Have you ever had one of those days? Weeks? Years? Decades? What do you do other than obsess over it with paranoia and deep breathing? I don't know why but the pattern for me has been that the last two years of a decade are the most upsetting, turbulent, traumatic. And yet, there is something bittersweet about the ending of a decade. You aren't quite at the end, but you're definitely not at the beginning. And for me, it's a time to look back not only of the decade past but of other decades past. This being 2008 for some reason brings back memories of 1968. Perhaps it is because that was an emotionally forming year for me and also a traumatic one. For some inexplicable reason, I think back on the music I listened to, the artwork I did, the interim school friends I hung out with. I miss them, not that they were my best friends, but they were there during that small, short year of development between middle school (nee' junior high) and high school; between childhood and adulthood. I only remember one of the girls' names, Sammy, and she had this great little room in her house (my grandmother had one in her house too--must have been a quirk in Craftsman houses back then) where a few pop posters were hung and a stereo system was set up. There was a small couch, big pillows and if I recall correctly, at least one beanbag chair. I only recall one conversation ("When Crimson & Clover came on the radio, and it started to reverberate the vocals, my dad thought something was wrong with his radio!") but as we lounged around the room listening to music, we had deeper conversations about life and what was important in it. I remember feeling deep emotions actually growing inside me although they were not sad ones, again only bittersweet. Somehow I knew, that even when I left these girls, for different schools and friends and interests, that I was developing in more ways than physical. I remember those few days as sweet. We connected deeply, somehow someway knowing that this was a momentary convergence and would end once our immediate needs were met and then we would disperse into what would become our lives. So, as I look forward with much trepidation, I also look back with much longing for those simple and deep times where I found a place to grow a part of myself.
I thank Sammy and those girls wherever they are and hope that in some small second they remember me with the same feelings. They probably don't even remember my name or of being there at all. Doesn't matter. I remember them and I think that is what matters most--they touched me, my life, my future. I thank them all and wish them the best for the next decade.
All right, I will stop with the melancholy musings and get on with my life.
Thanks for listening. And, oh, I would love to hear your stories too!
The Egypsy Has Spoken.