Reflections While Walking

Last evening I went for a brisk walk after having met with a friend for dinner.  My walk took me through my neighborhood, down a busy road heading to downtown.  I turned toward the river well before hitting Main Street which took me to a canopied dirt road with homes only on one side and the forest and river on the other.  It was dusk and the locusts were singing loudly.  As I got into a rhythm, my mind wandered from the here and now and visited the distant past.  When I was a little girl I'd spend many weedend evenings at my grandmother's home in the foothills of the Ozarks.  Her home was located on the top of a hill overlooking a small town.  Well, more a village really.  Anyway, it was a peaceful time in a peaceful place.  I'd lie in bed next to an open window peering into the darkness while listening to a symphony of nature's making.  Locust song, whip-o-wills, bobwhites, an occasional distant dog barking.  Nature even provided a light show, hundred of fireflies blinking in the black of night.  It was the late fifties and my little piece of the world seemed safe and logical.

As my walk neared its end, the here and now intruded on my memories.  I thought about what I understood about myself and the world back then and what I understand about both now.  The truth is, I didn't really understand anything back then.  I simply accepted what was offered me.  Expectations for me, whether specified by word or deed, were clear and prescribed.  They permeated my existence -- in the literature I read, the school texts I studied, the TV shows I watched, the family life I enjoyed.  My future, though not yet clear, had limits.  I could be a nurse, secretary, or teacher.  I most assuredly would be a mother. 

This evening on this walk, I am still bombarded by sounds; most, however, are not natural but rather man-made.  There are fireflies but few in number.  The world I inhabit at sixty-one is less safe and illogical.  The life I have lived thus far exceeded the expectations prescribed back when I was a child of the fifties.  As I grew through the sixties and seventies, both our nation and I dealt with unrest and growing pains, some of which had always been festering below the surface.  Things are more complex, less predictable, more diverse, and depending on your point of view, more interesting or not.  Certainly there are more open conflicts of belief, lifestyle, and expectations. 

I find myself wondering about how my life would have been had I not challenged the limits prescribed for me or more interestingly, had I challenged them more.  I regret the loss of the certainty and the feeling of safety that comes from innocence and naivete, but I cherish the confidence that comes of pushing the limits to some extent and with some success.  I'd like to think I've still time to challenge expectations even more.