As we move through life, experiences accumulate, some we would like to experience again, some we would prefer to avoid, and some settle indifferently into the expanse between the extremes. This expanse between the extremes is most likely where the majority of our experiences get laid to rest, collecting dust like that flyrod hanging on the wall in the garage.

We eventually find ourselves reaching for, and making time for, the experiences, people, and stuff that we find meaningful, enjoyable, and a worthwhile use of our time. The dusty flyrod collects more dust, and the guitar gets a daily strumming. Maybe I’ll just sing about fishing?

We only have so much time, and as we move through life, our awareness of this limitation of time, and our approaching horizon, becomes more and more clear. With this clarity often comes contentment with that which we often reach for, and possibly a bit of disinterest, or healthy skepticism, in the search for or accumulation of more. Maybe the idea of getting a sailboat should remain pleasantly adrift in our sea of consciousness, rather than having one languish in the driveway?

As a parent, as a teacher, as someone looking back at middle-age surrounded by young people that “have all the time in the world”, I often have to remind myself that their accumulation of experiences is a necessary component in their discovery of what they may find meaningful, enjoyable, and a worthwhile use of their time. Maybe their flyrod will bring them a lifetime of joy and meaning while their guitar gathers dust? Maybe they’ll sail around the world?

As a kid, when you’ve just popped the top off a fresh can of Pringles, the shiny, crumb littered bottom of the empty can seems so far away as to not be worthy of concern. You give chips away without a second thought…a few for the dog, one or two for the birds, a small stack for that annoying kid in exchange for a chance to ride his cool bike…

You stack them higher than your mouth can accommodate, crunch…cough…laugh, sending chip fragments cascading to the shag carpet where they will be ground deeply into the fabric as you and your brother tussle over who gets to dump the can crumbs directly into their Orange Crush stained mouth.

It’s kind of a half-hearted tussle, because you know there’s another can of Pringles in the cupboard, and a shelf full at the Red Owl. As a kid, there’s very little sense of the end of anything, especially time. When I was a child, many moons ago, the siren was the only semblance of time that existed, blaring a reminder that it was time to eat or time to come home for the night. The latter being more likely to be ignored than the former.

“Didn’t you hear the siren?” I learned when I became a parent that you ask your children questions that you know the answer to mostly out of curiosity regarding the story they will attempt to make up.

Of course, there are no guarantees when it comes to our allotment of time, but, in general, there is a timeframe in which we are aware, that on average, many humans tend to expire. A time when the cupboard is bare and the Red Owl’s shelves have been depleted. No more. So it goes.

I suppose it is only natural for those of us nearer that average expiration date to lack a complete understanding of those that are statistically far enough removed from that horizon to fully comprehend or care that it exists. To bemoan and denigrate their willy-nilly “wasting time” while we are peering into the can in hopes of a few more crumbs.

As some bitter, Pringleless, old fart once said, “Youth is wasted on the young.”

In the accumulation of experiences, we are bound to waste, misuse, or misplace some time, try and fail, love and lose, perm a mullet, but this personal classroom is where we learn about ourselves and bump into things that may serve to sustain us deep into life…or not. Some of us ain’t very good students.