Round-round, get around, I get around -- just differently, is all

When we first moved to this house in the fall of 1998 my old cat, Griffin, used to vault himself up to the top of the five-foot wooden fence that separates our place from the nicely wooded vacant lot next door. He would then let himself down the other side and disappear into the woods for hours. We never asked him what he did over there, since we saw it as being ‘his’ business. He was about nine or 10 years old at the time.

Over the years his scaling of the fence diminished, and then one day (I’m not sure exactly when) it stopped completely. He was too old, I guess, since he’s now about 18. I’ve asked him if he misses it, but get no response. He doesn’t seem to pine for the other side of the fence, but seems perfectly content with this side. He doesn’t actually go outside very much at all now. Maybe for about 10 minutes at the time. He generally seems to sleep for about 22 hours a day, but is otherwise perfectly healthy, as far as we know.

In other words, he recognized his limitations at a certain point and somehow decided to not do his ‘old stuff’ any longer. I think that’s a healthy attitude.

I find similar things happening within myself. But, maybe my attitude isn’t quite as healthy as Griff’s. Some of the old stuff I actually miss. That’s because I have a memory – not a prominent feature within cats, I suspect.

I notice some changes within myself and I conclude that life is a matter undergoing changes that sometimes we’re not aware of. We simply ‘stop’ doing certain things, unwittingly. We don’t get up in the morning and say to ourselves, “I think I’ll stop doing (this particular thing) today. I’ve done it enough and it doesn’t work for me any more.”

So, I look to my changes and with some of them I wonder why they have happened. Changes as follows:

1. I no longer run. Look at little children. They run all the time. I’m not talking about recreational ‘running’, by the way (though a good walk is actually a better CV workout). I can’t remember the last time I ran just for the sheer exuberance of it; just because it was something I needed to do. If a bear was chasing me, I’d run. Otherwise a good brisk walk works.
2. I no longer roll down grassy hills. Children always roll down grassy hills. The same applies to turning somersaults, walking on my hands, or walking on stilts. Though, I think if I actually had stilts I might try once again.
3. I no longer try to see how long I can hold my breath. Just being able to breathe is good enough for me.
4. I no longer play air guitar. Hey, I was once better than Eddie Van Halen and Eric Clapton combined – in my fantasies.
5. I no longer do dance steps or soft-shoe through the house. I don’t know why, but I just don’t.
6. An intimate encounter is a sweet and blessed thing, and just that. I don’t think I want any further marathons.
7. I no longer fret if I don’t have anything to do on a Saturday night. I actually fret if I have ‘something’ to do on a Saturday night, especially if it’s something I don’t want to do. Life’s short, and I am very stingy with my time.
8. I no longer cartoon. I’ve mentioned before how I spent much of my lifetime drawing cartoons, sometimes even professionally, and certainly always as a recreation. I have drawers full of them. Some of them aren’t bad, either. Then, one day, about 15 years ago, I stopped. I have no idea why. Oh, I’ll still doodle if I’m in a boring meeting but otherwise, nothing in the manner of drawing. I paint, but I ‘serious’ paint, not cartoony paint. I have no answer as to why.


I could probably go on and on with this, but I’d be more interested in the changes in your lives and the things you once did and then, often unquestioningly, stopped. I guess it’s all about transitions.




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