When I was a boy my maternal grandmother used to say to me while reflecting on her life, “It seems like a dream”.
At the time it was hard for a young mind to grasp because each day was packed with things to do, places to go, and it seemed like an infinity of such days lay ahead.
And there it is. When you are young the metaphor that seems to best describe one’s life is a straight line, or a “long and winding road” that lay head. After all, most of your life lay ahead…far into a future, so any end of it in the linear sense seems so distant and theoretical as to make the contemplation of it seem a waste.
But “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. And one day you wake up and you’re 50, then 60. Then…
Suddenly you realize that most of your life is behind you, so life doesn’t seem like a line or road ahead anymore. The metaphor switches.
Life, looking back on it, now seems like…a dream. How fast it flew, that dream that was my life. So I understand my grandmother’s sigh now, finally.