A Moving Walkway

Sometimes I feel as if I am moving through life on one of those moving walkways or travelators currently found in most major airports today.

I seemingly stand still, and yet my view of life changes as different people enter and leave my immediate area.

While we stand together, there is usually a common feeling of ease, rarely any discord.  Yet sometimes when they disembark, there is neither a sense of loss.

Others may not remain as long as the road continues forward, but still the sense of emptiness is overwhelming as they exit.  There is an immediate climate change from camaraderie to solitude as they disappear into the horizon.

Among the things I should attend to is my difficulty with change.  At my age, I have certainly known many fluctuations, both in family structures and proximity to me geographically.  I have been able to deal with these, most likely because there was little choice.  Even as I momentarily lost equilibrium, I managed to hold on and remain upright.

It is the mundane, insignificant things that seem to throw me off balance.

A friend, a hair dresser, who relocates to another state.  I miss her counsel; I miss her wit, and her departure leaves another hole in my pilgrimage.  I am hardly Marie Antoinette, and my hair is simplistic to care for, yet my friend's leave taking was difficult for me.  Still we were merely acquaintances.

A favorite store that closes sends me into a cycle of unease.  There are myriad other choices, all equally equipped, but I view them with suspicion.  The routine of similarity is what I prefer.

Life does not provide that.  Nor did it ever.  Something I have yet to learn.

I am exhilarated when new passengers accompany me on my train through life.  Young people especially add to the glow of the sunset, and the rhythm of the walkway.  I hear their whispers of laughter, and I feel their joy.

There have been several abrupt stops, unanticipated and not joyful; yet I have managed to keep my balance.  Then the walkway continues, slower and more painstaking, but it goes on, and so does life, with all its mysterious curves and unforeseen challenges.

The scenery changes as the walk escalates.  Some of the surroundings seem to grow as we move slowly, but ever steadily forward.  The smaller buildings on the horizon are replaced with McMansions.  I don't know whether to be impressed or feel diminished.  Nor do I know if it truly matters.

There are sudden shafts of sunlight that light up the road ahead.  Glimmers of joy when cries of a new Grandchild come over a loudspeaker; a sudden quiet stop when a familiar face joins the walk and marches in cadence with me, albeit it just for a few paces.

And then I know all is well, and there is a happy ending at the end of this trip.  There are subtle rumors that we are approaching its end. I hope I am able to get off easily before it stops.