"Everyone can't be exceptional though we are taught that we can".
Jim Harrison, The Road Home
It's a quarter to five. Still pitch dark. I'm on the Interstate, heading for my spring creek, south-southwest... at about 35 miles an hour. There are long periods now where I can't even see the front of my car. I have to remind myself to breathe.
The fog gets thicker. Every year. I swear it does. Almost to the point in my life now where I seriously consider turning around, except that it seems easier to continue on rather than try to figure out where or how I might accomplish it. And, as I vow to keep going, a brief, but intense emotion nearly brings me to tears, because I know that the day is going to arrive, probably sooner than I think, where I can convince myself not to attempt the drive at all.
This brings to mind one of the many disadvantages attributed to the aging process. I begin to understand that my ability to justify not doing anymore that which I've invested a great deal of time enjoying throughout my life, especially these past few years, is one of, if not THE clearest indicator of the fact that I am getting old, too old to, when I think about it, keep myself young. Well, yes, I am getting old, but it's going to be a serious time of self-investigation before I let that be the overriding factor in any decisions I make regarding being able to pursue those things that I live to do. Seems to me that the decision to cease such activity is one of the saddest times in life. That scares me. I find myself pushing harder, fishing longer, tying more flies, investigating. Driving further. More often. In fact, in doing so, I believe I am fighting off the whole process, although this may be just another sign that I'm closer to that which I seek to avoid. I'm sure I'll be the last one to know, or to admit to that.
I may already be that crazy old man I never dreamed I'd be.
That's okay, though. Who's around to know?