Aisle Two Politician

We only have chances for so long. It's not everyday we can wake up, count our ages on our hands and feet, and be satisfied with how much we've yet to live. Eventually we'll beg and pray for 30 toes and 16 fingers - a desperate attempt to restrain the aging process. Perhaps the most depressing thought is one of age. Of course a young man such as myself would inherently assume that, but i'll define. We're young enough to make mistakes and forget them five years later. We have that privilege. Trust me, that's all it is. We don't deserve, and we certainly haven't earned it. I choose a career, take three years to learn that it's going no where, and will still be young enough to change my fate. It's frightening to think of what the future could bring - especially when choice dwindles as the age balloons. The older I get, in some cases, the less opportunities I'm afforded. Opportunities to meet people, work happily, educate myself, all the benevolent qualities us youngsters dream of. Our biggest fears involve growing old with no where left to go but death. Having nothing to remember, only wishes, is what truly scares me.

I happened to stumble into political debate at work the other day. Asked to explain what the past republican administrations have actually done for America, I answered the questions. As I bagged groceries and listened to my liberal cashier, Joe, educate me on the ways of the wicked right, I realized one thing. I still have chances - precious opportunities that he (Joe) had, but lost. In the long run, his politicial opinion has relatively no bearing on anything whatsoever - besides my choosing which register to bag for. His age restricts his progress. Maybe he didn't have the chances I have - but regardless, they're still mine.

I suppose happiness is relative. Ok, I'm sure of it. And it seems only fair that if Joe's political philosophy goes no farther than doubled paper bags, more power to him. It's a position to almost be envied - happiness. While I can't say that I'm not happy - it's the potential of unhappiness that makes overanalytical, introverted, unpersonable people out of all of us. I'm thankful for the intangible opportunities I still have, and I hope that with my aging I won't find regret.

I see no reason why I can't make the differences I feel I should.

And if they're as vast as those between plastic and paper, I'll consider myself lucky.