Apr 9th, 2013 | By | Category: Senior Moments Blog

A Senior’s Wishful Dreaming

Oh, how great it would  be to be allowed do overs. How marvelous it would be if we could just put the back space on and redo the last thing we said or did, the one thing we wish we had never suggested or tried.  How pleasant it would be for all our report cards in life, for those to be pitched and only the remarkable acts, the wild successes, the incredibly rewarding behaviors offered a chance to do it again.

If only do overs were allowed. But somehow in the great scheme of things that is not allowed or offered, not even a consideration, not a chance.

And so we are stuck with having to work out our mistakes, erase, if only we can, those behaviors that shamed and embarrassed us. But we can’t.  There they are indelibly imprinted upon our self definition, a part of our identity, forever emblazoned upon us or our torso, where we thought such insignia would prove our manhood or personhood, and it did neither.

It, like everything else now a part of our being, is really a lasting impression of who we are. There it is out there, describing for all the world to see a message, permanently posted, announcing who we are, even if, inside, we deny it.

Why can’t we have our selected do overs, at least the ones we would readily surrender at the going rate.  Why can’t we buy our way through the tunnel of regret we decided to traverse and found, at the other end, that there is no exit.  Why can’t we just say, “there, I’m done with that phase,” and move on.  Sadly, no.  Regretfully, once done or pronounced, or said, it is ours to claim.

Where is the common sense that my parents or peers or adult others acclaimed as being so important and critical to becoming an adult, to achieving that state of mind that would be mine forever?  Long since lost in the forests of exploration and curiosity.  Now discarded as inane, unessential, lacking in relevance.  And here we are, looking up at the huge trees, looming high and unreachable where so much knowledge is found.  Too late!  Too long gone, never to be discovered again.

Oh, that we call out, but hearing nothing but our echoes, we keep searching  and wishing, hoping and praying having given away our last best chance to create ourselves and our lives yet once again.

Before our everlasting fantasy ends to be able to do that one thing over again, maybe we can at least imagine such a fairy tale that will give us that brief moment in time to go home again.


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