Ever since Sunday nights in Ann Arbor, I have used this solemn day of the week for introspection and quiet reflection. I go off by myself, in body, in spirit, in mind. This then is the place I reflect upon myself, adding up my personal wins and losses from the past and trying to extrapolate into the future. Music has always been a large part of the process, a song I heard that lingers, or lyrics that pierce through the armor and secrecy of my soul.
Whether alone or with a romantic interest at the time, Sunday nights fell hard with memories, aspirations, loss and heartbreak. Ann Arbor was 40 years ago, everything else is from then through to today. I wrote a paper in English 101, the fall of 1967, The subject was, "Describe a place in Ann Arbor." My paper was titled, "The Streets of Ann Arbor." It was there I spent my Sunday nights, there that I wandered alone, watching couples hand in hand, eating together in cafes or having picnics on the grounds of the quad. I wrote about where I was, not geographically, but where these scenes took me through journeys inside.
Here again is another Sunday night, this time June of 2009. I am no longer a naive student, full of expectation, full of idealism, full of hope and anticipation for what comes next. No, I am now a middle-aged man, full of regret, remorse, cynicism and despair, the fruits of circumstances born of my decisions, so right at the time, so wrong in the results.
The only constant through it all: Tomorrow. Just as then, tomorrow will follow the next spectacular sunrise. We will make of it what we will. So a question is born, what will be made of tomorrow? To which the ultimate question follows: Just what do we have left?