It came to me today while I was at the grocery store.

It was a feeling I had a bit over 2 weeks ago that suddenly grabbed my stomach and twisted it. It was uncomfortable, it was something I couldn’t explain, and I didn’t think I had any hints other than the song that was playing.

The song that was playing was “Carry On My Wayward Son”, a song that has woven it’s way into my life as a true classic song should. It’s relatable, and it has been relatable throughout my life. It’s not overplayed on the radio, so when it comes on it’s an event of sorts.

I’m big on lyrics, too, so the Icarus reference was something I picked up on in my teens. It’s probably one of the most underrated songs, in my thinking, but I spend a lot of time alone thinking. Your mileage may vary.

The song, in a way, was a red herring. It was maybe related, but it was just a good comfortable song.

I puzzled over that feeling. I spoke with my psychologist about that feeling, which got me talking a bit about the monotony of life and concerned her a bit about there, “not being a point to things”. It’s not a thought related to ending my life – no, no, no. But this feeling that it’s just dragging on.

I’ve accomplished the things I set out to accomplish, and I nailed it on every count. At every point in life I managed, despite the odds much of the time, to meet my goals and kick the ball forward. My point I was trying to make to her is that it is just kicking a can down the road. The road stretches on to the horizon.

Eventually, everyone would feel tired kicking that ball, I don’t care how happy they think they are. Life has s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s that are dull and during that time you have time to look back and boost yourself with things that you have been a part of, or have done. Then you wind up and kick that ball again. You keep going, because this road only ends when you do.

Forget the lines on the road. It’s a style issue.

Now when you’re on a road in traffic, there’s frustration about other things, like, “Why are all these people going the same direction I am at the same time?” Of course, no one thinks to avoid going in the same direction at the same time, or they don’t have the luxury of that choice.

Empty roads are different. Just you and the ball, the kicking and the noise giving you an odd tempo to drive you on, moving between beats.

The song, as it was, wasn’t the issue. It was the fact that I had been kicking the ball, and everywhere I looked, things were gone. Lost to progress, or some facsimile sold as progress to someone who wanted some.

The base I went through boot camp in – suburbia now. The Corpsman School I went through in Great Lakes – closed, gone. The websites I wrote for – gone. The software I wrote? Either still running in the background somewhere, or retired. People who helped shape me? Gone.

There’s a lot that I did in my life that is just gone, maybe more so because of how much work I did with software and writing on the Internet. For me, it’s a lot, enough so to grab my stomach and twist it hard enough to mention to my psychologist. It’s a lot to look back on and see gone.

I’ve spent a lifetime reinventing myself, and I can think of 16 distinct times I did reinvent myself in 51, almost 52 years.

To look back and see so much I left behind was an aggregated saudade that suddenly hit me in a vulnerable moment.

The only answer is to kick the ball forward.