What is about things ending that brings a feeling of remorse or a sadness? The end of a perfect day. A week of vacation. The perfect meal that we prolong the last taste. The last swallow of a cappuccino that gives us cause to swallow slowly and savor. That inner battle that makes us struggle to hold to that feeling of "wonderful".
As a young boy, the end of a day felt as extreme as the end of a life of a good friend does now, in my 60th year on this blue planet. I always fought a losing battle with my Mother to end my games of hide and seek or road hockey, and come inside as for bedtime preparations as night fell. The sun went to "Hell" in my world during those times.
It seems in a sense to rob us of the enjoyment when we know the end of something wonderful nears or arrives (Leaves?) I wonder how does one grasp the pure acceptance of and "end"?
As I contemplate the distinct difference in one word and it's two tenses: Miss and Missed,I realize that the two words are completely different. Missed seems to have regret in it's meaning. "I missed my chance...", and I "miss the chocolate Macaroons from Hunt's Women's bakery from my childhood that were baked fresh and a great treat for me as a young lad of six" has regret, but without the sadness.
Comparing life's, is about as futile as comparing cars, cuts of beef, houses, and even vacations. Not just futile, but also without merit or worth. Oprah is the same age as I am. Oprah has more money than God, has a dream job, and probably has a noble and Honorable life. But I am content and am finding a serenity that I honestly doubt she has. I suppose this has taken me 60 years to reach this conclusion and accept "it is what it is". That statement alone has given me peace, or at least started me on this serene journey.
A native Cuban plies his trade in front of me as I write this. He is offering fresh coconuts and pineapples for 5 peso's. He carries the weight of his tools and fruits (A bottle or two of Rum as well) back and forth in the 30 degree sun. With the skill of an artist he carves open the fruits for his paying vacationers. I marvel at his artistry. I admire him and offer a smile as I mentally compare his life to mine, and wonder if does the same. Or perhaps he has the serenity that comes with acceptance. I ask this question to myself as I compare the complexities of my life to his life. It is in writing this that I reach my conclusion that we both may indeed accept our life circumstances with serenity.
It is what it is.