What A Difference A Day Makes

Or maybe I should say a little bit longer than that.

I was looking at a poem I wrote for a friend recently (that I never gave her, I forgot) and I decided to redo some of it. Funny thing was, I found that the changes don’t come as easily as they once did. That made me start thinking about all the stuff I wrote a few years ago. Things way back when came to me fairly easily. I wondered if I would still like any of it. So I broke some out.

I started reading over some and I realized quickly that I could not possibly write like that now. The writing is much more emotional. It’s more intense and more free-flowing. I read it and smile because I remember being there. I remember writing it and why it was written. I don’t remember feeling like I was doing something to set the world on fire. It was all just a release.

This started me thinking about how we change so much over time and we may not even notice it. It’s almost as if I’ve become less free thinking or feeling, whichever it takes to be expressive. One would think that with age comes less inhibition. I don’t think that’s true. I think someone who was very creative and is stifled for a time has a not so good chance of getting back to where they were. I find that sad. A few years ago I could find that space where the emotions would fly and the words would come freely without much effort at all. I guess I took for granted that I always would be able to be that way.

“Youth is wasted on the young,” That’s what the old guy told George Bailey. Perhaps there is some truth to that one.