About The Hare
The older I get, the more the past becomes fragmented. It’s bits of frayed pieces, rather than a full tapestry. Such is life, and the price for being blessed with time on this Earth.
So it’s not altogether a bad thing. All that time. What if you could remember every moment of your life? Would you want to?
That’s my answer, anyhow.
The last few days, for instance. I’ve been remiss in my duties as a writer and in the general goings on of life, hampered by a completely uncooperative back.
Nothing I hate more than not getting things done, but sometimes you have to be patient and let things run their course.
One of my least favorite tasks—letting things play out, not forcing the issue, admitting to the lack of control inherent in the system of living.
It makes me nuts. I still remember, though it’s a fragment, watching the Tortoise and the Hare in the auditorium of my elementary school. First grade, if I’m not mistaken. It was funny and completely captivating, but it’s always stuck with me. Not just the story. The actual first time I saw it.
Six or seven years old, I remember thinking that despite the outcome, I wanted to be the hare. He would chill, eat some carrots, hang out—pretty much do everything he wanted. Speed meant time. I was all about that guy.
I knew it then and I know it now. Slow and steady and all that. But I’ve always been susceptible to the trappings of Haredom, and yes, that’s a word I just made up.
The fact is, the damn turtle wins. Of course I haven’t seen the thing in twenty-five years so maybe all this running around has left my brain Swiss cheese.
One thing does make sense. The steady approach is all about the next step, and from an existential perspective, the next step is all there is. There’s no finish line without the next step. There’s no anything.
Damn tortoise. I thought I was gonna win this one, but I’m always getting ahead of myself.
Sorry for the days off. See you after.