Time in My Pocket ..........stolið af einhverri síðu

 Skrifað af: Michael R. Boyter

It's been said that nothing disappears faster than money!

There have been times that I have had a fairly good amount of money in my pocket. This has usually been when I started out on a trip of some kind; a vacation for example.

Call it a false sense of security or maybe even laziness, but I usually never bother with keeping too close of a watch over how much money I have actually spent while on this trip. Just pull another twenty out of the ole pocket and move along.

"I've plenty of money", I think to myself.

A hotel room paid for here and another dinner there. Another twenty-dollar bill goes toward a souvenir and then don't forget about breakfast the next morning right before I fill up my car with fuel and hit the road again.

I reach a point in my trip that I begin to notice that the wad of twenty-dollar bills is unexpectedly smaller. Suddenly with great concern I hesitantly stop and count the money that is in my pocket. I'm afraid to actually know the answer.

I lament to myself that I should have been keeping better track. At the same time, I tell myself that, next time, I'll keep better track.

When I started out on the trip, I felt that I had plenty of money.

My mind races back, franticly. A feeling of defeated comes over me, as I try to retrace where all the money went! What follows is a sunken feeling, often accompanied by a big bought of depression. How could I let so much of it get away from me? I sit and wonder where it all has gone.

Consider now the years in your lifetime and compare them to the money in the above story. Can you see any comparisons?

It an aweful feeling when you cannot account completely for all the years you've lived. Where have all the years gone?

I just finished reading "The Notebook", written by my favorite author Nicholas Sparks. There is a passage near the end of that book that really made an impression on me and reinforced thoughts that I've always had about keeping journals and life stories.

The elderly central figure in the story is reflecting back over his life:

"I wonder what my daddy would think of my life.I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM FOR FIFTY YEARS and he is now but a shadow in my thoughts. I cannot picture him clearly anymore; his face is darkened as if a light shines from behind him. I am not sure if this is due to a failing memory or simply the passage of time. I have only one picture of him and this too has faded. In another ten years it will be gone and so will I, and his memory will be erased like a message in the sand. IF NOT FOR MY DIARIES, I WOULD SWEAR I HAD LIVED ONLY HALF AS LONG AS I HAVE. Long periods of my life seem to have vanished. And even now, I read the passages and wonder who I was when I wrote them, for I cannot remember the events of my life. THERE ARE TIMES I SIT AND WONDER WHERE IT ALL HAS GONE! "