The Sound Of A Clock

(March 1, 2022)

There are a few things in life that always sound the same; a clock, for example, is one of them. No matter where you are or what type of clock it is, a clock is a clock, and so it sounds as such. Cars passing on the street at night is another, and the same goes for the sound of people shuffling through an airport, or the dishes being done in the kitchen while another sits in the living room. 

Some sounds, some feelings, will always stay the same no matter where you are, or who you’ve become, or what season of life you’re in. They are good old friends (but too often, they are forgotten as we grow up because their sound is not deemed important enough to notice). But I am trying to remember, and because a clock always sounds the same, it reminds me of 15 years ago when I was a child at a sleepover, noticing that I and the clock seemed to be the only ones still awake. And though it kept me up, I always felt peace because I knew that the clock’s consistency would not change based on mine.

As we age, life pushes us to shed layers and put on others. But sometimes, we find that we have shed some layers that we didn’t actually mean to lose. We made a radical decision to rip layers off because they didn’t fit with our new understanding of the world—as a matter of fact, life wasn’t as kind and beautiful as we imagined. And so we threw those layers aside, because they had felt like lies amidst our new felt pain. And besides, we seemed to be judged by our peers for those whimsical layers anyway, so it was good to throw them off.

But I have become quite hard and sharp on the edges now. So I’m trying to remember again. I’m scavenging the floor to find some of those old layers, some of those old jackets. They may be worn and frayed, but they raised me through much of my childhood. And though, at times, the glasses were a little too rose-colored, that was sometimes a good thing because it further brought out the colors that were already there in the world (and without them, I would have been too oblivious to notice).  

So now, I’m listening to old songs I used to love in 2015 and 2016. I am taking the time to feel them all over again; I remember why I loved them. I’m re-hiking old mountains and taking the time to sit silent where I used to sit for hours, only hearing the cars bustle below. I’m thinking about memories of my younger sister when she was just 16, belting her favorite songs with her eyes closed and her mouth turned up in a smile. I’m once again driving, looking out at the trees, the clouds, the sun, the road in front of me, seeing them for what they are and what they were, symbols of hope and endless possibility. I am beginning to dream again.

I found some of my old layers (and I’m still looking for others). I missed them, I have changed, but they haven’t. They still feel like home. And now they seem to fit even better than before because now I know how to wear them. And so I write this as I lay on my couch in my living room, staring up at my ceiling, noticing once again that it’s just me and the clock who are still awake tonight.

And so it’s true, life isn’t as beautiful and kind as we imagined, and yet it is. We just have to choose to see what those rose-colored layers were trying to show us all along.

Coming of Age, A Subtle Thing

(August 30, 2020)

I was happy to hear you battling another great dragon again in the next room over. From the sound of it, it seemed to be quite a tough sword fight. 

I saw you in the dark room swinging your sword at the shadows as I walked up the stairs, and by the looks of your actions, exhaustion, and the level of energy expended, they were no doubt quite glorious dragons and horrific foes. 

You didn’t know it, but this was one of the last times you would play that way. I’m sure you hadn’t noticed, but over the last couple of years (as all kids do), you had fought these imaginary dragons less and less, and at this point, I hadn’t seen you battling any furious enemy since half a year ago. It is certainly happening less and less, and as we grow older, we notice less and less how little we imagine and how much time has gone by since the last time we joined the battle.

And so I sat and just listened, smiling with fondness, knowing that this fictional battle, though seeming childish, held a deeper richness that would no doubt help shape you into the courageous and heroic man you would one day become.

Winter And Fall

(November 14, 2019)

Would you think I was crazy if I told you

I thought there was more life in the winter?

Breathing the cold air is like smoking a peppermint breeze.

Would you think I was weird if I felt

There were more dimensions in the fall?

Between the shadows of the clouds and the colors in the leaves.

Would you think it strange if it brought me joy,

Because I had an excuse to be melancholy,

And no matter my sadness, I was at least happier than the weather?

Maybe it’s because the cold gives excuses for comfort

And the need for someone’s warmth?

It allows for slow-paced living

And no guilt in “wasted opportunities.”

You Said the Sky

(January 20, 2019)

Let’s sit in the silence and simply do nothing.

We’ll stare at the sunset and find that we’re smiling.

No words were spoken, but I knew what you were thinking,

Or I guess we weren’t thinking as much as just breathing.

Soaking it in till our hearts overflowed,

Light gleamed from our eyes and spilled out our souls.

I asked you what your favorite thing was in nature.

Mine was the light, the way it touched every creature.

You sat a bit, then answered with tender eyes.

You said the sky, but that too often, we miss out on its design.

If one would just go outside and look up a little more often,

You said they’d see all was okay;

“Our mess-ups can’t change the galaxies or make the stars soften.”

You went on for a while, and I just gathered and gleaned,

And the last of what you said also stuck out to me:

“Every hour, the Artist puts up a new display,

How can we know art if we don’t see it when it’s right in front of our face?”

A Moment With Mother

(December 31, 2018)

I could feel her presence over my figure as she reached to grab the blanket resting on the back of the couch.  Her hands made little sound as she first draped the blanket on my feet and then slowly pulled it up to my chin.

I dared not open my eyes to reveal I had been awake, for that would steal from her the joy of looking after the one she had taken care of since infancy. And I dared not open my eyes, for that would rip from me the peace of being taken care of as though I was a child again. Pride is not an issue when you are receiving care while you sleep.