I found some three year old photos cached on a memory stick today. Nostalgia is not something I indulge very often but one of the photos just reached out and grabbed me... it took me back. I locked eyes with my three year old, electronically formatted self and it was like a time warp. I could smell the food we had been eating, I could hear the noises of the restaurant and I could even remember what song had been playing over the PA system. But most of all, for a brief second, the familiarity with that other time and other place brought with it the emotion I was feeling then, or rather the lack of certain emotions in my life. And that brought with it questions.
As I was walking down Wilshire Blvd to go grab some lunch, I kept asking myself over and over again, "Exactly when did I become so afraid?" I mean, seriously, when did I give up that part of myself that abandoned caution and took chances and put myself out there to meet new people and experience new things? When, exactly, did I become this person who follows a routine every day...get up, go to the gym, go to work, come home, walk the dogs, go to the gym, play world of warcraft, go to bed, get up lather, rinse, repeat every freaking day of my life over and over and over again? When did I start treating my life like that leaky faucet that you just gave up on...letting each moment of it drip, drip, drip and go down the drain? And how the hell did I let that slow bleed go on so long that the sound of the drip drip drip became a comforting constant rather than the annoying anomaly it should have been?
And being the contrary and oppositional person I can be, of course I set about finding somewhere to lay the blame. Is it because my partner made me content to be at home where I am well under control? Damn that siren bastard for forcing me into a life of domestication. But wait, he's always out and about doing this or that and I distinctly remember an argument we had about how I never go out with him anymore. He's off the hook. It's my job; it's got to be all the stress I am under, wearing me out at work. Except that I enjoy my work; it's the one time a day I actually leave home and interact with some really great people. I would try to blame the environment except that I live in Los Angeles where there is something to do all day every day. Already had the mommy and daddy issues in the past so they're off the hook on account of the double jeopardy clause.
Oh crap. That leaves no one to blame except, well, me. I'm the one choosing to sit at home when my hot boyfriend that anyone would be proud to be seen with is going out and having fun. I'm the one not answering the phone calls when my friends are thinking of me. It's been me all along just digging this rut deeper and deeper every time I don't reach out and connect with the people in my life. And if I keep doing it, in another few years, I'll have no one to blame but me then, too. Of course, by then it will be because no one is around to blame and we don't want that. Or do we? I can't really tell because I'm not unhappy. I'm just becoming more solitary and it never bothers me until I get to thinking about it.
So back to that picture...I remember thinking at the time, "Man, these sure are the days to cherish". Well no, those were days to cherish and I do. But these days, the ones we are living in are the days to cherish now. And tomorrow will be another day to cherish. And I got angry at the little bastard in that picture with his half smile and his arrogant cat-that-ate-the-canary look. The picture has been deleted; there is no sense in looking back with that much emotion, enough to get angry in the present at your past self. Not when we're moving forward...always moving forward. It's now a matter of how we want to move forward. Certainly not at a run because then we'll miss too much but the slow plodding pace I have been setting is causing me to fall behind my life. No, I think it's time to start moving forward with purpose and living each day deliberately and with the attitude that "these are the days"...each and every single day.
As I was walking down Wilshire Blvd to go grab some lunch, I kept asking myself over and over again, "Exactly when did I become so afraid?" I mean, seriously, when did I give up that part of myself that abandoned caution and took chances and put myself out there to meet new people and experience new things? When, exactly, did I become this person who follows a routine every day...get up, go to the gym, go to work, come home, walk the dogs, go to the gym, play world of warcraft, go to bed, get up lather, rinse, repeat every freaking day of my life over and over and over again? When did I start treating my life like that leaky faucet that you just gave up on...letting each moment of it drip, drip, drip and go down the drain? And how the hell did I let that slow bleed go on so long that the sound of the drip drip drip became a comforting constant rather than the annoying anomaly it should have been?
And being the contrary and oppositional person I can be, of course I set about finding somewhere to lay the blame. Is it because my partner made me content to be at home where I am well under control? Damn that siren bastard for forcing me into a life of domestication. But wait, he's always out and about doing this or that and I distinctly remember an argument we had about how I never go out with him anymore. He's off the hook. It's my job; it's got to be all the stress I am under, wearing me out at work. Except that I enjoy my work; it's the one time a day I actually leave home and interact with some really great people. I would try to blame the environment except that I live in Los Angeles where there is something to do all day every day. Already had the mommy and daddy issues in the past so they're off the hook on account of the double jeopardy clause.
Oh crap. That leaves no one to blame except, well, me. I'm the one choosing to sit at home when my hot boyfriend that anyone would be proud to be seen with is going out and having fun. I'm the one not answering the phone calls when my friends are thinking of me. It's been me all along just digging this rut deeper and deeper every time I don't reach out and connect with the people in my life. And if I keep doing it, in another few years, I'll have no one to blame but me then, too. Of course, by then it will be because no one is around to blame and we don't want that. Or do we? I can't really tell because I'm not unhappy. I'm just becoming more solitary and it never bothers me until I get to thinking about it.
So back to that picture...I remember thinking at the time, "Man, these sure are the days to cherish". Well no, those were days to cherish and I do. But these days, the ones we are living in are the days to cherish now. And tomorrow will be another day to cherish. And I got angry at the little bastard in that picture with his half smile and his arrogant cat-that-ate-the-canary look. The picture has been deleted; there is no sense in looking back with that much emotion, enough to get angry in the present at your past self. Not when we're moving forward...always moving forward. It's now a matter of how we want to move forward. Certainly not at a run because then we'll miss too much but the slow plodding pace I have been setting is causing me to fall behind my life. No, I think it's time to start moving forward with purpose and living each day deliberately and with the attitude that "these are the days"...each and every single day.
