Golden Slumber

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to wake up one day at 42, and realize that I have slept walked through most of my adult life. It seems like just yesterday I was a twenty something with the whole wide world before me. Today, I am middle aged, perpetually tired and just plain worn out. I was supposed to accomplish great things, and now the best I can do is occasionally cleaning the house well or making a beloved meal. I was going to see more of the world, write a heartbreakingly beautiful novel, and be important.
It must be autumn that causes nostalgia. I miss leaf peeping, winding along Vermont and New Hampshire back roads. I wish to wake up in a bed and breakfast. I dream of cycling across covered bridges amidst brilliant hues. I dream of strolling through the woods and hiking or kayaking on canals. I dream of bonfires and roasting marshmallows. My mind drifts back to flag football and running in early morning cold, where your breath hung like frost. Apple and pumpkin picking call out to me in the dark, reminding me of my own childhood trips to Van Riper Farm. I can taste warm apple cider and butter rum, with the scent of pies wafting through that sensual memory.
Rip Van Winkle for the modern world, I apparently must be. The last time I really checked in with myself, I was much younger, filled with optimism and promise. Somewhere in between, I had jobs, fell in love, got married and moved across the country. I became a mother and put away childish things. Like any long hibernating dreams, they eventually awaken, and want to resume where they left off. As they emerge from the golden slumber, they are hungry.
Instead of being fed food, they want knowledge and experience. They want to feel alive by going places, doing things, reading books and most important, observing. They like going to bookstores and independent cinema. They desire long romantic evenings, with wining and dining. They want to dance, to sing, to be alive. It’s not the end result that matters, it truly is the journey. The more they are out in the world, the more alive they are. Vibrant, resonating with the harmony of the universe, just being.
I feel as if I lost two decades of my life, by not being aware. I don’t remember gaining this much weight, or wrinkles or gray hair for that matter. When did I get middle aged? How could I let this happen to myself-where I have lost all sense of self to the point its in oblivion? I swore I would not drink the kool-aid of maturity, yet here I am. My idols, too, are gray haired and aging, slowly slowing down as one tends to do as you get old. The world is a much dimmer, dark and scary place now. Its not the world I remembered from when I closed my eyes. Everything is tinged with sadness, and there is a just a pall over it all. One does not weep or mourn or gnash teeth, it’s just maudlin. There sky is gray and cloudy, but does not rain. The loneliness is palpable. It drifts over you like a fog rolling in across the Cape.
I want to remember as it was, not as it is or will be. Golden slumbers, close my eyes.