A week or so ago I read about some celebrity turning 60. I cannot recall who it was but someone I recalled from my high-school years and just after. I graduated in 1984.
My first thought was, “Wow, they’re well into the latter part of middle-aged.”
The next realization was that I am barreling down on 59 this year!
“Wow, I’m well into the latter part of middle-aged.”
My next thought was remembering my mom’s 6oth birthday.
In the past few years I’ve said goodbye to both my parents, my oldest brother, one of my best friends from high-school, and read about the death of a few others I went to school with.
It’s had me thinking more about mortality than I ever had before.
I told my sister a few weeks ago that it was odd that the people who brought us into the world are no longer here. The mooring to the past is gone.
I don’t write this with any overt sadness, though I am, at times, struck with a nostalgic melancholy. Perhaps is a combination of realization, regret, and sentimental longing.
I don’t overthink it. I’m not afraid of it and yet, certainly not interested in expediting my passing.
On the other hand, I’m reasonably healthy. I feel good. I’m in a super creative space when it comes to music and even photography.
Thankfully, I’m super interested in life and passionate pursuits. That hasn’t abated. In fact, it has taken a nearly obsessive hold. There’s some unfinished stuff to attend to.
With that thought, I offer these lyrics to a song that Deb has convinced me should be my closing number on any given night.
I wrote the song in 2022. In it, I reflect on my musings on mortality and the passing of time. I don’t believe I’ve ever played the song live. I have a simple acoustic recording - that I am NOT sharing today - but it has been moved to the top of the list of songs to produce. I, officially, started on it this morning.
The title to this piece is from the song - a lyric I particularly like (I’m allowed to like my own lyrics, right?) because it references the oft-used, “Blink and you’ll miss it” idea, without falling back on that, “tired old cliché.”
Cliché or not, it is salient.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know.
Oh… in regard to my lackluster adherence to any writing schedule, I have at least two pieces queued up. One is a piece I’ve wanted to write for several years about a bizarre art piece I remembered from the late 70’s/early 80’s. The search for that piece became a bit of obsession a few years ago. I did, in fact, find it. More on that later.
In any case, the lyrics to Borrowed Time, the aforementioned song, can be found below.
I hope you enjoy and, as always, thank you for joining me on this journey.
Sincerely,
Matthew Moran
March 13, 2024
Borrowed Time
It’s that first step, it’s that next step Convincing you that, it will always be Turning pages and next stages Slow rolling changes that you hardly see It seems I’m aging, I guess what I’m saying Life takes a hold and shakes years away like rain I’m not complaining, I’m just exclaiming Some tired old cliché about how blinking throws the game Is it a simple proposition We complicate it with desire All hope and fear and clouded vision One more day, one more night Reminders to redeem this borrowed time Wild dreams and big plans, losses and last stands Rats I’ve been racing and roads they’ve led me down It finds me asking about these moments passing Desperate and grasping at sands that can’t be found All these questions, the answers and lessons Leave me guessing with all they’ve left concealed It keeps me searching, wide-eyed and yearning Passion still burning for mysteries yet revealed Is it a simple proposition We complicate it with desire All hope and fear and clouded vision One more day, one more night Reminders to redeem this borrowed time It’s that first step leads to the last step And in between that all that we learn and love I’m just one traveler not sure what I’m after Found tears and laughter and maybe that’s enough Is it a simple proposition We complicate it with desire All hope and fear and clouded vision One more day, one more night Reminders to redeem this borrowed time One more day, one more night Reminders to redeem this borrowed time
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When I was a young, exuberant, son of a bitch, screaming-out the lyrics to rolling stones songs as I merrily broke speed limits, I castigated the sentiment and nostalgia of the old. I was a brash, behemothic man who had no time for sweet and wistful thoughts of the past.
Now, alas, I regret to state that old-fartism has insidiously taken hold in my once gorgeous body and mind. I actually get tired at times. I have pains. I have a zillion and one complaints.
But there is a way to PRESERVE ONE'S COOLNESS EVEN AS ONE BECOMES AN OLD FART:
The solution is in the movie "Harold and Maude." Maude is an 80 year old bitch who can rock and roll with the best of them. She steals cars, does drugs, and transplants trees to the forest because the city gives them asthma.
Yeah, I know how you feel. The days get longer and the years get shorter. It's like a roll of toilet paper - the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes. Having a friend along the way helps to see each day refracted through another's point of view, enriching the experience. Be well.
J