2 minute read
THE TIME OF MY LIFE IS NOW
THOSE WERE THE DAYS — OR WERE THEY? WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE PRESENT?
A framed photograph hangs at the bottom of the stairs at my parents’ house.
I’m standing with my mom on the beach, sporting a regrettably bad haircut — my first and last experiment with short hair — but a killer, 19-year-old body and a favorite orange bikini that I wore in the waves until it faded to gray.
The picture was taken around 1995, the summer home after my first year of college.
I was tan, fit and having the time of my life, both at school in North Carolina and then at home, “down the Shore” for the summer.
I’ve bounced past that photo countless times on my way up and down those steps, deftly avoiding the mid-section of the three that squeaked when I was a tad late for curfew. But when I pause to actually look at that shot, or any other flattering photograph of a younger me, certain thoughts creep into my consciousness. They can be prompted by Facebook memories, wedding pictures or the decades of framed photo collages lining my parents’ hallway.
“Damn, I looked good. I LOVED that orange bathing suit. Where did the time go? Where did THAT girl go? What I wouldn’t give to be 19 or 21 again.”
But with age comes insight, hopefully. And recently, I’ve been interrupting myself during those negative internal dialogues.
“Yes, I looked great in my 20s and 30s. Most of us did. And yes, I could do way more to monitor my diet and exercise. But those are just pictures, two-dimensional snapshots of a single moment.”
Thank God, I’m smarter now. I’m more complete, better informed, more mature and insightful.
In a word – or a few – I’m older, wiser and more experienced. Besides, I’ve had a hell of a good time in the years between 19 and 46. (I’ll be 47 on May 15 and still have a 7-year-old’s appreciation for presents.)
But, my goodness. I knew nothing back then. I hadn’t lived. I hadn’t truly loved. And I hadn’t experienced anything, anyone or anyplace that was different from what I’d always known.
In that beach photo, I hadn’t met most of the people who would have the biggest impact on my life.
The girl in that picture hadn’t lived in Key West, where I met my best friend of 18 years, the “man of honor” at my wedding. I hadn’t even met the man I would marry. Amd I hadn’t lost that best friend six years after my wedding.
Looking back, that photo of me in the orange bikini wasn’t the real me. It’s not the full me, the me I was meant to be.
It’s easy to lament the loss of our youth, the loss of that girl in the orange bikini. Hell, people have been battling time since time began.
It’s human nature to compare our current selves to our past selves. But no one has won the battle against time. And no one ever will. So we may as well appreciate those orange-bikini photos when we see them, recall the time they represent, but continue to live the lives we’ve grown into since then — the three-dimensional lives that have made us the people we’re supposed to be today.
