Chapters

If life is a book, then these chapters are flying by.

Leave it up to me to write on such a cliche topic, with such a shitty opening and title, but just hold off the judgement for a little bit please. Or at least wait until the end before you come to the realization that everything you’ve read is indeed an island of rotting toenails, just as you predicted. You’re so smart.

Life happens quick. Its a pretty common understanding that most everyone shares. But I think I share a different sentiment on the subject, at least in this instance. I don’t mind the whole growing up aspect, with the exponential gathering of responsibilities and slow deterioration of our bodies. Or some bodies like mine, quickly rotting away like a banana peel on a hot summer sidewalk. Not to be misunderstood, I’d thoroughly enjoy going back to when I was 8 when I was nigh invincible with little to no obligations. But the thing I struggle with much more is when I look back drunk with nostalgia, romanticizing certain epochs of my life.

I have no idea if I’m alone in this or not, but I have a definite inclination to idealize different time periods of my past. I’m not oblivious of this fact, but that has yet to prevent me from journeying down this mental path time and time again. And time and time again, I’m left craving some way to venture back in time and relive these moments from my life… Not because I’m unhappy with how my life is now though. Even though things change there’s a reason I constantly find myself looking back fondly. I just miss it.

All it takes is the most insignificant moment correlating to these golden days of mine to send my mind tumbling back. Honestly the physical representation of my memories probably looks like a staircase King Midas fell down. I could probably write a book on all these different eras in my life that I consistently go back to, but if I did that here I’d probably lose the remaining three readers I have.

All it took recently to trigger one of these flashbacks was me driving by an old apartment complex where my two best friends used to live, five minutes down the road from me and always around when my needy-ass wanted attention. Memories like drinking in their living room with them, listening to records and just enjoying each other’s obnoxious company ambushed my head. I know it wasn’t all high times and easy living back then, but it was good. And its hard to not want to go back when there’s the knowledge that certain period of my life is over. And not in the existential dread kind of way, but more in the way that our paths of life being as adjacent as they once were just probably won’t happen again.

And that’s okay, as much as things change there’s always positives. I have constants in my life, stability that helps steady the ship when the unpredictable winds change course. And there would be no appreciating what once was if there was never anything else. Maybe the awareness that it’s over has led to this appreciation for what was. All good things must come to an end, right?

I don’t try to hold these memories that I may very well have personally perfected and polished on a pedestal. They are probably far from as pure as I’ve led myself to remember, and yet here I am writing an entire post dedicated to them. Whether or not I’ve sculpted these memories beyond recognition or I’ve just been remembering the honest, good parts and omitting the bad is not my point here. My point is this is my least favorite part of this whole aging process. These sections of my life seem to have left as quickly as they’ve come.

But that’s life. The gradual progression of time removes, but it also replaces. I appreciate what I have now and look forward to the what may come. In the end my advice is to just take the good with the bad, because there isn’t much we can do about it. Our journeys converge and divert, with no real way of knowing if or when they’ll ever converge again. We’re really just here for the adventure, and to enjoy the ride if we want.