A Time for Thought and Reflection

At what age do we take a step back from life and ask what it is that we are doing, or what have we done, and has it all been worthwhile? Is there just one point in our life, or are there many? Do we just charge headlong into whatever is before us and see what comes and then, when it is all done and through, when we get to the other side, stop and glance back at what has happened? And, what is it that makes us stop and consider, reflect?

There is a memory in my mind of sitting in a large classroom, surrounded by other young children, listening to a teacher expound on a subject which now escapes my recollection, and pondering the future. Not that I had anything great rising up in my mind, any plans or expectations. It was more than I had written the date down in my exercise book, and wondered what I would be doing at a certain time in the future. The year was 1969, and I was looking far, far into the future, to a time when I would be almost unimaginably old, when I would be forty.

We all have our thoughts about the millennium, the change of one century to another which, in this case, was blighted by the threat of a computer malfunction caused by something as simple as the difference between recording the year with two, or with four digits. I am sure there were many other incidents which could, or did, influence others, and especially outside the bubble of those living in a reasonably advanced and affluent society, but it is the millennium bug which remains lodged in my mind. I would have to check my diary to see if anything else of note happened around the time of this calendar change, as we moved from one era to another, or whether we were all so concentrated on bugs and celebrations that nothing else mattered. This period, however, was not one which made me stop and reflect.

Looking back through my reasonably long life, there are few times when I can claim to have taken a step back. Education, through several schools across the country, and then on to university; military service around the world, in and out of war zones in Belfast, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia and Iraq; civilian life in England and then Europe; personal and professional relationships; working and political engagements and positions. They must all have called for some moments of thought, of reflection, of consideration as to the future, but nothing remains in my memory. I cannot say that I spent time weighing up possibilities, the pros and cons of an action or event, nor of looking back with regret after the event, although there must have been times, there must have been events, losses, conflicts, mistakes and misjudgements. Perhaps my memory is just wiped out to allow new experiences to take the place of the past, other opportunities, missions and adventures.

Until this week, considering what life would be like now as, fifty-six years after carefully writing that date in my exercise book, I am faced with a life of less activity, not exactly retirement, but the prospect of sudden removal if life does not change. At my age, and in my condition, I am told the idea of taking part in ultra-marathons, of traveling on spur-of-the-moment trips to other cities and countries with nothing other than good intentions and a sleeping bag, or doing anything more strenuous than building new bookshelves should be furthest from my mind. A life of relaxation and reflection lies before me, rather than one of speed, action and exploration.

This is not the way I wanted it to be. Although, to be honest, I have never stopped to consider what I want to happen, where I want to be at a certain point in my life. I am content with my living quarters, with my circle of friends, with my life in general. At least, my life in general as it was until the start of this week. Life, it would seem, or the consequences of such a life, have caught up with me.

It is no longer invasive surgery as we might imagine it. The razor-sharp knife does not glide effortlessly through taut skin, the saw does not cut through muscle and bone, there are no grapples and hooks to hold the professionally inflicted wound apart while blood and bodily fluids are sucked out to allow a good view of the infected area being operated upon. Time and technology have changed, and the insertion is through an artery in the wrist, or the groin, and a long journey through the fully conscious body to the seat of our problem. Today we can watch the whole event on a television monitor, see the inside of our own bodies, explore while listening to explanations, a running commentary, if we so wish. And reflect on how we got here, where we are going from here, and what needs to change if we wish to come to another point, sometime in the distant future, when we can look back once more.

I have had a good life, not trouble free, not without problems and controversies, conflicts and dangers, but a good life. One of the lucky ones, you might say. But now is the time to take that step back and reflect, reconsider, take stock of what we already have, what we need, what we can offer. I have taken advantage of all that has been there in this world, almost, and now, as times and my health change, perhaps it is time to give something back, to stand on the sidelines, and let others do what I have done, gather their own experiences, and gain from this short sojourn on this small rock, hurtling through time and space, and make their own journey to a point of reflection and contemplation, far in the future.