A Tired Old Metaphor - or, I’m Retiring
Yep. I’ve finally decided to hang up my old moderator hat. It’s a bit tattered and worn from the fray, but I think it was a pretty good hat. A little odd-fitting and more than a bit stiff when I first wore it in May aught-two, that hat was. Over the years and through all the weather and seasons, the hard brim softened and the coarse material broke down; the hat that I wore nearly every day came to be a comfortable friend. My hat has seen a lot and it’s served me well, but now it’s become an old friend and it’s time put him away. I’ll hang my old hat in a place where I’ll see it often and remember what it once was - and even better, what it came to be.
I love that old hat and have wonderful memories of the days that I wore it. The memories are more important than the hat, really - much more important. And even better than the memories, are the people I found who wear a hat that’s very much like my old hat. They continue on wearing their hats while I put mine to rest. I guess maybe their hats, although similar in appearance, are constructed of a material more stout than mine. Theirs don’t seem to have worn quite as quickly. Or maybe it’s the people themselves; not the hats. Maybe it’s the people that are more stout and the hat has just taken on their stamp. In any case, they continue on in their hats, and they have my respect and admiration for that. It’s a difficult thing to wear this hat that can so set you apart; a hat that is so easily tattered and readily mocked. Difficult indeed.
The community I visited while wearing my old hat holds wonderful memories, too. It’s changed a lot since I first passed through. Become bigger and boisterous, even fractious and noisome at times. The old place was small and often quiet and calm. I liked that old place; it was a place I felt comfortable - even when I visited there in my new hat. Yes, I liked the old place, but sometimes my hat did seem to set me apart. People became alert and wary when they saw me and my hat. Or more likely, their quiet exteriors just shadowed their laughter inside. You see, the hat’s of an odd style; never quite in fashion, or of the prevailing trend. But as the appearance of me and my hat became more commonplace, as the hat grew to fit better, the people of that old place seemed to become more comfortable; to act more themselves, I guess. The hat didn’t seem so odd on me anymore. And maybe they even stopped laughing, too - some of them anyway. I’ve always wondered if it was the hat that grew to fit me, or I the hat. Perhaps a bit of each. Maybe the hat has taken on some of my character, much as I’ve acquired some of its. That’s a nice thing to think.
The new place, even though it’s really the same place, is quite different. It may be more raucous than it was, but there’s a diversity the old place lacked. A diversity that is energizing and vital; Promethean even. The new place, I find, can also be enervating and exhausting. The new, as in all things however, must necessarily overwhelm the old. So, while my old hat and I have become tired and worn in the hubbub, Prometheus thrives. And while I and my old hat sit in our rocker on the porch, we will observe and admire, what the old has become. And perhaps in moments of ego, I’ll think that I and my hat helped shape Prometheus in some small way in his formative years. That’s a nice think to think, too.
Oh, from time-to-time I’ll wander down off my porch and participate in the fray, always careful to leave the hat behind. I wouldn’t want to damage my old hat, or the memories I have of the things that I saw and that happened while I wore it. As I said, the memories are more important to me than the hat. Perhaps most importantly, because I can admit to a small vanity, I don’t want the memories others may have of seeing me in my hat to be spoiled - even though those memories may only be of their own laughter at my awkwardness in the hat. For you see, poor metaphor though it be, the hat is but a symbol and damaging it would damage my memories. And there’s also those still wearing their similar hats to be considered. Damage to mine may cause theirs - and their wearing of them - to fall into disrepute. That would be painful to me, because as I said, the people I’ve found wearing this hat have earned my respect and admiration. Damage to them would then seem damaging to my memories.
So, it’s with great weariness I hang up my comfortable old hat and friend. I’m weary, yet eager to see what Prometheus will become. Perhaps, as Prometheus grows - and my fondness for him, so will my memories - and my fondness for them. That’s the best thing to think, no?
corrected my own misspellings as my last moderator act. how fitting.
