Different Drummers

I was walking on the beach this morning with another couple and their young son. The adults were there for exercise and forged ahead forthwith. Yet, their son walked with a totally different agenda. He would scurry this way and that, picking up driftwood, throwing rocks, turning to fight the occasional monster or pirate ... clearly having the time of his life. His progress was more like that of a puppy and he quickly fell behind. All the while we implored him to walk faster, to keep up, to be more like us. Sadly, I believe we hurry our children along far too much in this modern world. We want them to grow up, master the piano, excel in school and sports. In short, we want them to be just like everyone else ... only better. However, not everyone fits into that same mold. I find that we do the same with adults. Walk faster, keep up, be like the others. Perhaps we send a very wrong message to both the young and old alike in our society. Maybe we should take a lesson from my young friend and wander about a bit more along the way, enjoying those priceless moments as they present themselves. And if, by some chance, any monsters or pirates do present themselves, then it wouldn't hurt to have a driftwood sword handy ... just in case.

Different Drummers
Each man has a cadence and, to it, his life is bound
He steps in time to the drum he knows, which through his soul resounds
Yet, not all men march to the same pace, each varies in tempo, gate, or stride
But most will march in formation, with the others, side by side
Comfort, approval, security; are ours when we march with the rest
The easy way is the path well-trod, most choose it and find it best
Yet, there are some who hear and who, a different drummer must heed
Their fate lies on another path, to which they are obliged to concede
Is there a different drummer lurking, somewhere, in your heart
Whose cadence matches not the crowd's, which indeed, calls you apart
You cannot stay beside the others, but another master know
Were you born for something other than the common ebb and flow
Some are called to greatness, some are called to humbler fate
Yet, each must heed the drummer which is his, or relegate
The chance he has to do or be what he was meant to be or do
Which is his gift to give, and take, before his life is through
There is comfort in the cadence which the others seem to hear
Which they step to side by side, from day to day, from year to year
But the man who hears the different drummer, ringing deep inside
Who claims that cadence as his own and follows it with pride
May find that when his journey ends and all is said and done
The better path was his, who chose to heed the different one.

By Frank Carpenter ©