Sometimes I just wish I could get in the car and keep driving. And the further away I drive, the smaller my problems may become.

I chuckle to myself, purposefully at the thought, but it only serves as a sad reminder of my inability to act. Suddenly the words in the book I'm reading come back into focus. I awake from my daydream, turn and notice the subtle patter of raindrops streaming down the window. Like teardrops, they glide down monotonously and I find some security in their innocence and consistency that pacifies me. Because of my agonizingly negative perception of life, such tranquil moments are rare. I turn back to my book in a gaze, my mind overloaded with thoughts and memories, which have been breeding in the silence.

Throughout my schooling days, I was very much a philosophical thinker, open- minded and liberal in my views. However, I now know that I was naive in my youth, just a dreamer. In reality, 20 years on, things are not so simple. Life is complex, or seems to be, practicality is not so practical and common sense is not so common. The realisation that there is more of my life behind me, than ahead, is a difficult issue to cope with. And so, it becomes easier to get caught up in reflection, as the years drift away.

Although my mind is elsewhere, I continue to scan the book, flicking through the pages methodically.

Wise words from my father and childhood play in my thoughts. He would say, "However uncomfortable a routine might seem, it gives you security, maintains focus and most of all, routine brings with it rewards". But even father's words are of no use to me now. I have a marriage, a child and a mortgage, and depressingly, my only sanity lives with this constant reassurance that the routine will really save me. But they, or maybe I, don't understand that this routine, primarily, is what's killing me. I wish to do the things I have always dreamed, and find difficulty in understanding why I cannot.

While externally I'm a mature aged man with responsibility, internally, I'm a child. This disturbs me, and I find myself again wondering of past youth. Unfortunately, childish thoughts such as these inevitably lead to a comparison of myself and former self, with the distinct change being the age. These thoughts quickly transpire into my hatred of age, and the miseries it's created. I find no joy or happiness in living through middle age, or any age for that matter. I was once told that the Young are Slaves to Dreams and the Old Servants to Regrets. And so, middle age is the perfect time to enjoy life. However, if there is any truth in this statement, it surely does not apply to me. For I already have regrets and my dreams still exist, but are simply, just that, dreams! Is it wrong to have these thoughts, and if so, I must add that habit to my long list of inadequacies.

I have found that my greatest enemy is myself. My love of philosophy has been darkened with pessimistic views. I go to work, come home, eat-sleep then what ... nothing! The simplicity of it all scares me.

I pull myself away from my comfortable Italian crafted leather couch, get up and make my way to the bathroom. Once there I begin refreshing myself I gaze deeply at my reflection in the mirror. My figure is peeling at the seams, hair falling out, and my face creases as my expression turns to one of anger with my own physical appearance. But that's not all I see, as I look much deeper at my body framed in the mirror, my focus centres on my deep brown eyes, the only part of me untouched by age. Time seems to drift away in that moment and my vision hazes producing a trance like state. I hear voices, children's voices! I try to characterise these voices with faces then I see Anna, lovable Anna. I had a crush on Anna for years during high school. Even now, the sound of a certain music or tender touch can bring back those memories of laughter and love. My thoughts, however, concentrate on the feeling of never having taken the next step, or continued with her. I also see the time I declined to go overseas with my friends in college. I see the time I drunk one and a half bottles of vodka before an English exam because of the fear of failure! In fact, as I gaze into the mirror I see too many missed moments. And that feeling is tearing me apart!

After washing my face, I return to my cosy couch, next to the warmth of the fireplace, facing a window, which frames nature in all its glory. I sit down and once again pick up my book and start reading. However, before too Iong, my mind starts swimming in new thoughts, and I think to myself that the book I have chosen must not really interest me.

Human kind is such that all unknowns must be explored and explained. We are curious creatures and yet we know next to nothing about ourselves. Self-analysis gets more tedious as we get older. However I don't think I have ever had an objective conversation with myself about myself, or maybe I never wanted to. Was it my yearning for more? Is that why I was never satisfied? Or was it the realisation that this is as good as it gets, for me anyway! So I put down Joe Blog's book, 'Why men get sexier as they age', pack my suitcase for work and think, "If I could just get in my car and keep driving, I wouldn't stop until my screams were only a distant echo in uncharted lands." But I don't, and that is sad.

