Last night, a bit of a marvel. Walked home from writing a bit at a coffee shop, walked into the front room, took off shoes, looked into the dining room, big spread of food, then beyond that table, on hanging on the curtains, a display, Happy Birthday Adam, it says. There’s one letter for each picture, one year for each letter, when you were born, when you could walk, when you played soccer at age 10, a 14 year old version of you in complete Miami Dolphins attire, high school senior photo, college graduation, all the way up to now, here, a wife, two children, a legacy. Then friends pile in, people you’ve known for years. You and your friends, these pictures explain a life, explain places lived and phases outgrown, it’s a feeling you don’t want to end. This is adulthood, this, you guess is being a grown up, but there’s something else too. A part of you that feels more in common with the ten year old version of you, in the soccer get up, the longish hair, the glases and YMCA mesh cap, that boy. Through life we grow older, we enter new phases and outgrow new ones, we regress, we make plans, we change again.
So last, night, and today, I am everyone of those images, I am none of them, life in a series of pictures leaves out so much of what we leave behind.