Life is a stadium

Sometimes an idea storms into your brain and expands, adding its own details and forming a picture that's precise, right down to the background music. Sometimes that process takes only seconds. It happened to me just yesterday, while I was chatting on the phone with my cousin. The topic was this world, and where we fit into it as we age; it's a discussion that we've had many times before.

This time I successfully summed it up in a single sentence: "Life is like a stadium: you begin as a player on the field, then work your up the bleachers as you age until, eventually, you fall off the top row and land on your head in the parking lot."

If I try really hard I can still remember the days when I sat right on the sidelines. I even recall a few times when I was called on to take to the field. Slowly, steadily, I moved from the front row to the nosebleed seats, where even the beer sellers don't venture. At this point, I can still see what's going on way down there, but not easily and not particularly accurately. I watch the players racing round and round, I hear the hollers of the fans below, but I can't really grasp the point of the game. My mind decides to pay less attention to the fray on the field and more to the shape of clouds overhead because clouds change and the game stays pretty much the same.

I'm not at the top row yet and I can't look down to the parking lot where I'll someday be headed, but with each move upward I feel a little less connected to all the stuff the younger ones in the better seats find incredibly important: the latest TV shows, sports of every stripe, political comedy, Facebook. From my position high up I discover that I can tune out the cheers, lean back, and watch the clouds go by. As long as I don't lean back too far...