Those Were The Days
I am not sure how most people feel about dreams. For me, they are not ethereal or otherworldly. I see them as a part of our brain’s effort to reorganize thoughts while we’re asleep. But, now and then, I’ll have a dream that stands out from the rest, one that is more vivid and feels real.
Last week, I had one of those dreams. I was walking through the streets of a large city on a smoggy afternoon. Steam shot up from the streets, taxis drove by honking their horns; faceless people crowded the streets, all walking in unison to get to their next appointment. The city smelled of exhaust and trash.
I made my way into a familiar building, up an elevator, and entered a modest apartment. The place was small and uninteresting. The room seemed empty, but when I turned to the corner, I saw an old man sitting in a chair, staring out the window. A cup of hot coffee steamed on a small table beside him, next to a pair of reading glasses. There the man sat, looking out at something pleasant.
From where I stood, I could not see what the man was watching, but it must have been interesting. The look on his weathered face seemed happy. His dark eyes glistened as he stared out the window, looking peaceful, amused; satisfied. The man’s expression betrayed the damp mood of the apartment. It was empty and dusty, like a place long forgotten. But there the man sat, something pulling him out of the dark and filling him with light. It was as if he was reminiscing about something or someone.
What was he looking at? I had to know. As I approached, I called out to the man, but he could not hear me. I was not a part of his world, but simply an observer. As I moved behind the man’s chair to get a glimpse out the window, to see what he was seeing, I realized there was no window at all. The man was staring at a blank wall. I felt puzzled and the last thing I remembered before waking from my dream was glancing down at the man’s left hand and seeing a distinct scar on the back of his thumb. I knew instantly that the old man was me.
I woke up and got on with my day, but the dream stuck with me. The old man in my dream had been me. What was I looking at? I wanted to know. Throughout the day, I found my mind drifting to the dream’s meaning. Was there an answer, some punchline to the story, or were these just random thoughts I was trying to congeal into something meaningful and neat?
I tried to imagine myself as an old man, maybe in my eighties, sitting on a chair and staring out into space. What would I be thinking? Wouldn’t it be the times and people in my life that were most meaningful? I would think of “the good ole days”, whatever that meant, sitting down and losing myself in the memories that were most special. And, hopefully, I would look back, recalling a life well lived. What’s the use of growing old if you never did anything worth remembering?
In the evening, I took some time to sit down with that old man in the room. I imagined that was me now, looking out my office window, wondering what I would think about. I would relive my younger days, appreciating and longing for them. A thought occurred to me. What if, in the future, someone had offered to send me back in time in some new technology? Would I do it? Would I go back to my younger years, and if so, what would I revisit and what would I revise?
A realization came on quickly. I was in a Time Machine right now. By imagining myself later in life and asking the older me what I would do if I could go back to my younger days; I could end this daydream right now and be the younger man once again.
Later at night, while lying restless in bed, I thought more about my life, specifically where I was for the past year and a half. Every day, I woke up before light and witnessed nature’s beauty as the sun rose. Daily, I walked out into the woods and immersed myself with nature, mingling with deer, coyotes, and foxes. I have seen some of the most stunning vistas, and I have captured those memories with my camera and my mind.
Each day, I spend time with a person I love. We drink coffee together and laugh every day. We feel grateful for each other, respecting one another, and gifting ourselves the treasure of both completely giving and fully receiving one’s love. Every morning, I wake up excited about what the new day will bring, and every night I feel inspired and awestruck about what I did or saw that day. I hike, fish, read, write, work, workout, all of it, in the context of who I have become, is a genuinely perfect part of my life. This time in my life, right here and right now, is the best it’s ever been.
For a moment, in the darkness of night and comfort of my bed, I wondered if my life now was not a dream, and that I would soon travel back to being the old man lost in his memories. I grinned at the silly notion but also felt grateful for all the time traveling I had done in my mind. By day’s end, I knew exactly what the old man in my dream was thinking about while staring out into nothingness; he was thinking about his time living where I am right now. I rolled over and kissed my wife on her forehead as she slept, pulled up the blankets, took a deep breath, let it go, whispering as I realized — these are the days.