The changing of the guard

Of course I've been following the royal wedding--who hasn't? I can't wait to see Kate's dress, and I think it's great they're having an extra chocolate cake for Will.

But one of the most interesting things to me is the renewed interest in who will be king next. The headline on the Washington Post online said it all: "In Britain, Prince William Threatens to Eclipse His Father." Even more telling was the picture that accompanied it, of both of them in their military dress uniforms. Charles, a little stooped, walked in front. Will, the picture of youthful vitality, stood taller behind, smiling at the camera.

There may be good reasons for Will to ascend to the throne and Charles to be skipped over. But it seems to me that the reasons given in the press tend to boil down to the same thing: Will is younger, he's cuter, and he hasn't yet messed up his life.

And what I wonder is what all this says not about our fascination with royalty (that's a whole different blog post) but about our fascination with the unspoiled fantasy of youth. Charles seems to have made some decisions that weren't perfect, certainly to have led a life that hasn't turned out perfectly. But what life has? If the only argument for Will's immediate kingship is that his life looks perfect so far, the people who clamor for his ascendancy now are only likely to be disappointed.

Age, it seems to me, brings with it the realization that perfection is impossible. Perhaps we find it disheartening because we want to cling to the idea that it is possible, at least for the royals among us. It seems to me, though, that the realization often makes for a more honest, more genuine human being. And isn't that what one might want in a king?

Risking a Connection

Last Friday I went out to get lunch as usual, to a part of town with wide sidewalks and about a dozen different restaurants. As I headed toward the burrito place, my bag over my shoulder and my cell phone (of course) glued to my ear, I saw someone coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. A woman pushing a baby stroller--common enough in this area. But something made me do a double take, and I realized that this was no stranger, but a friend from childhood I hadn't seen in 15 years.

I knew she'd moved to the area, but I lost track of her a long time ago. And here she was, with a daughter who looked to be about my daughter's age, right in my own neighborhood.

I looked. And then I kept walking.

Of course I had to attend to the conversation on the phone, and of course she looked busy and distracted, and of course I was hungry and didn't have very long for lunch. But in truth, I think it was less the busy-ness of the moment, but the chance that she wouldn't recognize me, wouldn't be interested in a connection, wouldn't want to stop herself.

As soon as the moment passed me by, I realized how much I wished I'd stopped and talked. And I wondered how many connections we miss because we're afraid to take the risk...the risk of rejection, or of lost time, or even of a few awkward moments.

Next time I'll try to make the connection. How about you?