When time was on our side

There was a time in the past when life was a simple thing to be experienced as a series of events particular to yourself. The outside world was cut off by a few miles of fields, the distant drone of traffic was leisurely since only a few could purchase a car or more importantly, felt the need to. The world and its proverbial oyster lay all around but not too far, that most of it couldn't be reached on foot or occasionally by the bus. The intricacies of our lives were local and not international, our friendships were with people we had grown up with and came from the same stock. Summer was a time of endless evenings when one escaped the strictures of guidance and guided yourself were ever your fancy took you. The nooks and crannies of the surrounding countryside were our hiding place, where we met up or trudged in twos and threes to meet and discuss what we were going to do next. There was no pre-planned agenda only the slow moving river of chance to catch our eye and trigger a thought which provoked action. We were innocently happy in our ignorance and allowed to persevere so by the absence of grown ups to determine what "they" thought more industrious.
Of course over the  next hill beyond the next milepost the actual world beckoned but we were oblivious of its calling or consequence.
Today we read of the turmoil in young people's lives as they feel forced, like pot house plants to present themselves for the toil of life's path at an ever earlier stage. The route of education and "success" is hatched earlier and earlier and the measurement of our very soul is made the business of "others".
The self awareness which developed slowly at a pace commensurate with our bodies is now the subject of departmental reports and media scrutiny. Under the microscope we look very different as we are dissected into parts. The whole person and their beautiful uniqueness is forgotten for a target of economic success, for fitting in to a plan not of our own making. Is it any wonder that suicide is on the up amongst the young or that mental illness is common. As we tinker with that most delicate flowering process fitting everyone into the same mould, developing within them the same aims do we not miss the creative, instinctual  development that people of my generation took for granted.