A Time of Amazement

I was cleaning out a closet this weekend and discovered some of my old journals. This discovery forced all cleaning to come to a halt. I sat on the floor next to my half-finished project and read with much interest about what life was like the year I was 25.

Being 25 was one of my most favorite times of life. I had my first job that felt important, working in the advertising department of a bank. I had a studio apartment in Boston, an impressive collection of power suits with shoulder pads, and a loving circle of friends. I had created a life where I supported myself, made decisions for myself, spent time by myself. I’d walk to work singing the theme song to the Mary Tyler Moore Show, thinking you are going to make it on your own.

And for the most part I did. Along the way I made mistakes, and, like everything else I was doing, those mistakes also belonged to me.  I wince at some of the choices I made back then, but I was working with my best heart, my best mind. I was working with what I knew then. In the end, all of it - the mistakes, the successes, the relationships -  were all part of my journey to myself.

As I read these journals, I began to wonder: As I have become smarter about life and about myself,  did I leave behind the sense of of wonder that led me to those discoveries in the first place?  

Written in these pages was so much excitement for all that I was doing, experiencing. I wrote for three pages on how I got asked to go to a meeting. Later, I wrote more about another meeting where I made a point. A good point. I wrote about discovering new people and what a miracle it was that I had met them.  Simple things like walking to work, taking the train, going to the laundromat were all done with such wonder, always revealing some hidden joy.

I read about my life then and I miss the way the world seemed like one incredible adventure after another.

I am now nearing 50, which means the number of years I was alive when I wrote this journal is the same number of years it's been since I was 25. God. Nearing 50 means you have been around a while, you’ve experienced so much it’s hard to be surprised any more. Or hard to let yourself be surprised. Experience can get in the way of wonder.  I am much too experienced to be excited about a meeting. To think that a friend will change my life. To sing while I am walking. That’s for the younger crowd.

But, what if you can combine the wisdom of being 50-ish with the discovery of a 25 year old? If we leave behind our wicked smart experienced selves and let our naive wonder-seeking selves show through more, what possibilities could open up? What experiences could be presented?  What new lessons learned?

When I am 75, and I’ve hired someone to clean out my closet, I want to discover the journals that I wrote when I was 50. I want to sit on the floor, pour over the pages that beautifully answer those questions. I want to say,  “Wow, 50, that was quite a year. A year of amazement.”