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Note from Ro: If this muse looks familiar to you, it's because I have shared it a couple of times. Every time I come across it in my files, I am reminded that my life is better than I think it is. I hope you enjoy reading it.
Rozanne Paxman
Life Is Better Than We Think It Is
Embers flitted into the dark sky, trails of light disappearing as quickly as a lizard escapes a child's hand. Holding a cold blueberry muffin in his hand, Roger yawned and pulled his fleece closer to him. Two more days and two more nights were all he had left before he had to return.
He had packed his gear on Friday and headed for the canyon alone. When he reached the cove, he pulled the truck behind Mason's rock and popped his tent next to the old fire ring that was built by Work Projects Administration (WPA) workers in the 1930s. The ancient picnic table was from the same era as the water pipe, built by men employed by the federal government as part of Roosevelt's New Deal, when no other work was available. As he had countless times before, Roger wondered about those men and what had happened to them. "How did everything reverse so quickly?" Roger thought. "One day they were here in the canyon, and the next they were gone. Where did they all go?"
Shaking his head, Roger picked up his fishing pole and headed to the stream, intending to catch a rainbow trout for supper. But instead, the fast-moving creek ate his bait and he found himself staring at the water.
"If only I hadn't taken that job in the other department," Roger said to himself. "I could have retired in six years."
"If only I hadn't moved back to this valley," Roger continued, "If I had stayed put, my home would have been paid off four years from now."
"If only I had enjoyed what I had once," Roger sadly thought, "I might still have it all."
A glint of the setting sun hit him in the eye, reminding Roger that he needed to build a fire and eat. Once it became dark in the canyon, a man couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Quickly traveling the short distance back to his camp, he prepared for the night ahead. Soon Roger felt the heat of the roaring fire on his face as he chewed the muffins Judy had packed for him.
Just two more days and two more nights... that's all the time he had before he had to go back.
The next morning, Roger sighed as he felt an ache in his back. "I was sleeping on a rock," he thought. "I'm getting too old for this. I remember when I was a young man and nothing bothered me. I didn't appreciate how strong I was. It is too bad that I didn't enjoy my youth when I had it."
After breakfast, Roger decided to hike up to the top of the ridge and sit for a while. As he climbed, he realized that it was taking him far longer to climb the mountain than it had when he was a young man. "It used to be so simple for me to hike up the mountain," he recalled. "I was known as the fastest hiker in the county. If only I had realized what a strong hiker I was, I might have climbed great peaks. Perhaps I would have climbed the tallest mountains in the world."
As Roger sat on the mountain peak and surveyed the valley, he realized that he couldn't see as far as he had years before. "My eyes aren't as good as they used to be," Roger lamented. "I can't see the far side of the valley now. If I had realized how good my sight was when I was younger, I might have chosen to be a great explorer."
That night as Roger sat by the fire, he thought, "Only one more night and one more day before I have to go back... that's all that I have left... just one more night and one more day and it will be over."
The next day around noon, as Roger walked along a dirt road, he suddenly heard a sound coming from the bushes to his left. "I wonder what that could be," he considered. "I thought I was alone."
Curiosity overcame good sense, and Roger decided to find out what was making the noise. As soon as he stepped towards the source of the sound, he heard it turn and begin running away. Roger chased the sound, determined to see what was causing such a racket.
"Perhaps it's a buck," Roger excitedly thought. "If so, I'll see his horns peeking out of the brush soon."
The chase continued, and Roger, forgetting that he was tired, ran on. "Perhaps it's just a rabbit," Roger mused. "If so, I'll be upset that I chased a silly rabbit so long."
After a period of time, Roger noticed that they were coming to a stone wall. "I'll soon see it," Roger smiled to himself. "It won't be able to get away from me once it hits that wall."
An angry howl came from the brush ahead as the source of the excitement hit the wall. "It sounds upset," Roger thought. "Perhaps I better leave it alone."
But unable to resist seeing what he had been chasing through the brush, Roger stuck his head through the shrubbery, and there, before his amazed eyes, stood his younger self.
"What are you doing here?" Roger shouted at himself.
His younger self blinked his eyes and retorted, "Who on earth are you, and why have you been chasing me?"
"Why, I am you," the older Roger replied. "That's who I am."
The younger Roger clenched his fist and replied, "That's ridiculous. I'm me. You are you, and you are an old man. So tell me, old man... who are you?"
"My name is Roger."
"Your name can't be Roger. My name is Roger."
Roger sighed and said, "I just told you: You are me. I am you."
"Roger – if that's really who you are and I'm not saying I believe you – why have you been chasing me?"
"I'm not exactly sure. Maybe we ought to figure that out."
Both Rogers warily looked at each other, and after a bit, declared a truce and sat on a nearby log.
Old Roger looked at his younger self and thought, "Oh my, I was a handsome devil when I was a young man, wasn't I?"
Young Roger, seeing the strange look on his companion's face said, "What's wrong with you now?"
"Nothing," said Old Roger. "I was just admiring myself. I'm afraid that I didn't appreciate how virile I was years ago. I kept wishing for things to improve."
Young Roger shook his head and replied, "You're crazy, old man. There's nothing virile about me. I'm just a regular guy."
When he heard these words, Old Roger reached out with both his arms and shook his younger self. "You must never say such a thing again. You are strong, and smart, and have good eyesight. You have everything to look forward to. If you appreciate what you have, you'll have more than you'll ever dream. Every mistake I made in my life was made when I didn't appreciate what I had. Every mistake I made in my life was made because I didn't appreciate the abilities I had and I didn't use them well. Now I'm living a miserable life, and it's my own fault."
Young Roger peered carefully at the old man and said, "Say... you do look sort of familiar... like my grandfather or something. Do I know you?"
"I am trying to tell you, young man!" Old Roger shouted. "I am you. You are me. If you will just listen to me, your entire life will be changed."
The younger man shook his head and said, "Are you dead? Are you a ghost?"
At those words, Old Roger startled. "Of course I'm not dead. I'm not even half dead. I'm just a middle-aged man. I have lots of years ahead of me. Why do you think I'm dead?"
Young Roger shrugged his shoulders and replied, "You talk like you're dead. You make it sound like your life is over."
"Of course it's not over."
"If your life isn't over, why don't you take your own advice? If I'm you and you are me, chances are that you are smart and strong and have lots going for you. Why don't you appreciate what you have and use what you've been given? Maybe you'll end up with more than you could ever dream if you do."
Old Roger stared into the young man's eyes. "How did I get so smart?" he wondered to himself. "And how did I get so stupid all at the same time? How did I get so smart and so stupid all at the same time?"
Old Roger found himself getting extremely tired. He sat down on the ground to rest. "I'm too old for all of this excitement. It's hard to discover how smart and stupid one is in just one afternoon."
But suddenly the sound of a falling log jolted Roger awake. Embers flitted into the dark sky, trails of light disappearing as quickly as a lizard escapes a child's hand. Holding a cold blueberry muffin in his hand, Roger yawned and pulled his fleece closer to him. Tomorrow, when the eastern light crept into the canyon, he would pack his gear and return home. Tomorrow, when the eastern light crept into the canyon, he would go home, kiss his wife, and enjoy what he had. Tomorrow, when the eastern light crept into the canyon, he would live.
Muse: To be absorbed in one's thoughts; engage in meditation. Not intended to solve the world's problems, another person's problems, or to cover topics completely. One does not have to agree with musings to enjoy them, just as one does not have to be the same as someone else to appreciate who they are.
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