In my younger years Cheerios were the highlight of my morning, but the floating little O's just tasted bland and their ability to pop back up to the surface just seemed blah. I don't think floating marshmallows or Fruit Loop colored milk could have cheered me up.
Christmas too has been sub-par. I think of how bright and beautiful that day is, but it has not held that special sweetness of bygone years . I thought it might be that I was sick and unable to travel to be with relatives, or getting used to a new job, or I wasn't in the "mood" for Christmas last year, but now I am starting to think it is something else:
I am getting old.
Now I know all of you octogenarians and forty-somethings are giggling to think of me aging, but I am! (just look at all my grey hair) In my last year of teaching my students thought I had lived through the seventies, rather than just knowing about them.
It seems that somewhere along the line I let go of my ability to be amazed and I want it back again. I turned into one of those stodgy people who think about why Cheerios float instead of just laughing all morning while I try to dunk those little rings. I got too wrapped up in the stuff of Christmas rather than the silent wonder. I never really believed in Santa Claus, but making cookies with my parents and brothers has always been my favorite tradition, but that hasn't happened since 1999!
Perhaps I need to make the effort to find fascination in minuscule things, but who has the time? Anyway, the disappointing cereal has got me thinking about what an adult I've become and I do not like it one bit.
rebekah
2 comments:
Rebekah, your post reminded me of how my youngest brother and I, as kids, loved to engage in "telling stories." We'd use his Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals and create endless plots and adventures that kept us entertained and stimulated for hours.
Now I'm 59 and my "little" brother (now 51) told me about a year ago how much the "telling stories" activity meant to him. We had not spoken of it in years. He made this comment a few days after two doctors had said I had only 6 weeks to live due to advancing cancer. It was a comforting thing to hear at the time.
But, oh dear, I didn't live just 6 weeks. Here I am alive over one year later. And left alone with Tigger or Pooh, I wouldn't know where to begin. Where has my imagination gone? Is it lost forever?
Carol
Rebekah, this is an old friend writing in response to you getting old. I think that's hogwash! :) You say you've gotten old and lost the ability to be fascinated, but I venture to say that it's possible you've chosen to lose this ability in some aspects. I've become a big proponent of the idea that our minds and thoughts dictate a lot of what happens around us and the way we feel. Could it be possible that you have been caught up in the everyday rigamor-roo that you stopped thinking like your "younger years"?
Did you by chance see that movie Benjamin Button? I didn't really love the movie, but if you're not familiar Benjamin Button is born old and he grows younger every day of his life instead of older. During most of the movie, I kept wondering when the mid-point of his life would be - the moment/year in his life when his adulthood equaled his youth (or coming youth I should say). Thereafter I had a fun thought about our real lives - what if at the mid point of our life we started getting younger instead of older? What if the Father allowed for our elder years to be so full of energy and health that it out did our youthful years?! And to extend it, what if at the mid-point of our life we were able to become more amazed and fascinated with cool stuff like cheerios the more we grew older? And I don't mean in a childish way, but a child-like way.
It's good to hear from you even if it's in the form of writing. You and Baker are amazing.
Try Honey Nut Cheerios next time and maybe that'll help!
Benjamin
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