Essay: Swiftly Fly The Years

Summing up the journey.

Reading time 3 minutes

Note: This essay is from my 2023 Growing Up Rural: People Places, and Things series that explored my early years growing up in the Columbia River Gorge. It seems appropriate to repost this now.

Writing these short stories each week has given me the opportunity to pause and reflect upon the passing of time.

Almost every day I’m reminded of the ticking clock; like when I'm prompted to confirm my birthdate at the doctor's office, and I casually respond, '1941.' To the youthful receptionist, it may as well have been my saying '2,000 BC.' Frequently, there's a puzzled reaction as they grapple with the concept that someone could have been born in the first half of the last century

An endless list of subtle and not-so-subtle ticks of the clock mark the passage of time, like the view of downtown from my high-rise apartment. What was once a treeless cityscape now resembles an urban forest that conceals familiar landmarks after 44 years of living here. Even the saplings, planted seven years ago along the sidewalk beneath my window, now stand at least 25 feet tall.

My father would be 120 and mother 117. Yet I remember, as if it were a couple of days ago, teasing mom that she was turning 50. 

In 1973, I tragically lost a best friend to injuries sustained in a car accident. He was 23 years old. It is strange to think that he could have now reached retirement age and have possibly collected Social Security benefits for the past five years.

For me, life has been a journey much like that of a river that begins with a misty rain, becomes a cascading stream and then, in its maturity, empties into the sea only to begin the cycle over.  

Along the way as the river drifts and the current of life broadens, new experiences and people flow into it. Among those in my life as an educator have been many younger people as students and friends whose enthusiasm and wonder has been shared with that part of me that has always been curious about the present and future. This symbiotic relationship has been mutually beneficial as my experience and their youthful energy is shared. 

From the time I was as a kid listening to the soundscape from my hilltop resting place, watching the wind ripple across an uncut field of hay, felt the rain upon my face, or experienced the sadness, love and caring of friends and family, I’ve been aware of the beauty and complexity of life. I often think that if this is “it”, it has been an amazing journey of joy, grief, health, pain, love, anger, good decisions, bad decisions, and all those experiences that make us human.

As my life’s river approaches the sea, I give more time to this moment, this breath, and this thought. I’m no longer rushing and tumbling over obstacles; most of which were my own doing. I’m being mindful, slowing down to focus on only one or two things at a time and letting go of the sediment that has come along with me. I’m finding a certain calmness. 

I hope that on my journey I’ve been a person of compassion, kindness, love, patience, tolerance, forgiveness, helpfulness, and making a positive impact along the way.

     From Fiddler On The Roof 

Sunrise, sunset

Sunrise, sunset

Swiftly fly the years

One season following another

Laden with happiness and tears