My car has an odometer you can reset. Actually it has two, Trip A and Trip B. How you can have two trips at the same time in the same car I’m not quite sure.
Trip A reminds me of my life. Not the past, but the whole span including the inevitable end. This is it.
There is no Trip B in life.
Whatever I’ve done is done, and can’t be changed, taken back or undone.
Whatever I am to do I have this one life, this one trip, my Trip A.
When I was young I thought it was important to be someone, be something. Make your mark.
Funny how many songs written by twenty-somethings address life-view topics, including aging.
“Will you still need me when I’m 64?” written by twenty-somethings McCartney & Lennon.
You won’t find lyrics or poetry written by mature and senior wordsmiths addressing the angst of “will you be mine forever” or “my heart is broken and will never heal”.
Old poets write of the long view. The view from near the finish line.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.