When I was younger, there were things in my world that I aspired to change. I have always been one to wax philosophical, and I have often held to lofty dreams.
As a child and as a young woman, I dreamed of what my world would be like when I reached the age that I am at the present. And I did all that was in my power to make changes happen so my dream world could come true.
I dreamed of a world where fighting nations found other ways to settle disputes. I dreamed of a world where child abuse, domestic violence and other social ills would become obsolete. I dreamed of a world where human beings became smarter and kinder and more effective in their pursuits of happiness.
I dreamed of a world where gun violence was gauged according to it being a rare event, not according to how it rated against last year’s numbers.
I dreamed of a world where our growing body of intelligence helped us learn to work together instead of developing technologies that made it easier for us to blow each other apart.
I dreamed of a world where common sense became more common, and selfish rationalizations became rarities.
I knew that these hopes and dreams would not all come to pass in one lifetime, but I honestly thought we would be closer to them than we are by now. Instead, I look at my world and wonder, how can it be that we are farther away from these things than ever?
At age 50, I struggle to reconcile the fact that, despite my efforts, and others’ efforts from my generation, my world totally contradicts that which I had dreamed it would become.
Was I a fool to think it would be any different? Am I bitter and cynical and not seeing the forest for the trees? Am I having a “mid-life crisis”? Or is life just bigger than I thought, and beyond my limited imaginings?
I have no answers. I am not even at a place where I can posit any assumptions.