It’s very surreal to think back on the last ten years.  Ten years ago, I was starting my sophomore year of High School.  The summer had not been particularly kind to me, mainly due to my own poor decision making.  I had a car, a 1968 Chevy Impala, but I was grounded from it for driving before I was supposed to.  I had just started dating Amber, and  had recently come out of years of social awkwardness and into a more confident personality.  The friends I made this year will forever be friends.  Many of those friends have moved to other parts of the world since then.

I spent many evenings at Josh’s house, playing Starcraft and listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers when we weren’t practicing breakdancing and looking at car magazines.  We desperately wanted good cars.  It felt like our whole future was ahead of us, and yet I had no idea how hard the ensuing ten years would be.

Part of me wishes I could go back and talk to myself.  I’d tell young-me to cherish these times, don’t get frustrated, and know that no matter what happens, I make it through ok.  I’d teach myself to be more self-confident, and a little more responsible.  I’d push gently towards self-reliance in hopes that the scars wouldn’t be quite so bad.

I’d like to at least go back and watch some of those times, even just once, to remember some of the things that happened that have passed from memory.  I’d push myself towards music more, and try to be more decisive.

So many stories left untold, so many memories lost to the stalwart march of time.

I find myself concerned with my future, concerned that I won’t remember these times; times of financial hardship, insecurity, and emotional dichotomy.

And then, the reality of the masses hits me.  Everybody must feel this way.  Everyone must have these same casualties of recollection.  If the count for myself is in the millions, the things lost for all must be staggeringly astronomical.  I could fill a thousand lifetimes skimming through the lives of people, watching their darkest times, their happiest times, and the growth of personality.  It seems a crime to have such short lives when so much of this is missing, yet it gives some hope for Heaven.  Some wonder what eternities of afterlife would consist of, as surely any single hobby would grow startlingly tiresome after eons.

I like to think we’ll spend our time watching stories of the past; the stories of other people, and then maybe we’ll truly learn respect.

In the mean time, please sort out your use of “there”, “their”, and “they’re”.  Seriously.