Not the thoughts I expected to intrude my brain in the middle of doing yard work.

Definitely not the realization I planned on putting together that was just a smack in the face from reality, life, and adulting. But here we are.

Maybe the band Alter Bridge captured the message best in their song Ghost of Days Gone By, especially the ending to the chorus/hook of the song:

Yesterday is gone, we can't go back again. Do you ever cry for the ghost of days gone by?


It truly seems so lame, but it just happens on its own sometimes. I'll be going about my day like normal, and I'll either catch a scent, hear a song, or see a familiar sight that instantly transforms me back to childhood.

Bike rides around my childhood neighborhood with my cousin. Beach trips where we'd walk to the end of Wallis Sands in Rye, New Hampshire, and flip rocks to search for crabs, starfish, periwinkles, toss them in a pail and then let them go before we left.

Skinned knees, random pickup games of any sport with friends (or even inventing games on the spot), building tree houses -- simpler times that hopefully we all experienced.

And while those memories jogging through my brain are a fun escape from the reality of adulthood, they never hit me with the realization that sent me staggering while I was pulling weeds out of some landscaping beds and realized what I had a fistful of in my hand.

Photo by Ivan Evans on Unsplash / Photo by Johnson Chou on Unsplash
Photo by Ivan Evans on Unsplash / Photo by Johnson Chou on Unsplash


Instantly, I began to rewind the video in my brain to where, as a young kiddo, my peers and I would spend our time hoping to not only come across cloverleaves, but find the elusive, always desired, always sought after four-leaf clover.

And here I was, a grown @$$ adult that's lucky enough to be a homeowner, not only annoyed that these same cloverleaves had the audacity to be present in my yard, but ripping them out by the root with the goal of them never returning.

The same can be said about dandelions. How many times in our childhood did we get pure and simple joy out of doing this:

It's just one of those things that hits you all at once. When did the world legitimately eat us alive to the point that things we used to love as kids and made us so purely happy, brought such annoyance and almost slight anger as adults?

And why didn't we realize how good we had it as kids and revel in that time for as long as we could, instead of foolishly dropping the ole "I can't wait to be grown up!"

Anyway. It just struck me as interesting. Clearly enough to write an article about it. I'm sure there's some metaphor in there somewhere. Or maybe there's not, and it's just simply about crying for the ghost of days gone by.

Oh, well. At least there's whiskey, wine, and tequila.

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