Ah, youth. That quintessential quality, that state of being, that utter lack of being older. And that’s all it is, a time in your life when you haven’t lived as long as you will. Which, incidentally, is always true, but that’s getting away from the spirit of things. Youth is highly prized by those who are not young, perhaps because they were once young, or perhaps because they — having aged — are not happy with the results.
I decided to insert a photo after I wrote the preceding paragraph, and the photo has nothing to do with the content. It’s a picture of my Mom and my older sister, and it’s here merely because it was handy and because both the subjects are young, although one is far younger, relatively speaking, than the other.
I'm Not In This Picture
So where was I before I decided to insert that photo and then realized that I needed to add a sentence explaining why the photo really had nothing to do with the story? Ah, yes. I was talking about aging, becoming less young, and how we may or may not be happy with the results. I went on from there, so we will now continue this piece without further edits and/or interruptions:
There are results, trust me. There are the desired results — the accumulation of wisdom, perhaps of wealth, as well, the creation of a family, and maybe accomplishment. Or a sense of accomplishment. Or, for those who have done nothing, a sense of failure.
But I digress. I mention that here because digression is my stock in trade, my raison d’etre, as it were, and it would help a great deal if I actually spoke French and knew what raison d’etre meant. Oh, I have an idea. I’ve seen the phrase before, and I’ve even heard it spoken aloud, and I know that it’s not spelled the same way as that shriveled-up grape, but that’s not the point I was trying to make. I was making some kind of a point about digression, an interesting word that can — if you feel like it — rhyme with compression. Now, why anyone would want to do such a thing is beyond me, but I just want to throw it out there as a possibility.
My real reason for writing this — I think I was talking about youth, mourning the loss thereof, or something like that — is to establish my musing for the day, the theme by which I will conduct myself, the thought that will provide the boundary for the next twelve hours or so.
As if.
No, what I’m really doing is tossing a throwaway post up here, something to test this new widget. And it appears to work, although the print is small. I might have had less trouble reading this years ago, in my youth, but those days are gone.
Or maybe I just remember it that way.
As it turns out, though, I said nothing about Stripe toothpaste. Or Ipana. Anyone remember Ipana toothpaste? I didn’t think so. Pepsodent? You’ll wonder where the yellow went?
I believe that youth exists so that we may, in later years, reminisce and remember things as being much better than they really were. And this must be the reason why old age exists, as well. It gives us that place from which we can reminisce.
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