Well gang, another year is shot to hell. And it didn’t take long to slide away.
It seems like the years go by faster now than they did when I was younger. When I was 5 or 6, I really didn’t have an idea of time. I was aware of my age and my growth in terms of size and stature, but somehow time and it’s passage weren’t real. The years crawled by. The interlude between Christmases was an eternity.
I’m reminded of the experimental session during which English novelist Aldous Huxley (“Brave New World”) dropped a hit of mescaline. The researchers asked him how he felt. He said, “Like a child.” Then they asked him how he felt about time. He laughed and said, “There seems to be plenty of it!”
It’s different with people in their 60s and 90s. They tell me the years simply fly by in a blink. Furthermore, they’re keenly aware that they’re running out of time.
In short, time would appear to be relative, depending on your age. On a concrete, emotional level, this is what Einstein scribbled out in his equations. Of course, he was speaking in abstract, theoretical spheres of galaxies, black holes and the speed of light, but in a personal, existential sense, this is precisely what he meant.
So, here we are again. Bring on the revelry, streamers and noise makers, and pop the champaign corks.
As is my custom in end-of-the-year columns, I’ll extend my annual apologies to anyone I might have insulted. On occasion, I might stretch a historical fact or two for the sake of humor, but It certainly isn’t my intent to hurt people.
I want to thank everyone who pointed out inaccuracies in my columns. A number of you enlightened me about a local, African-American family (the Kirk family) whose teenage daughter was elected homecoming queen and student body president, class of 1959, and her brother, class of 1961, who was a homecoming prince and a major jock.
Undoubtedly, many of you have exciting plans for New Year’s Eve. Whatever they might be, I hope you have a special someone to share a kiss with when the shade opens on 2015.
Happy New Year.
