The Count Down

The morning was a dark and cloudy one.  It was that hazy, burned orange glow throughout the streets, trapped beneath clouds quickly rushing through the sky.  That kind of orange that made you wonder if somewhere close something was burning to the ground but the heat hadn’t reached you yet.  The limbs of the barren trees were swaying to the sounds of whatever songs were stuck in your head.  Through the windows it was beautiful, like a silent ballet that no one was watching; the dancers moving this way and that to a beat only in their heads, but beyond the windows was a chill hovering in the air, like a whisper of what was to come, a secret that only the sky knew.  

It was one of those self reflection days.  One of those days that forced you to analyze every move you’ve ever made in your life like a chess game.  One of those “I wanted to be so much more by now” days.  

As I watched the clouds furiously whip through the sky my childhood dreams whipped through my mind.  I wanted to be a superhero, a rockstar, a writer.  I wanted to be rich and famous and marvelous.  Then again, didn’t we all?  

I’ve made so many mistakes in my life.  I’ve spent when I should have saved.  I placed the bet when I should have folded.  I stepped back when I should have jumped forward.  This day was making me realize every left turn I took when I should have gone right.  At 22 I should have done more, seen more, been more.  

Age is funny that way.  The older you get the more things you wish you would have done. Or maybe you wish you wouldn’t have done.  With every year you plan what you’re going to do differently.  It’s a fleeting time frame that reminds us that one day we won’t matter because we’ll be dead.  The older we get the more we learn, but in the end does it really matter?  If all that’s left is to die, then what’s the point of living?  Is age just a way to remind us that we’re immortal?  It used to be that many cultures didn’t even measure life in years.  They never put on a number on your time here on earth.  Most of those cultures are dead and gone, so maybe they were wrong.  Maybe age does make a difference.  Maybe the human race does need to place a value on the life they’ve accomplished while still here.  Maybe we as people need to count our days to make them mean something more to us.

Age is just a numerical value of how long we’ve been alive.  It’s meaningless.  We’re all walking the same hallway to the eternal afterlife no matter what your thoughts on death are, it’s the only common denominator to all things in life.  We are all going to die.  Age is like a sick time clock, ticking away the minutes until we are no more.  Some may think that age is a cultivation of wisdom or just simply getting older.  To me, age is just a number placed on us by a society wishing to have control.  If we’re forced to count our days then we’ll always be busy counting while the world goes on around us.  Another thing to take our attention away from the fact that we will die and none of this will matter.  If we think that we’re counting towards something, we’ll forget that that something is the end, and then counting won’t matter anymore.

Life shouldn’t be measured by age.  It shouldn’t be measured at all.  If we stopped counting then we could all focus on the bigger picture and that bigger picture is the fact that we are here.  For whatever reason, we are here on Earth to do something.  Maybe we’re here just to die or maybe it’s just to live.  Either way age is just a number.  It’s what you do while you’re still breathing that matters.  So whether you’re cultivating wisdom or just simply getting older, make sure that what you’re doing is worth it because someday you will die and then your age won’t matter anymore.  

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About Blue

I'm the classiest motherfucker you'll ever meet. View all posts by Blue

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