Fast forward five years from now, and who knows what the years in between will bring. Children? A new car? A new job? A new home? New friends? New countries visited? And what becomes of the inner voice? I think that we all struggle with this march against time, letting our dreams wander yet getting pulled back into the realities of the path we have really followed. I fear without constant refresh of these lingering dreams, they slowly fade away into the aether, never to return again.
A sad thought, but then again not so sad when one considers the possibilities that are still (and always) there in the everyday. When I come back in mind to my place in life today, I am absolutely charmed and happy to find myself in this moment. In other words, no regrets. But I refer to some words from Kurt Vonnegut's last interview before his passing (in US Airways Magazine, of all places - read the interview here) that the best works of the most famed writers are completed by the age of 45. That leaves me another 15 years if I just happen to have the Next Great American Novel lurking within. Perhaps now is as good time as any to rediscover the internal writer that is buried under career and homeowner responsibilities, the revival of a hidden art.