At some point you surrender

At some point you surrender

I'm going to be a happy idiot
And struggle for the legal tender
Where the ads take aim and lay their claim
To the heart and the soul of the spender
And believe in whatever may lie
In those things that money can buy
Though true love could have been a contender
Are you there?
Say a prayer for the Pretender
Who started out so young and strong
Only to surrender

Jackson Browne, "The Pretender"

I remember the various younger versions of myself. I remember the silly boy who many loved and others pitied. I remember the young man suffering with depression when there were no words to describe the pain and no one who understood or gave notice.

I remember the sometimes smart college student who achieved success while learning very little. And a graduate who began an adult life without sufficient understanding of either the game or the rules.

I remember the desperately lonely, hormone-driven 20 something who was torn between purity and satisfaction - and the unfortunate outcome of little of either.

I remember the crusading Christian who truly believed in the Kingdom of God that did not exist and likely never would. I remember bible studies and prayer groups of other similar misfits - who foolishly thought we would change the world when we couldn't even change ourselves.

And I remember the newlywed who learned much too soon that he would become a father - and the sheer terror of that responsibility.

And, I remember the quarter century of parenthood and marriage, and the innumerable days of drudgery and unexpected joys. The wonder of human beginnings and human failings.

And I sadly recall the realization that much of it had been untrue - and wondering if any of it had been.

And now, approaching 60 years old, still in some ways as idealistic and foolish as 40 years ago, I survey the damage and exhaustion that my ways have wrought.

I have learned much and even more yet to learn. As I sit at the desk of the Quality Inn in Obion County, Tennessee - alone and slightly hungover - I write these words and survey these thoughts and sadly admit to myself the degree of utter exhaustion my life has produced.

And, in the midst of the remembering so much good, I cannot deny the constant onslaught of sadness and hard truths.

And, at the risk of sounding defeatist, I acknowledge that this has always been the fate of the tender and the thoughtful. We see so much good and so much sadness inseparably intertwined.

So, on this cold Sunday morning, I raise my white flag and surrender. I am too tired to prevent the inevitable.

Pour yourself a glass of port or bourbon, and let's together drink to all that might have been and was not - and to all the wonder that came that we never expected. 

36° Sunny
Union City, TN, United States

dg 

12/20/15

Sent from my iPad