I went to a wedding last weekend. It was for a friend of mine from high school. When I got there, I ran into three people I haven’t seen in 10 years, and it struck me how long a decade is. A lot has happened in that time.
I don’t feel old. I actually still feel like I just graduated from university, even though time disagrees.
As I was leaving the wedding, I went around saying goodbye to everyone, as you do. When I got to one of my old friends, I found myself hugging her for a long time, I mean, long as far as hugs go, maybe 15 to 20 seconds. I even gave an extra squeeze at the end.
You would have thought I really really missed her. Oddly enough, we actually live in the same city now and could catch up at any time. But we won’t. Neither she nor I will make the effort.
Upon reflection, I wasn’t hugging this friend because I missed her—though she is quite lovely. I was trying to hang on to time. In my arms, I was holding on to a memory, to the feeling of who I used to be when I was with who she used to be.
There was a definite pang there. Actually, even right now as I’m thinking about it, I’m feeling a loss of sorts. It’s not that I want to go back to high school—I definitely definitely don’t—I just want that time back, I guess. I want to be younger again.
I didn’t think I’d feel this way as a still-young(ish) woman. I’m only 28. But I do.
There’s much more life ahead of me than behind (God willing) but I know that life will never be as it was when I was 18. I will never be as free. And irresponsible. And open to change.
Those were good times.