Retirement is a lot like moving. One can find himself going through a collection of things, which simply accumulated over a period of time and, which reflected little or no conscious decision to be preserved. I found that I collected a bunch of stuff--newspaper articles (In today's world, these were often printed copies of articles from newspapers or journals read on-line, rather than clippings as in the old days.), feeble attempts to organize my thoughts on some pertinent topic of the day by putting them on paper, and handwritten musings, which must have struck me as meaningful at the time. In recent days, I was going through stuff that had been boxed up for the move from the office to home. My intent was to throw out the unwanted and to repack the remaining and thereby arrive at a place with less volume and a more tidy packaging of that which remained.

I found the following written on a post-it note.

DREAMS ARE SIMPLY PROMISES MADE TO ONESELF. 

I DIDN'T KNOW THIS, WHEN I WAS IN MY 20'S.

Connected in some way were these words also on the same note:

AT MY AGE--SOMETIMES--ALL I HAVE TO LIVE ON

SEEMS TO BE LIES

AND THAT BEATS THE HELL OUT OF THE SHARDS OF

DREAMS AND PROMISES.

In the several days since finding and rereading these words, I find myself often reflecting on then trying to recall where I may have been when they came to mind and seemed so pertinent. The note is dated May 5, 2011; the date does not provide any helpful hint.  In my reflection, I often find my thoughts travelling on a route, which becomes increasingly melancholy. I suspect it is a condition that is associated with age and an activity, which can be described as musing.  

If dreams are promises made to oneself, then each of us is responsible for making those dreams/promises come true. If life has taught me anything, it is that the really good stuff doesn't just happen. Where do the lies comes from? From broken dreams/false promises? These could be those instances where I didn't make the necessary effort to see the dream through to fruition, or where I made promises with little intent to follow through, or where I fully expected someone else to do the hard work of making my dreams come true or of keeping my promises.

What are the respective roles for dreams and promises in the seventh decade of life and beyond? Maybe I need to travel further down that melancholy road and trust that the path will open up into a certain brightness.