In Reverse

You're stopped at a light when a semi pulls up beside you. Ever had that mildly unsettling sensation that your comparatively dwarfish car is sliding backwards? Even worse when you're flanked on either side in the middle lane. Have to double-check the pedals---my foot's on the gas, right?

But how about when you consider the present moment? Ever feel like you're rooted to the spot---or worse, inching backwards---while the people and events around you rush forwards? When you look up from the shoestrings you stopped to re-lace, you've been left in the dust. At that point, why even try to catch up? Perpetually behind is the name of the game now.

"I was making more money at my last job---shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"They bought a house already? Dang, I can't even afford an apartment."

"Shouldn't I have found 'my people' by now?" My person?

While I can't pretend to read others' thoughts accurately, I feel confident enough to say that we've all felt behind at some point. Perpetually for some of us. The at times oppressive feeling tends to be a combination of knowing you haven't done enough to change things, picking apart the things you've tried to change unsuccessfully, and a crap-load of circumstances outside of your control.

Yes, I can hear it now: the "I'm way ahead of you" scoffs of my fellow over-thinkers. You've already thought the heck out of this. [And possibly will be mulling it over once more no earlier than 2 am tonight.]

As it is, I'm still learning to accept:

That there's nothing fundamentally wrong with "behind."

A duo I flip on once in a while, The Secret Sisters, recently released a reflective new album revolving around change. In their own poignant words:

As we age, we face obstacles that are beyond our control. Some forces are internal: insecurity, anxiety, fear. Some are external: the loss of loved ones, an unjust system and the fragility of time. Yet the mark of maturity is how you respond when you realize you’re not in control. Where do you find your resilience?

These simple lyrics from their track, "Late Bloomer" bring a lightness to what so often feels like a lead weight in our minds:

I'm a late bloomer I'm a late bloomer This is surely true It doesn't matter when you bloom It matters that you do.

At some point, you just have to drive. So what if the Jones are going 65?

Maybe you just prefer to take in the view.