Of People

I like people.I’m enjoying a resurgence of reconnection. People from my past that I’ve not spoken to or seen for, in some cases, decades.Former classmates. Former colleagues. Former friends and acquaintances.So many memories have been triggered by sights. By sounds. By names on Social sites. It is a strange feeling when all of a sudden you recall someone or something or someplace that you’ve not thought about for years.It is curious how time does heal wounds or perceived slights. The rivalries of my teens now don’t matter. I see how those who’d bullied me at school have progressed and grown over the years. And I celebrate with them.I’m fascinated by how small this world is. When groups of friends overlap: “How on earth do you know him”? And then the excitement of exploring the paths of intersection.All this means that when you’re seriously let down by people, you can generally take solace in the knowledge that in 20 years it probably won’t matter.What is life about then? Perhaps something needing to explore a little more deeply...From Shakespeare - As You Like It (2/7):“All the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players:They have their exits and their entrances;And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.And then the whining school-boy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,In fair round belly with good capon lined,With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”Sigh. Seven ages. Only seven.I am constantly reminding myself that I really don’t have time to waste. Make the most of the age you are in, and those that are still ahead of you.These reconnections and recollections cause me to reflect much.“Missing someone isn’t about how long it has been you’ve seen them or the amount of time since you’ve talked. It’s about that very moment when you’re doing something and wishing they were right there with you”.By this definition, I miss. And I have been missed.It is important to me that I am able to get close enough to people to notice their absence. That I continue to stay open. To let people in, to impact me. For good and for ill.Always learning. Always seeking to not repeat the errors of the past.- S