CSotD: Hurry up, please: It’s time
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Francesco Marciuliano is so good at being a wiseass that it's easy to overlook the depth required for true wiseassery, as opposed to knee-jerk, calculatedly-irreverent, frat-boy/morning zoo stuff.
This is not the first time he's taken off the jester's hat at Sally Forth, but he's rarely this straightforward, and that is a good reason why the strip is worth putting on your menu. It's a hint that, even behind the wiseass gags and openly insane rants, there's generally a kernel of character development peeking through.
It's a change from strips that go on and on and on with the same riffs on the same established gags, some internal, some universal, none ever new.
You want to talk about the death of youth and freshness and dreams? It's when you chuckle at a joke because it's familiar and comfortable, not because it took you by surprise.
It's when you become uncomfortable with the challenge of a question you've been avoiding. Well, you can't un-read it now, pal.
What is it about growing up that can make everything that seems so special become ordinary and routine and maybe even forgettable?
And, worst of all, comfortable?
It's more than simply being old enough to know what things cost.
I sometimes think about blowing my retirement account on a camper and hitting the road to live in National Parks, two weeks at a time, just me and the dog and some wifi. And, yes, I know that a comfortable, reliable camper costs more than a small cottage.
But that's not the "cost" that kills the dream: I also know that about six weeks of carefree life on the road is about all I'd be able to take.
That's the dreamkiller: Self-knowledge. Experience. Practicality. Maturity.
That's the real cost, the one you can't save up for.
Hilary asks about summer, and, well, I worked the Fourth of July, Hil, because, when you're a carefree, freelancing telecommuter, the fun just never ends. Or, at least, the deadlines don't. Not if you want more of them.
As for the rest …
"Summer has no day," she said. "We can't possibly have a summer love. So
many people have tried that the name's become proverbial. Summer is
only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm
balmy nights I dream of in April. It's a sad season of life without
growth…. It has no day."
"Fourth of July," Amory suggested facetiously.
"Don't be funny!" she said, raking him with her eyes.
Mind you, both the characters and the author were pretty self-important at that stage of their lives.
Still, I know this: You can't stay young on purpose, though there are plenty of opportunities to try:
Hilary is probably too young to benefit from watching Kevin and Dana, but I find them a fascinating exercise in distinguishing the point at which the tail on a kite stops providing stability and simply becomes dead weight.
I don't know what to tell you, Hil, except to enjoy it while you've got it, because you won't know it's gone until it is.
And when it is gone, it will be because it's time for it to be gone. Your task is to be, by that stage, in a place where it's okay.
Be the Wendy who remembers, and who encourages Jane to try a little fairy dust.
Because Peter by himself is kind of sad, but you can't fly with him forever.
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