Something About Cicadas

The cicadas sing in the willow trees

before the waning of summer days,

and as I wander through the subtle things,

I slowly forget why I wanted to stay.

The cicadas call an endless song

immediate and filled with longing,

for long were the nights and summer's call,

a distant hum in passing.

I would hum to the tune if I knew it.

I would weep at the willows behind,

for I should have known that distance

had been left for me to find.

But the cicadas are gone and quiet

and all that is left in the breeze

is nature's hum, the silent riot,

for the scenes I was meant to see.

    I had great plans once. I thought that I would rise to the occasion, achieve what I thought was my calling and that through duty and the sharpening of my spirit I would find joy. But life is not such a simple story. There are ups and downs true... But if life were to be any form of literature, it would be a drama. Dark, gritty, arduous and only briefly interspersed with times of laughter and excitement.

    I wanted to be an officer of the Marine Corps at 19 when I graduated from university. I wanted to be proud of who I was when I finished my schooling. I spent years chasing the Marine Corps commission and was broken twice for it. For a long time, I thought I was a failure. Even now, knowing full well I will return soon to those cursed and sacred halls in Quantico. Even now, knowing there is still a chance I will achieve that goal... I still struggle with personal perception. I know I'll go back eventually. I hope that these 3 years I've spent chasing dreams will pay off with a commission one day. But it is a shame that "one day" is not today. I spent a long time in regret. Thinking that if I somehow could go back in time, I could do things "right" and be better than I am now. But I know that's not possible. There is no reverse button to my life, and even if there was and I did everything an ideal me would think to do. I am sure that even then, I would not be happy. It took me a long time to realize that no matter how well I am doing, I will never be content if I think about what could have been. There will always be an even greater hypothetical version of myself that has achieved more, done more, and is more, than who I am today.

    It is a curse of Adam, that I can see the future. It is a curse of Eden, that I can see the countless possibilities that could have been. When eyes are open, they are truly open. Self-awareness comes at the price of self-evaluation, and the revelation that things change, and I have yet to even begin.

    After a long time wandering, and an even longer time in mourning I am finally sober. I still mourn who I could have been. I'd like to think however, that I have come a long way. I used to think that I had nothing. I used to focus on my failings: the plans that fell through for my future, the struggle of money, the friendships that I had lost, and the time I spent pursing frivolous things. There is a deep sense of despair found in living in those thoughts constantly. My problems do not go away if I revel in them. I do not grow as a person if I treat myself as a victim and live in the past.

    

All that I can do, all that anyone can do, is move forward.

    I've recently spent time thinking about cicadas. I don't know why in honesty. They were never something that crossed my mind. But did you know that a cicada can spend between 5 and 17 years underground? Some cicadas even live for 21 years. There are cicadas on this earth right now who could be the same age as me. Isn't that crazy? A bug that spends years of its life, burrowing, tunneling and sleeping eventually comes out of the ground for 2 weeks, to sing a song, mate, and then die. They spend their years, waiting and waiting. And eventually, all of that waiting gives them wings and they rise from the detritus to sing in the trees.

    Thinking about the cicadas gives me a weird sense of hope and companionship. I'd like to think that one day, I'll leave the dirt for the trees. One day, I will wake with wings and find that my home lays in the skies and the leaves. I choose to believe that will happen one day, maybe this business will pay off eventually. I'll earn my commission from the marines, become a practicing licensed paramedic, and save people that need saving as a combat medic with the FBI. Somewhere along the way, I'll save enough money to get married, have some kids and teach them how to be strong, good, and love the Lord. Hopefully one day, I'll have those things, maybe even a nice amount of money for retirement, and forty years from now, I can sit on the porch with my wife. We'll be old and grey, as we reminisce about the seemingly arduous and eventful times of our youth. Maybe then, I'll sit, and listen to the sons of those cicadas who inspired my hope so long ago.

    It is with that mindset that I try to enjoy time now. Life will always be hard, and that means all we can do is be strong enough to endure and eventually flourish. The cicadas have sung for this season, and I am too late to stop and listen. But next year, is a new year, and the song, though different, is the same. And I think that it would do me good, to spend some time in mourning. To weep for what could have been, but to also weep for what has been given to me. One day, though times will still be hard. I will be a stronger man. One day, hopefully soon, I won't walk past the willows, and though I still live among the grass and not the leaves, maybe soon, I can stop and sing with the cicadas.