Sweet Bird of Youth

This morning as I was coming in to work, when I got off the bus, one of my colleagues, a 20-something guy, fell into step beside me. It's about a five-minute walk across a huge parking lot to get to our building, and he told me he has one more week to go until he's "outta here". He's moving to England. A friend of his lives there and he's going to stay with his friend for a couple of weeks, bumming around, until he starts looking for a job. He plans to work for awhile and tour Europe. "Boy, do I envy you," I told him. "That's always been one of my dreams: to tour Europe." "So why don't you?" he asked, like a typical 20-something. Like the 20-something I was, once. I shrugged and tried to sound casual about it, but the truth is, I felt very bittersweet. "I have a child, bills," I said. He waved his hand around. "The child will understand," he said. I just smiled and said, "Well, maybe someday ..." But what I was really thinking of saying was, "Are you kidding me? Just hop on a plane and tour Europe? Don't I wish." And bringing my child with me? That would defeat the whole purpose, believe me. My daughter is a one-person army. I wouldn't get a chance to catch a glimpse of the Mona Lisa or the Sistine Chapel ceiling if she were around, that's for sure.

But I didn't want to sound like my parents. That's what I was always used to hearing when I grew up, every time I mentioned one of my plans, desires, dreams, whatever. I'd get that "Are you kidding me?" look and hear, "You have no idea what the real world is like. You'll find out." There was always that negativity, that dread and pessimism, like there was no hope, or I was painfully deluded to think that life would turn out like I planned or hoped. The truth is, they were right. My life has not turned out the way I planned or dreamed. But it is far from over. I figure if I'm lucky, I have another 40 years left on this planet. Who knows what can happen between now and then? I do have some things that make me happy. That's where the bittersweet comes in. I have a lot of regrets. There are things I know I should have done and there are things I know I definitely shouldn't have done. The one good thing about getting older is that you get wiser. Not in an intellectual way, but by experience. You get knocked around, and you learn from it.

So, in the meantime, I can still dream. Maybe someday I will be there, standing in front of the Mona Lisa, contemplating her famous smile. Or craning my neck to look up at one of Michelangelo's masterpieces, my mouth falling open in awe. And try not to think about those regrets, and try and forget the guy who is unforgettable to me. And move on.