not time for. The hardest part of transition from one phase of life to another is saying goodbye to the people and things that inevitably must be left behind. All the things that go along with a privileged youth; the bravado, the entitled cockiness, all the unbridled boldness does not wear well on a sexagenarian. Going up that last hill of life can naturally cause us to turn our shoulders and look back, all the way back, to the time when the beauty was just as bright as it is in the present. Up and down the northeast coast spring is peaking. The visuals and the pictures are similar, only the shades have changed. Like an old song that meant one thing to you at 21 and something totally different in the present. As he kept moving towards home he felt an appreciation for all things that had been gained and an even deeper appreciation for all that was left behind not to be found again.
