More and more now I’m realizing that while my life is a work in progress, like a story, I cannot go back and edit the already written chapters. There is no going back and exploring what would happen if I made a different choice. There’s no “next time,” not really. I don’t get another chance. I’ll never be twenty again with all the possibilities in the world ahead of me. Not that I really want to be twenty again. That sucked. Yes, some people believe that you do get second chances … but I’m such a scientist I’ll take the null hypothesis until given good reason to doubt it.
My Nana is ninety one years old. Mom commented today something on that I think we both, and Betty too, have known for some time. Nana doesn’t want to be old. Her body can’t do the things she thinks it can, and she forgets how limited she is – only to be brought back to reality with an unpleasant thump. She knows there’s no going back, only forward, and there’s not a lot more of that when you get right down to it. She has lived a rich life, full of love, travel, excitement, and of course with hard times too. I’m sure that at times she wonders what different trajectory her life would’ve taken had she done this or that differently, or chosen a different path. And I’m sure that she regrets that she’s no longer young. The reality is, she has few possibilities left to her now; it’s a severely restricted subset of “all the world.”
I still do have all the possibilities in the world ahead of me, when I think about it in that light. And then there’s the wonder of watching Cameron grow too.