I don't know how long this has been going on, but for several years now, a devoted bunch of folks have stood in Grand Central Station clad in sandwich boards declaring that March 21, 2011 would be The End. Seek your savior now because on that day, the world would end, judgments would be rendered from on high, and you had better have your act together, buddy, because after that day...it is so over.
I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for them when I woke up on March 22. Here was this determined cadre of proselytizers, rendered purposeless. What did they think when the 22nd dawned? Were they disappointed, disillusioned, jubilant? Had they sold off everything and now found themselves having to go to Macy's for new underwear and an easy chair? Were they burdened by the stuff of life that remained - the laundry, the disaster in Japan, the rent coming due next week?
I first noticed them back in July 2009. I blogged that it was 666 days til The End. I worry that I haven't accomplished much since then, but then again, if you believed what this crowd believed, the 22nd of March was like Day 1, 0001. A do over. How often we wish to hit the reset button! Is there a way to - ok, ok, I have to say it - take a mulligan and still retain the sum of our life lessons without the burden of guilt or sting of memory?
I would like to think that if I had sold off everything in anticipation of the End Times on March 21, I would face March 22 - just any old day - as a special day. We're still here! We made it! Wow! Being able to look at the world with a child's amazement and an adult's sobering store of memories is a groovy combination. No sandwich board required.
And you? What would you have felt on March 22?
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