Listening to a favorite song this morning and chatting with my son on the way to his school, I had an epiphany, of sorts.
Rob Solomon sang in his beautiful "Say Goodbye":
When we were young, we thought we'd live forever.
Nobody could tell us what to do.
We lived our lives for the moment.
We had it all when we were young.
Say good-bye to the days of our youth.
Say good-bye to innocence and truth.
Say goodbye to everything we thought that we knew.
Say goodbye, my brother, say goodbye.
My son,
Carson, age 8, announced as the song played he'll be 63 when he gets to see Halley's Comet, on the world events agenda in 2061. He told me he and I could watch it together.
In a moment an eight-year-old boy's words and those of a middle-aged songwriter; two sets of words of very different flavor, melded to share the closest thing to truth I might ever hope to find.
Just yesterday I had a discussion with Rob Solomon, singer, songwriter and musician, about people who search for meaning in songs, often illogically. I glibly stated I felt lyrics of songs rarely hold deep meaning or power to solve life's mysteries. "They just rhyme," was my dismissive summation.
I should not be so glib. Perhaps songwriters don't always string words together as the result of deep insight or gut-felt emotion. Yet, meaning unique to listeners can sometimes be found in the lyrics of songs, intended by writers or not.
To a child, mortality can be a hazy concept. Children do live in the moment, I think, giving little consideration to how many moments might be left, which lends freeness of spirit and imagination we often associate with childhood. The truth of childhood is endless wonder.
As we age, life takes on a texture of contrast. Simplicity of existence falls away, it seems, and is replaced with the complicated; sometimes the harsh. Call it getting real. Whether deliriously happy or chronically sad, pessimistic or optimistic, trustful or cynical, I think most would agree when we reflect on our childhoods we seemed naive. The truth of adulthood seems to be complexity.
Or, am I misunderstanding?
Should I know better than to dream of standing with my son underneath a night sky in the year 2061 waiting for a comet to pass? My seasoned psyche says I am foolish to imagine such a thing or to take pleasure in the fantasy.
Should I tell my son his fantasy, that his 107-year-old mother will share the excitement of Halley's Comet with him, is foolish, too? If his dream isn't foolish, is mine? Could it be my young son is the one living truth and that truth is all about our dreams? Is what we adults insert in the place of lost innocence and youth a lie?
I don't have the answers to my own questions. But, this morning I've decided to get real less and believe more. I want to recapture childhood wonder and share my son's with him. I eagerly anticipate that comet.
Inspiration. In the words of a song or in the words of a child, I'll take it as it comes.