The End of The Road

When I was a little girl, I loved Shel Silverstein. I still love him, and have gotten most, if not all, of his books for my daughters. My favorite compilation was "Where the Sidewalk Ends". I remember the cover art, with the kids and the dog hanging over the craggy end of the sidewalk, staring down into the nothing below.

The most interesting thing about the cover art versus the poem, I always thought, was that the art seemed to invoke some sense of impending doom, as the sidewalk's end seemed to crumble - little bits by little bits - under the weight of the children. Yet the poem speaks of a beautiful place...

*There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Maybe this is an intentional dichotomy. I couldn't say. As a child, and even now as an adult, it's really the cover art that speaks to me. Sometimes I feel like I am standing on the edge of the precipice, and the sidewalk is crumbling beneath me. My sidewalk is coming to it's ending, and I am not feeling so certain that there is going to be a peppemint wind to soothe me when I finally reach that end. I can feel it ending, even now, as I write these words in an effort to convince myself that what lies ahead is beautiful, like in the poem...Yet there is the ever-present, nagging voice that assures me I am only in for more of the same...I cannot walk this walk, however measured and slow it may be, if I cannot enjoy it. Sometimes, I don't seem capable of allowing myself to just enjoy it. It's the years of self-doubt and denial that continue to push me down the rocky path, staggering past the danger signs, and then blindly off the edge.

Endings aren't always bad things. Sometimes endings can create beautiful new beginnings. Sometimes they don't. I believe that we are responsible for the outcomes...our actions are what determine them. Fate, chance and hope are lovely, but they don't stand a chance against determination, force of will and fortitude. And although I wish I were the kind of person who could just let go, and be carried off by the peppermint winds of fate, in the off chance that my hopes for an amazing future will manifest themselves, I simply know better. I know that when my sidewalk ends, the only way I can save myself from plummeting into the unknown is by simply counting to three...and jumping.

*"Where The Sidewalk Ends", Shel Silverstein, 1974