Spring is well underway. The signs of which are evident.
High school proms have come and gone. Though they are magical nights when young ladies are made up for the red-carpet and young men, somehow, seem to clean up decently as well— they come and go.
Baccalaureates took place on Sunday. The community has prayed, and blessed, the next generation.
We now send them forth to high school graduations — most of which are occurring locally this weekend.
Indeed, it is graduation season, and it is always a time of reflection for me.
I’ve spent the last two days shuffling through senior bios for our annual graduation edition— found neatly tucked away in this issue.
This comes on the heels of having sat through two commencements on Friday— in my day job at the university— wearing full regalia, outside, in the Central Texas sun.
The future plans and blank canvases of our young people harken a bit of nostalgia to the days in which I was in their shoes.
It seems like a lifetime ago when I was a wide-eyed, slightly reckless 20-something.
Now, with a mortgage, two car payments and the delightful chaos of four teenagers at home those years feel like a hazy, sepia-toned movie.
And sometimes at night, when the house is quiet, certain scenes flicker back with the ghosts of my youthful regrets.
If I could talk to my younger self, what would I tell him to do different?
I’d probably tell him to drink a little less and exercise a little more.
I’d tell him to not neglect dental visits and take better care of his money.
I’d tell him which friends he should reach out to more because they won’t be here long. And I’d tell him the friends he should stop wasting time with, for they were never really friends at all.
Now, watching my own kids bravely navigate new friendships and high school challenges, I wonder what adventures I missed, what perspectives I failed to gain.
Should I have taken the plunge and moved to Austin like I once planned?
Should I have been more diligent with my time in college and progressed straight to law school as so many of my professors suggested?
Should I have gone to bed earlier and studied a little harder?
Would any of this have made me a different husband? A different father? A more open-minded one, less prone to the comfortable ruts of routine— perhaps.
Then there are the smaller things, the missed opportunities.
The piano lessons I gave up on because it seemed too hard.
The thoughtful letter I never sent to a grandparent. The friendships I let drift away because life got busy.
These aren’t earth-shattering mistakes, but they whisper of a younger me who could have been a little more patient, a little more present, a little more engaged with the world and the
people in it.
It’s easy to look back with the clarity of hindsight and wish for do-overs. But the truth is, those youthful stumbles— those moments of hesitation— they’ve made me who I am today.
They’ve shaped my appreciation for the present, for the simple joy of a family dinner, for the unwavering support of my amazing wife.
Life has a way of playing out in perfect timing. Every moment leads us seamlessly to where we are today.
Had I taken the plunge and moved to Austin, I may not have had the chance first encounter with the stunning blonde who later became my wife.
Had I gone to law school, I might have become a damned lawyer and missed my calling as a professor and newspaperman.
So, while the ghosts of my 20s pay a visit this time of year, they don’t linger too long.
Because now, every day is a new chapter to write— filled with school plays and band performances, newspaper columns to write, family dinners and maybe— just maybe — sitting down at the piano once again.
The middle-aged writings of icons like Jimmy Buffet and Garrison Keillor take on more meaning now than ever.
Buffet’s seminal, “The Pirate Looks at 40” and Keillor’s novel “Wobegon Boy” have aged well and I understand them so much better now that I have aged — as well.
But it’s the words to another Buffett tune that would, one day, serve as a fitting epitaph:
“Through 86 years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he’ll smile, then he’ll say
‘Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic
But I had a good life all the way’”
Such is life— some magic, some tragic. It just behooves us to make it a good life along the way
So, let’s all embrace the moments, big and small, with a little less fear and a lot more heart. After all, the best adventures are most often the ones you’re living right now.
Austin Lewter is the owner and publisher of the Whitesboro News-Record and director of the Texas Center for Community Journalism. He can be reached at [email protected].