I walked outside on warm summer day with the sun shining on the back of my head. As I walked through the grassy fields of the meadows, I was blissfully unaware of the bright light waiting patiently to shine in my eyes. The flowers bloomed with their faces turned into the sun, but my eyes stayed completely forward as I walked toward my goal. Then, almost surprising me, I could see it–the tree house I built as a child. I walked forward quickly. I had so many wonderful memories of this place. Reaching it, I quickly grabbed hold of the rungs I had painstakingly attached to the trunk so many years before and climbed, albeit more slowly than earlier in my life, up to the top. I slowly raised my eyes to look back across the field where I had walked. The sun took it’s long awaited opportunity to shine directly in my eyes, and I reached up and pulled down the reading sunglasses resting on top of my head. I had never needed them as a child and, more than anything else I experienced that day, the contrast reminded me I was no longer the child of my memories.