Do you ever find yourself going “walkabout”? Well, in case you’re not really sure, according to the free online Wikipedia encyclopedia, walkabout is a term which refers to a rite of passage where male Australian Aborigines undergo a six-month or so journey during adolescence where they live out in the wilderness and trace the path of their ceremonial ancestors and try to imitate some of their heroic deeds. Webster’s, however, just defines the word as referring to “a short period of wandering around engaged in by an Australian Aborigine as an occasional interruption of regular work”, and it’s that latter definition that has made walkabout a favorite word of mine.
For as long as I can remember, I have always enjoyed going walkabout, but since there is no Australian Outback in or near West Sacramento my wandering around, trying to avoid work, usually consist of just taking lengthy strolls on the quiet streets of my own neighborhood. And although I don’t think much about the heroic deeds of my ancestors while I’m doing this (because I don’t think there have been any), I do find it the perfect time to try and come up with some new theories.
“No, no, Daryl, please, I don’t want to hear another one of your stupid theories!” exclaimed a longtime friend of mine the other day when I cornered him while he was getting ready to mow his lawn.
“But you love my theories,” I reminded him, having shared many of them with him over the years.
“I do not!” he exclaimed.
“But you told me just a few weeks ago that you loved my last one.”
“I did?”
“You sure did.”
“Well, then I was lying.”
“Remember, it was the one about people getting married not necessarily because they’re in love, but simply because they have reached a point or age in their life when they really want to settle down and have children – and whoever they’re dating or seeing at that time more or less gets elected.”
“Oh, that one,” said my friend. “Did you know that my wife almost threw something at me when I told her I thought there might actually be some truth in that one?”
“But your wife once told me that she really likes my little theories – especially the one about truth always being 180 degrees from where we think we will find it.”
“She was just humoring you, Daryl!”
“So,” I said, my feelings slightly hurt, “do you want to hear my latest theory or not?”
“Not,” said my friend.
“It’s about how the decades of our life work – timewise.”
“What?”
“You know, how each of the decades of our life go fast, slow, fast, slow, fast, and then slow gain. And although I’m only through the 50’s, I bet the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s ends up following the exact same pattern.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Think about it,” I said. “When we first get born, that first decade goes by like a flash – you can’t even hardly remember it. Then you become a teenager, and those horrible ten years of pimples and putdowns drag on for bloody ever. But then you finally turn 20, and that’s the fastest decade of them all, when you’re the most healthy and you’re racing around from dawn to dusk doing all kinds of crazy stuff. But then you get to your 30’s and things slow down again. You’ve got a bunch of kids and responsibilities by then and you have to take it easy, work hard, and make good decisions. But then come the 40’s and you figure your life is half over and you better start living it to the fullest, which speeds those years up again. But when you turn 50, you start getting more reflective and slow down again and start savoring all the stuff that matters most in your life – your family, your longtime friends, and even your work. So, there you have it – a definite pattern in terms of the decades we live – fast, slow, fast, slow, fast, and slow again. Now is that a great theory or what?”
“So,” said my friend, “according to your theory, now that we’re both in our 60’s, the years are going to slow down again.”
“Right!” I said.
“Well, at least that’s good news. But once we hit our 70’s, which isn’t that far off you know, then you figure time is going to speed up again?”
“That’s right, my friend. I’m afraid come 70, if my theory holds up, then you and I are going to be hurtling towards death.”
“But if we make it to our 80’s,” said my friend, “hopefully, then we can count on the years really slowing down again, right?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said, “so slow that they’ll have to give us wheelchairs at the old folks home just so we can get back and forth to the bathroom.”
“See, now that’s a perfect example of why I hate your stupid theories!”