When I was a kid, I used to think that when I grew up I’d know the answers to all the questions that came to my mind, like these: How does a flower know when to stop growing? How does the fog know when to lift? How do gulls fly? Where do flies go when it rains? Why is money important? Why must we wear clothes? What makes people alive? Lots more. The neighbors used to watch me, a little girl, running, jumping and leaping in the street, playing ball with my friends. They’d look at each other and exclaim, “Youth!” At first I thought it was my youth they envied and I was sorry that theirs was over. But then I saw it was something else that they seemed to know about me in my rejoicing in my youth. It was the questions that they too thought I’d get the answers to, as they had not. But now I know I won’t either, because now strange opposites of rejoicing pop into my head – dark negative platitudes like: you have to know when to throw in the towel; you have to know when to walk away; if you don’t have it now, you never will. One of the worst for being the complete opposite of what I thought when I was a kid is, “just make the best of it.” That’s such a long way from “you can be anything you want” and “the world is yours, just reach out and take it.” And now, the more I am propelled into the future, where I once thought the answers were waiting for me, the more I try to beat my way back to the past because I feel I’ve lost something of myself there. And that loss far outweighs any possible answers to the luscious questions that were once on my mind.