PENnED

One of the signs, they say, that you’re old is the fact that you do more reminiscing than daydreaming. Well, at 65, I still daydream. So I guess I’m not too old yet.

My imaginings, however, are more realistic than, say, those that I dreamed when I was 18. Would they be considered ‘old people’s dreams’? I don’t know.

It seems to be true though that as you get older, you do more reminiscing than daydreaming. But since I do it 50/50, I guess I’m not too old yet. (Palusot!)

I take a certain kind of pleasure in looking back and thinking about where I lived and the things I did.

This morning, as Ruth and I were observing one of the first rituals of the day—having coffee together—I recalled a summer stint working as interim registrar for an evangelical seminary in New York City.

I lived and worked in the same building on West 72nd Street, New York City. So after work, I’d just take the elevator up to my apartment and did not have to worry about competing for space in some crowded subway train.

Who could afford to pay for an apartment in Manhattan, especially one that’s only about ten minutes by foot to Central Park? Definitely, not me. But housing was part of my salary package. So being a person who loved walking (still does), I frequented the park like it was my backyard. What a wonderful gift it was!

My daily walks to the park, however, were interrupted when I started a graduate study program (PhD, Liturgical Studies) at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey, which was about two hours away by train from the city.

I told Ruth that one of these days I’d like to take her back to the East Coast and show her the places I’ve been, including “my kitchen downstairs” (a Chinese restaurant on West 72nd Street), the hotdog stand and bake shop (that boiled fresh bagels each day) just around the corner from my apartment/office building, and last, but definitely not least, the Italian restaurant in Madison that, though a mere hole in the wall, served what I believed to be the best eggplant parmesan in my culinary world.

I just hope that the student-friendly Italian resto is still there. Thing is, I don’t remember its name or the street it was on. All I remember is that it was on my way to the train station and that particular mouthwatering dish.

As I look back at these and other experiences, I am grateful to Divine Providence, the gift of an adventuresome spirit and, yes, the inspiration that comes from daydreaming and imagining. If I did not daydream when I was growing up—in some unknown Philippine rural town—I would probably not have experienced the seemingly impossible and wonderful experiences I’ve had.

As John Lennon’s song, “Imagine,” made me hum its tune in my head whenever I entered Central Park—to walk on its paths and immerse myself in the gardens’ breathtaking beauty—so I encourage you to imagine. And wildly! Wild imaginings can lead to a future of happy reminiscing. (You’ve got to force yourself to wake up though and do something about your dreams if you want them to come true.) Daydreaming and reminiscing are like a pair of bookends—each depends on the other to support the storybooks in between.