I firmly and sternly believe that it’s our sacred duty to have as much fun as we can so as to store up as many memorable moments when we’re really old and can’t run around doing cartwheels anymore. Actually I never learned to do cartwheels, but in a dream a few nights ago, I walked on my hands. I couldn’t believe it, but it wasn’t so unbelievable that I realised I was dreaming. Drat – no, I walked around endlessly on my hands in growing amazement, loving every minute. Will have to try again.
What emphasised this concept to me was going out with beloved friends this morning in glorious sunlight to the Tokai Market, with their ailing mother who is struggling with arthritis, severe osteoporosis and early dementia/Alzheimers. We sat and talked a while, she and I, watching the kids and dogs of all kinds running around and parents trying to keep up with them. She wished she could also run around like that, and seemed imprisoned in her body. But she had her memories. We chatted about those, and she observed how one’s mistakes jut out larger than the things one has done right.
I wondered if it would help my 70-year-old self if I wrote a long letter to that future being I will be, reminding myself of what I enjoyed, did right… am proud of. Because it seems we all have no problem remembering our mistakes and feeling remorse and guilt, even if we completely realise how useless it is.
Then this afternoon I found a new post from Stan Goldberg, one of my LinkedIn connections. It seems odd that the two incidents would happen on the same day, but then again, why not?