Ghost of the Past

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently, and the more something is on one’s mind, the harder it is as a writer NOT to write about it. “Out of the overflow of the heart...” and all that stuff.

Put simply? I’ve been thinking a lot about the past. For the longest time, thinking about the past brought me nothing but regret and pain. See... I’m one of those people who cling to the past in the worst possible way. The “this is how ****** up I was in the past, and that will directly dictate how I act in the future, and the consequences of what I did in the past will also inevitably catch up to me and screw me over in the present or future.”

Pretty grim, huh?

Throughout high school and much of college, I was often known as the emo kid. In college it became more of a joke, but as we all know, the reason jokes are funny is because there is truth in them. And it WAS true, I had a penchant for being morose and waaaay too introspective sometimes. It often got to the point where those I was around often just wanted to block me out.

But then something happened. I would like to say that I know what it was, that I had some great revelation that changed everything, but that wasn’t it. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it was a combination of two things: (1) the guys in my life whom I respected telling me to grow a pair, and (2) the fact that after I graduated, it was like a brand new start. In some ways the brand new start after college is like starting out on the bottom again... you know, like where you’re the top of the heap in middle school or high school... and then after you move on up, you are at the bottom of the food chain again. And while there was an element of that coming out of college, in another way it is completely different.

It truly is the end of childhood. (Yes, it is a little sad that American childhood extends throughout college, but that is another topic for another time.) You are on your own, you are making your way... and... you are responsible for you. No one is telling you want to do any more. Sure, you might have a boss that you must obey, time cards to fill out, paperwork to finish, and rent to pay... but there is a certain lifting of the walls that takes place.

It’s as if you were Jim Carrey from The Truman Show, and suddenly the veil is lifted, and you realize the world you have been living in is so small. The oceans can now be crossed, the orders have stopped, you are truly responsible for your own destiny and well being. (Sorry for more caveats, but I realize that I will get lots of comment if I don’t make them. Please understand that I affirm that God is in control of our destinies, but what I am trying to get at here is that after college, no one is telling you “do this!,” “don’t do this!” and forcing you into a certain lifestyle.)

You are the master of your fate. And suddenly, at least for many of us, we realize that we don’t want to be. Suddenly you begin to feel nostalgic for that tiny little island you have lived your entire life on.

It may come in the form of a song, as it has for me, that calls up untold emotional depths. No words or expression can fully describe what you feel... but all in a moment, you realize that the past wasn’t all that bad. In fact, there were moments when you felt supremely safe and cared for. That warm corner, that soft embrace, that tasty plate of your mom’s spaghetti... it’s gone, and it’s not coming back.

A few months ago I posted a status update on Facebook that went something like this: “You cannot put a price on nostalgia.” There were several comments made on it criticizing what I said as silly, as if nostalgia were a dumb thing that should be left behind. But for me... I was just beginning to go through this faze of remembering...

Not the bad, not the emotionally unstable, not the angsty, not the regret... but the good. It had taken me so long to get there, and it had been building for so long that it came back in one rush; air hurrying in to fill a vacuum.

I was enjoying looking back on my past for once. The joyful little memories that populated my childhood. Even the moments that were painful at the time: flipping head over handlebars on my bike, losing a chocolate butterfly... they were no longer painful, but only snapshots of who I would become and who I was.

Suddenly a song reminded me of sitting in my best friend’s loft my freshman year of college watching Heroes, meeting new friends and offering amateur film criticism. A series of photos on Facebook would remind me of a trip to an amusement park with friends who have long since grown up and married. 

Soon I found myself digging through journals and notebooks I had not looked at in long ages, picking out stories of growing up in Peru, friends that shaped me. Remembering everything from 9-11 to when I first learned how to swear. It all came rushing back. And... it didn’t scare me any more.

So as I soar into the future, I remember... and no longer with pain. Tabitha Benoit, Jordan Kizer, Sam Windham, Mark Gushwa, Justin Osuch, Erin Itzel Quiroz, and so many others... I will carry you with me, into my future... into my life. You made me who I am... and I thank you.