There’s no need to mark time when you’re young. It just crawls along, and never fast enough. You have to wait to your next birthday, to be old enough to ride your bike to school, to drive a car, to shave, to drink beer, and so forth. Time stretches out before you, seemingly endless, and it plods along. You are somewhat aware of things changing but it’s at a glacial pace. You learn not worry about it too much. After all, what can you do about it?
Then, sometime in your 20’s, sneaky as a thief in the night, something happens. Things start to speed up. The foam isn’t even dry on your 21st birthday beer and age 30 looms in the very near future. Everybody wastes some time, but hopefully you haven’t wasted too much. It doesn’t even matter, because the march of time has broken into a canter.
Once the “big” birthdays are past (16, 21, 25), the individual birthdays aren’t inherently memorable – so the convenient time counters you grew accustomed to in your youth are replaced by other events. Weddings, for example, and the births of children.
In another of life’s bizarre twists, even as time continues to speed up, you find yourself
hanging out with your old friends less often. There may be no falling out – life just intervenes – the job, and family and its associated pressures and responsibilities take precedence over hanging out with your pals, even if they don’t live far.
This is where being part of a music community – especially the bluegrass community – really has a deep, meaningful value. And it’s a value that goes beyond the intrinsic value of the music itself. Periodic events – regular jams, and festivals, become treasured markers for time passing – they slow down that damn clock – if only a little bit. Through the time-lapse magic of these events, you get a great view of your friends, aging a little each year. That provides lots of fodder for conversations. You watch all the kids grow up and get actually a better perspective on your friends’ kids than they have – you can see the difference a few months make, while the parents only notice when they have to buy them new clothes.
The conversations will follow a predictable pattern over the years, beginning with the hassle of marriage, buying a house and kids. Then dealing with teenagers, which RV you’ll be buying (and showing off). Then maybe some talk about the Empty Nest (or the boomerang kids, coming back over and over again), grandkids, and then inevitable ravages of time – the aches the pains, and the “procedures” you had since the last time you all got together.
The point is, it’s hard to see life happening when you’re smack dab in the middle of it. Just like you’re never quite sure when you’re witnessing history. When you go to a bluegrass festival, especially if it’s one you attend every year, or nearly so, for that blessed few days, the clock stops hurtling towards, uh, whatever it’s hurtling towards. You put your finger on the second hand of that clock for a little while. And honestly, when that dang clock finally does run out, won’t it be a comfort to know your buddies will hoisting a glass of something in your honor?
