3 Decades

Last time I was at my parent's house, I grabbed all four of my high school yearbooks out of my closet and brought them home with me. Reading them (or the comments within them) was both hilarious and depressing. Hilarious because of the truly random and odd things I chose to stick in the yearbooks for safe keeping. Depressing because of how difficult it is to relate to the person that these books belonged to.

If you were to ask me, I would have told you that I feel like I know who I was when I was 16. My memories seem real and comfortable. But the problem with memories is that they age with you as you grow older and become no more reliable than......(Ok, I've literally been sitting here staring at my screen for 5 minutes now trying to think of something really unreliable to use there and nothing is coming to mind. I'm drawing a complete blank....) well, something no more reliable than something REALLY unreliable.

Anyhoo.

Looking at the yearbooks, I'm hit with fairly solid proof that people and things weren't exactly as I recall them now. The nuances that the years have stripped away return. Not completely, of course....too many years have gone by for that. But it's more about the shadow of them, I guess. Just enough to remind me that there was so much more there than I've remembered.

And it makes me wonder if 10 years from now I'll be a stranger to myself once again. If I'll look back on these scribbles and have to work to remember how that girl felt...how she dealt with the world......how she remembers the world.