It is youth's felicity as well as its insufficiency that it can never live in the present, but must always be measuring up the day against its own radiantly imagined future.
--F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Diamond As Big As the Ritz
Every once in awhile I'll miss the sadness of being a detached youth, that constant need to think and yearn and hope and imagine. I'll miss the intrigues and possibility that existed in a single glance or opportunity or crossroads.
The full package of detachment is, of course, that you can't really plan. And these days, I love the security I have in life. My attachments bring with them fullness and contentment and unspeakable joy. We spend our days planning and making a life together. This is what you long for before you have it. You're free to come and go and imagine, but you hate it when you're in it. It's not possibility in everything; it's simply waiting for the moment when you no longer have to question everything or anticipate anything.
But our memories get toxic with romanticism of youth--a time where we're always on the verge of sadness from want, a time we are so certain possessed its own deepness. It's like a searching soul constantly falling short of what it truly seeks and so it finds other means of enrichment; and so, sadness transforms into philosophy and art, and it's a muse, really.
Then one day we arrive in our dream and we recognize it as such for a short time only. We strive for other things then, but no quest seems equal to that first quest upon which we embarked--the quest for whatever we have now. As adults we feign passion but settle for contentment while we struggle against complacency, all the while wondering how those older than us became what they are--even if they are happy!
We don't realize the passing of our youth as a fire being extinguished; then it's gone and we are surprised, concerned even! Stricken with fear over the horror of it! Worried it's not normal! Concerned it's not good! (I assure you--it is good.)
This is the standstill we must overcome: To move forward from this is what our younger selves would have wanted. That was our one passion then, don't you remember?! To turn the next corner, surprised and delighted by what we found there, hoping it was that final destination we'd been waiting for.
And then we always turned the next corner anyway.