I scratched an ugly mark
Onto the wood we were about to saw,
I hadn’t measured out the pieces I would use
To make a lovely bench, I planned to place
In the garden, underneath the willow tree
Where I’d like to sit and read, in the shady spot.
But with no way of measuring, my estimates proved wrong
And when I hammered all the parts together into one,
My bench was rather wonky, unsightly,
Not fit for purpose.
I loved it still.
I’d sit upon the bench with books in hand
And wedge my feet in place to keep myself from sliding.
My bench was quite the eyesore, the butt of jokes
From well meaning friends over chardonnay.
But it was my bench, I made it,
It was only right I loved it so.
I read someone’s post on social media and she had turned 34 and she was wrote that her life had been amazing and she would be happy to have 34 more years. I know what she meant but I immediately thought she was selling herself short. If she only had 34 more, she wouldn’t even make it to seventy.
But then it got me thinking about the fact that none of us really know where the middle is. I sometimes look at the age my grandparents died at and use that as my end date. But the truth of the matter is that I might die tomorrow. Nobody knows.
And then I started to think about what effect this has on a person’s life. If you don’t know where the middle is, how do you know if you are on track to fulfil all of your dreams before the end comes?
I thought it was a little bit like having a go at some carpentry with no rulers and possibly blindfolded. The bench or the table you would make would be awfully wonky and not very aesthetically pleasing.
But isn’t that what life is all about? Creating a life that has ugly bits but is beautiful to you because you made it. I don’t know where my middle is, but I think it’s probably best to crack on with my own woodwork project so that I have something to show for it at the end.