I stand here now, isolated. My head hangs, allowing me to catch a sight of my cat, Thomas, brushing up against my leg. His cries for attention distract me. Oh, to be needed, really needed without any expectations but to enjoy each other's company occasionally. Unconditional love, as it were! Indeed, animals forgive and forget with the best of them, then offer so much. He's amazing talent at providing much needed stress relief is most certainly a bonus. The euphoria of Thomas's arrival, however, doesn't last. Reality unfortunately catches up with me, but eludes Thomas as he dances down the corridor, chasing after a bug. Does reality only prey on the self aware, the sentient. Does our knowledge of death really reinforce and enhance our love of life? Or did we get too smart for our own good somewhere down the evolutionary process? I'm completely sure Thomas feels much more fulfilled when catching that bug, and happy with life than I at any other comparable moment. As I look again down the corridor, Thomas is completely out of sight. And at that moment I feel more alone than any other, "Oh god," I sigh. My body now shaking with discomfort as my conscience builds an impenetrable wall between peace of mind and my present insanity. My body stiffens and I try terribly to detach my thoughts from myself.

"Mummy, Mummy, where is Daddy!" screams the little child, playfully. My ears recognise the words from across the house. The phrase converting to cliche within the household, because of it's overuse. "He is in the lounge room" a voice replies. The current conversation produces a robot-like reply within me as I prepare myself for my son's inevitable arrival. As if under duress, my face pains at producing a welcoming face, as required. My son enters the room positively glowing, although I barely notice. He starts talking and without listening I nod on queue to the pauses in his words. So ashamed to do so, but so selfish to stop. Then like a lighthouse showing the way through the fog, his words penetrate and guide me away from wherever I was. "Youse looking sad Daddy. Don't worry Daddy. Don't worry, everything will be good." I turn to face him directly. He was a child sure enough, but had already expressed a deep concern for others. It was the most simple and beautiful things I had ever witnessed! And that was it, had I seen such characteristics in other people, such naivety, even at a young age, I would have surely dismissed it as a flaw. An attribute associated with someone looking to be disappointed by life's tragedies, an unknowing target. But in my son my emotional reply was far from cynical, it was optimistic! An optimism far outweighing any negative emotion I had ever felt when taking the other view. This boy was not the fool, I was! For it was not life that dictated my state of mind, it was I. I may be pessimistic for all I know and for the knowledge of all I don't know, but I should choose to be optimistic. It is this choice we make with ourselves which determines our happiness in the end. And I want, need and now choose to be happy.

My son worms his way up my leg and onto my lap were he kisses me on the nose. I smile, grasping him tightly for a few minutes then sending him on his way for school. Before he exits, I shout, "Would you like me to take you to school, son." Not realising how casual the statement I had just made, especially because I had never taken him to school before. He turns around, face full of joy, "Yes please, Daddy!" I smile assuring him with a nod and continue preparing for work.

My suitcase is finally packed, and my suit free of cat hair, I make my way to the door were my seven year old son awaits alongside my wife. The pale shades of yellow from the morning sun light up their image in the doorway. I don't think I ever looked at my family together like that before. No, I'm sure of it. Not only that but my eyes seem to be rejoicing in this frame, as if switching from monochrome to colour. And what I saw was a reflection of my love, a feeling bigger than each of us combined! And it was truly glorious and amazingly uplifting. Walking over, I give a kiss to my wife, she pulls me near, whispering, "Remember, it's his first day!" I nod, unknowingly, and we both smile. My son and I both walk outside and I take his hand, guiding him straight past the car and onto the footpath. He looks up at me with a puzzled look. We continue walking and slow down to a stroll, then both look at each other and smile. Then holding back joyful tears my mind scrambles for words to fit the moment. Then calmly, without hesitation, I speak, "It's my first day too". And with those last words I grasp my sons hand tightly, and that's when I felt it. We weren't just walking. We were really living!

Big Book '99