Whenever I get in a thinkalicious mood, without fail, Wordsworth’s Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood comes to mind. I do realize that we’ll never get back tomorrow. We’ll never be able to see the possibilities of a twig in the eyes of our five-year-old selves: as a grand queen’s staff or as a mighty ninja sword. My struggle to determine whether I am a cynical idealist or an ideal cynic is going on five years now. We scorn the Eternal Optimist, yet we avoid the Draining Cynic. What saddens me most is my inability to be shocked anymore. There are no more high standards for people, only a shrug of the shoulders upon hearing of their indiscretions.
As we live through the years, accumulating various life lessons and having each of our ideals tested, what is it that allows us to go on? What is it that keeps us hoping? After disillusionment and dissatisfaction time and time again, we become numb to the things that once would have shocked us. We assume the worst. We expect the worst. Is that just me?
It’s not just my own collection of life experiences that has caused this. It’s also through the experiences of friends and family. When someone shares a troubling concern or wounding incident, there’s sadness and sympathy of course – but there’s an overwhelming sense of nonchalance. It worries me that I’m unable to experience jaw-dropping surprise or even heartfelt disappointment. It worries me that any surprise reaction from my part comes from witnessing an unexpected kind gesture or unreserved love.
So what’s the conclusion in this half-hearted soul search? I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to go back to wide-eyed hope and girlish dreams. The one thing however, I believe I can contribute to is the mild surprise of others. To readily supply others with the acts that surprise me: unexpected kind gestures and unreserved love. And even if a twig will never again have the grand possibilities of staff or sword for me, perhaps I can make it so for others.
No comments:
Post a Comment