One Picture Imperfect

"We are young
Wandering the face of the Earth

Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time..."

—Rush, Dreamline

There's one picture from my past that crystallizes our fragile mortality and constant change. It was a one from our sophomore year in high school when six of us dressed up as cheerleaders to cheer on the girls' "powderpuff football" team. It was goofy and fun and we really enjoyed it. 

Decades later, two of the six have died (one had been my best friend in junior high), one vanished from social media shortly after the 2016 election (which I don't blame him), one had parents who were concerned about his life choices that very same sophomore year and had him taken away to one of those "therapy" camps in the wilderness (but he ended up doing well with a family of his own), and one who used to be one of my best friends (another story for another time) who didn't take care of himself, losing both his feet. 

And then there was me. I was telling our kids about the picture and what happened to all the guys and they both said that it was sad. But that was all. Beatrice is at the age that we were at in that picture and Bryce isn't far behind. They have their own friends, their own fun, and their own teen angst, and to them, life is boundless and seemingly endless.

But for only a limited time. Because then the decades go by, and the reality of immortality slips away, even when you'd be willing to do it all again, as I would. As I stare into the face of turning 60 next year, I have no regrets after hitting 59. I'm grateful for all joy and sadness, for all the failure and success, and for all the grace throughout the journey. 

When I think about those friends from that sophomore picture dressed as cheerleaders, I'm grateful to be alive and healthy and wish blessings upon those who aren't. When I think about the friends I have today, friends from high school, college, and friends whose kids have gone to school with ours for years, I'm grateful I actually have them, especially being a man in a super-polarized and very lonely male world today. It doesn't have to be that way and I've ensured it's not for me. 

The picture of me today after turning 59 in one of my favorite places in the world is one picture imperfect. A mere mortal who still dreams big for himself, his wife, and his children. And I'd do it all again to be here today.