Pancakes at midnight

Facebook offers its users various opportunities.  One is an occasional look at the lives of folks you'd know otherwise only as pleasant faces.  Such as -- in my case -- college students.

I've been following a good-natured debate on a college student's Facebook page, a debate contemplating the pros and cons of going out for pancakes at midnight.   I myself have no particular feelings, one way or the other, about starchy food shortly before bedtime.  But the debate brings back bittersweet feelings of nostalgia.  Regret for experiences no longer practical -- or, if pursued, probably even enjoyable -- once you're much past college age.

At my university, going out for midnight pancakes wasn't something one did every night -- our dorms and other living groups were at the center of a campus that was geographically very large.  Going off-campus was a bit of a production; someone in the group needed a car.  But we did it occasionally, especially during the nights before exams or before term paper due dates.  Going off-campus relieved stress, relieved late adolescent hunger pangs, and recharged us mentally for another couple of hours work before bed.

My nostalgia is less for the pancakes -- although for that, too -- and more for our enthusiasm (at midnight) to charge out of the dorm and do something different.  And for our ability to come back, and still be reasonably productive, after 1 a.m.

Once the halcyon years of university pass -- and I stretched those years out, god knows, as long as humanly possible -- we submit ourselves to the unpleasantly different biorhythms of the gainfully employed.  (We do, at least, unless we live in the puzzling world of Seinfeld and friends.)

Once I finally left school behind, my work day began at 8 a.m.; I rarely had classes that began that early at the university.  And rather than jump out of bed, pull on a days-old t-shirt, and storm off to class, professional employment required me to fix my own breakfast, take a shower, put on a suit, drive to work, park, and walk to my office.  This all took time.  And I, at least, also needed to first prepare my brain for all those tasks by downing a couple of cups of coffee while forcing my eyes to focus on the morning paper. 

In other words, I had to get up between five and six o'clock each morning.  I usually was in bed by 10 p.m.  No midnight dashes to a restaurant with a bunch of buddies.  No ultimate bedtime of 2 a.m. or later.

This, I learned, is the life of an adult.  It has its compensations, certainly, compensations beyond simply a paycheck.  But it demands sacrifices as well.  And among those sacrifices is the spontaneity of suddenly exclaiming, "Hey, why don't we go grab some pancakes?" (or a hamburger, perhaps, for the pancake-averse).  Also among those sacrifices -- and maybe this is what actually hurts so much -- is of a life surrounded by others, folks subject to the same stresses as myself, who were only too happy to drop whatever they were doing for an hour and head out for a bit of food.

I miss the easy, late night esprit de corps.  And, to be honest, I also miss the late night, youthful energy -- in myself and, especially, in others.

Now, if I were an irrational romantic, I'd find myself staying up until midnight tonight, and then driving out to Denny's or IHOP for pancakes with raspberry syrup.  But I'm a realist.  I know it wouldn't work.  It wouldn't be the same.  It wouldn't even be close.  As Heraclitus (see, I did learn something in college!) once said, as he no doubt chewed thoughtfully on a blueberry pancake, you can't step in the same river twice.

More's the pity.