Poetic Reflections: retrospect

If people could save all of the time in a bottle that they spend in retrospect . . . clinging to what was or what could have been instead of looking forward to life, moving on . . . they would probably have time for all of the things they’re too busy to do now. Or maybe, like me, they’re just plain too busy. I am by nature a progressive person — thinking ahead, optimistic, endeavoring to get somewhere. Quite often I feel like the White Rabbit from Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, frequently checking the time and muttering about lateness. Yes, that is me except for the ears. My days are filled with never enough time. And worse, I tend to write as if I have all day to select each word, which I do not. It’s like being in one of those dreams where everything moves at snail’s pace when you’re trying to do the opposite. Such is life. Mine, at any rate.

But in retrospect, well, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sure, I’ve lost time over the years. I could have done things sooner or better. I could have been smarter, less distracted or obstructed, so on and so forth. Yet despite all of my sidetracks and flubs and incredible slowness, I am no longer letting my dreams be blocked or put on hold. My current distractions involve being wrapped up in characters and plots, poems and illustrations; in creative pursuits and plans and dreams coming true. I may be preoccupied with time as I descend Alice-like down the rabbit-hole, my head in the cloudy depths of some fantastic adventure, but I am loving every minute of the exhilarating plunge into the fertile ground of my imagination.

In years past I seemed to spend a lot of time falling down other holes. Many of them dark unpleasant ones that were not so much fun. Events hone us in ways we cannot imagine and we are left, the remnants and shards of that process, pondering what transpired. Squandering the here and now on futile regrets. Debating the “what ifs” . . . Yet if we had changed one element, if we did something differently, the ripple created could bring untold consequences. Repercussions that echo in the present until we are no longer the same and everything around us, everyone, might disappear.

As in a story or drawing, the details matter. They are vital to the enrichment of heart and spirit, nourishing the flesh of our existence with intricate connections writhing through us, the vines of cause-and-effect conclusions often stemming from disaster, blossoming in renewal and rebirth. We may lament some moves, several or many of our lunkiest actions. But dare we tinker with the result of this science experiment, this form of individual evolution? Durst we tamper with the seal on the formula that led us to be standing figuratively or otherwise in our shoes?

I wonder. Boy oh boy do I wonder. Because, you see, some idiot genius probably will invent a time machine that takes us back to who we were. In which case, would we wish to lead a thousand lives of variations on a theme? Should we modify yesterday until we get today right? This is the dilemma — or would be could we travel back in the direction of our retrospections. Perhaps by the time you read this, it will already have happened and that would explain my frequent vivid flashes of déjà vu. If not, don’t worry. It is inevitable, and then nothing can be certain, nothing permanent. Like writing in pencil, History can be erased.

Luckily, I know who I am. I’m the lady in the looking-glass. Though I am not without flaws, I can face myself in the mirror and feel proud. This visage I see has known its share of pain, sorrow and stress. But it is an honest face, sometimes too honest, that has not always made the wisest choices and has been prone to moods of anger, jealousy, insecurity. Like anyone. Yet it has shone with compassion, courage, and wisdom more times than not. And for the trace of my mother in it, I wouldn’t trade it for a younger more beautiful reflection. Keep your time machines and regrets. I have tried to be the best I can under the circumstances and despite them.

Would I change my life if I could go back? I couldn’t if I could, for I wouldn’t wish to lose what I have gained. And heartache often yields its own rewards. I always look for the good out of bad — a brighter side when Life turns cruel or insane — and try to appreciate the progress made, keep advancing step by step. I’ve been doing that since I was born. My strides have gotten bigger, even after my legs stopped growing.

I’ve accomplished some of my goals, some things that amaze me, yet doubt I will ever be completely satisfied. There’s so much more to achieve. One of my future goals is to find more time for other things, in addition to writing. Which I expect will make me even busier. Whatever I finish, however I move ahead, I may never get beyond the feeling that I’m too behind. Too busy, too slow, too distracted . . . but that’s just me.

(And the White Rabbit.)