Rearview Mirror

 land of opportunity

Driving to the airport I heard an old favorite from the mid-seventies: Dust in the Wind. I’ve always liked that song; call it a guilty pleasure. But as most old favorites will, this song made me think about both where I was then and I where I am today. It also made me think about my daughter.

I was in Ann Arbor over the weekend for the U of M v. MSU football rivalry. I hung out and tailgated at the home of a friend’s college student son where we parked.  I was struck then by how absorbed a college life can become with the peripherals. Ah, those treacherous peripherals: Living away from home, burning the candle at both ends, drinking your brains out, boy friend, girl friend, party on. A dilemma: being of an age and in a place to have the most fun in your life vs. being of an age and in a place where you need to take full advantage of every academic opportunity. It’s not like I don’t remember. It’s what I do remember that gives me pause.

There is really no way for a college student to understand. And, like trying to inform your child of any area of life in which you have perspective and they’re just gaining experience, what you know usually just cannot be successfully instilled in a younger person’s head. What you know tends to be of interest but not of consequence. It just does't go in.

And so it was the other morning: Listening to that old Kansas classic, I thought of how I spent my time in college. And, for me, it’s hard to think of that and not wonder what I could have done better. Could I have studied harder? Did I take advantage of every resource?  Of all the hours in those four years did I spend them well? I think I did okay. I know I’ve managed to land pretty well in life and it’s been a course, for better or for worse, I’ve navigated with little outside help. But, as the song says, we are only dust in the wind. We get only so many hours, so many days, so many weeks and years. And when it’s over, well, you can debate what happens next if you like but for my money, it’s over.

I think it must be a hallmark of advancing age that you start taking a backward glance now and then. You take inventory. You wonder if you’ve done enough, well enough-- can you still do more? And in that, I think of my daughter now as a successful third year student at a first tier university and I feel confident she’s well on her way. I can only hope when she’s my age she looks back confident and secure in the knowledge she did enough, well enough, and left nothing behind. Like me. Most days.