Unknown Artist: Picture (17th century)

"Such always was the way with this world."

Purpose often appears quite independent of anyone's intention. It might show after considerable effort. Whether that effort seems a success or a failure might not matter, for every system discloses its purpose through its product. The meaning of the effort appears in whatever that effort produced, however it might be judged. Many naive notions crumble beneath humbling realizations. Nobody's life turns out to be a smooth upward progression where one inevitably learns better to yield ever-increasing rewards. No, we each experience setbacks and thrusts forward, some of which, seemingly inevitably, sum to something different than we thought we had invested. Any serious search for anything occasionally results in producing its opposite; even the Ancient Greeks understood this.

Not one of us could possibly be exempted from this calculus. Our worlds, whether carefully or mindlessly created, must fall apart. Our achievements, however they might have once seemed to advance civilization, must come to be at least misunderstood, or, worse, vilified by subsequent generations. The places we civilized become wild again. Those we educate often become confused, with some even opting for cynicism instead—the places we once discovered become mysterious again. Many cease to exist without leaving a trace of their former significance. A few of the absolute crowns of creation will leave little evidence they were ever present, however much they might have once held prominence.

I attempt to rewrite history every time I visit another place that used to be home. I come for decent reasons. I'm now a grandfather, so I come to see my granddaughter perform in a school play. She attends the school my children once attended, one I cannot remember ever setting foot inside then, for I was a busy businessman and downtown during school hours. I drive through streets that are not quite reminiscent of those times, with placeholders strangely absent. I walk past once-reliable landmarks, wondering where they've gone. I hesitantly realize that I was once married in that church with the steeple and that the empty storefront was, forty years ago, the center of a downtown revival now forgotten. I saw my first Apple computer there. I remember the enthusiasm I felt then, just as a sensation of what might well be rheumatism kicks in.

I carry an almost perfect map of this city, circa nineteen-eighty. I remember some of how I felt in the summer of nineteen-sixty-nine, when I came carrying my first guitar in a bag of excelsior because I hadn't yet acquired a case for it. I walked many miles after getting lost riding buses. I arrived late, feeling bedraggled, unaware that my grand adventure was starting there with me lugging that awkward bag of excelsior everywhere. I advanced to a certain prominence before blowing up my life for all the very worst reasons. I thought I was going somewhere then, and I was. I couldn't have had any idea that I was chasing an EncroachingIrrelevance which would ultimately have its way with me, and eventually become my legacy. It was not for naught, though, for I propelled myself through many serious misconceptions to reach an uncertain understanding, none of which could I successfully translate into anything even distantly resembling wisdom. I was always closer to my future than to my past. Such always was the way with this world.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #CHope , #PureSchmaltz