There doesn’t seem to be room for me in my life anymore. When I was small, I was full of myself so you think I’d be use to it. But, my life is small now; so small that little ole me just doesn’t fit anymore.

Potential. Promise. Opportunity. Hope. Enthusiasm. Optimism. These are the things that carried me for years, lifting my big ole blundering self across chasms of impossibility and improbability. There was a time when I entered a room before I walked through the door.

I really don’t know quite how to exp lain it.

There was room for me in my life then…and my life was smaller than it is now, really. I hadn’t any history. Ok, head full of book learning, but no personal history. I fit well

when the back yard was my kingdom and going to the store was an adventure! You’d think when my imaginings were greater than my reality things would have fit a bit tight, but it wasn’t like that.

My mind wanders. Nothing new about that; I have always been a daydreamer. But for some reason it takes one or two passes re-enter. It could be because there is no one here to call out my name or rap a measuring stick across my desk. My wife could bring me back with a glance. Usually a sigh would do it if I was really far gone, but somehow no matter where I was off to I could sense “the look” she’d give me when I wasn’t paying attention. To this day I still couldn’t tell you where I’d go!

It doesn’t seem right that potential would take up less space than experience. There were so many more possible outcomes than the ones I actually ended up with. I’d hazard to guess it is a five to one ratio in space; experience to possibility. My mind would be reeling with a dozen different possible outcomes; oh I was full of myself! Thinking on my feet, trying to figure it out, scheming, wheeling, dealing, trying out the best things to do.

My life is full. I have heard that said for as long as I can remember. It takes on a whole new meaning, now that there doesn’t seem to be any room for me in my life anymore…