The Blank Page

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I made my first ever trip to Cape Cod on Tuesday.

It’s pretty nice up there, and despite the fact that I was beat (plane, long drive from Boston and a couple of jobs mixed in), I enjoyed the drive.

The sun was shining, classic rock on the radio, and I looked around at the nice homes.

I thought about the possibilities of having ever lived in the area. I did the same thing when I was taking in the beauty of Sedona, Arizona and I remembered asking a young girl who was born and raised there how it felt to live in such a place.

“I can’t wait to get out of this shithole town,” she said.

I laughed.

As I drove, I grew a little sad.

It’s not possible for me to move to a new area, or search for a new home, or even think about going to the boys baseball games, or change their diapers (I did it twice!)

Because all those things are in the rear view mirror.

The blank pages where the story of my life would be written are full of words!

I miss the blank pages of unlimited possibilities.

Now there are limits.

Not that I regret anything, but I felt a pang of sadness.

I know that there is more to come...

...grandkids and hopefully a restful retirement, but there comes a moment when you realize that there’s less days left in front of the horse than what’s in back of the cart...

...and the blank pages are limited.

I won’t play centerfield for the Yankees. 

I’m now 10 years older than their manager.

I won’t move here or there because I want to check out a new spot.

I did that a lot in my 20’s.

I probably won’t golf a 79 again like I did when I was 18...

...but I’ll try.

I have 2 books just about ready in the can...

...the idea for the next one hasn’t yet arrived.

But it will.

Not all of the pages are blank...

...but there are still a few.

I was in 5 states on Tuesday.

That would’ve really thrilled me 20 years ago.

My back hurt!

That was the end result!


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