Dreams

I'm antsy this morning. My to-do list running through my head. The college's website that lets me grade paper not working from 5 to 7 a.m. The minutes tick by so quickly now when I need them to slow down.
I made myself go to the Y to burn off some energy.
There, I ran into the white-bearded man who first explained how to use the treadmill for interval training. He came and stood by my treadmill today, wishing me a good trip and filling me in on the latest news about flights to Paris.
"My understanding is that ticketed passengers have priority. Those who missed their flights have to wait." He's one of the guys who seems to be an expert on every subject, but in a sweet way not an obnoxious one.
I suggested that my trip to Paris might inspire him to travel some.
"No," he replied.
His wife wants to go to the Caribbean or Florida. He wants to go to the mountains and hike.
"So go," I told him.
He claims he knows no one who would go hiking with him.
"I'll just walk on my treadmill alone," he said.
He's in his 60s and in decent shape, judging from the amount of running and weight lifting that he's doing at the Y everyday. So why has he given up on travel? Why is he condemning himself to a lifetime of watching himself in the mirrors in front of the treadmill rather than mountain peaks and blossoming leaves?
My darling, handsome husband is in his 50s now, and I can't imagine that 10 years from now: A) he'll have a white beard down to his chest or B)he'll be content to walk on a treadmill that doesn't go anywhere.
I expect that 10 years from now, hopefully, with all three children through college, we'll be travelling more than ever.
I'll need to keep watch on the pilot light of our dreams and fan it to make sure it stays alive well into our 70s or 80s.