green leaves bw

At one point or another in our lives, we pause to reflect upon the past. A past we might remember fondly as we bask in the seeming simplicity of a time long gone. A time as we once were - young and naïve. Or a past we might lament for the simple fact we can no longer return to make right that which we believe we've done wrong. A past - with all its adversities, disappointments, and challenges - which has defined who we've become. An individual unlike any other. Different. Unique. Odd to some. 

A trigger might spark the initial contemplation which might turn into a cascade of introspectiveness. A song, a word, a thought. A trigger such as the newt which dropped from the ceiling onto my head today as I was leaving the house. The newt I saw earlier in the week scurrying through my front door. The one I tried, to no avail, to locate and usher out the door. Until later in the evening when it met its untimely, unfortunate, and unintentional demise.

The word which came to mind as a result of the newt was "premonition" as I had a strange feeling the newt would return, albeit not in such a frightening manner. This sequence of thoughts and words led me to a morning in high school where I had the premonition something bad would happen. It did. In gymnastics class when my hand slipped and I missed the balance beam causing me to come crashing to the floor onto my outstretched arm. As I was lying on the ground, I burst into a loud laughter and started to veer toward a vision of whiteness. "Don't let her drift away", I heard the paramedics saying as they arrived.

The other trigger was the word "lament" and the melody that accompanied it. As the melody played out in my mind, I started to recall a song of the same name I had long forgotten. Entering "lament song 80s" in the search engine, I noticed videos came up on YouTube naming Ultravox as the band. Then I started to remember the song and a host of others from a time long ago when youth was on my side. A time when I would get lost in the words in my mind needing to be scribbled down somewhere on some notebook paper in the form of poems.

Perhaps it's the result of the passing years and reflecting upon a time long ago. "If only..." we reason. But there is no reason. Nothing but the consequences of choosing to go down one path over another. The fate which transpires as a result of the chances we take. Of choices made in a split second that would forever change the course of history. Ours and the history of others. For a change in one person affects the lives of those around you.