Memories

Left and then a right, right at the dead end, turn onto Arbor Ct. As the car carried me through the physical directions to arrive at my childhood home last weekend, it also moved me through a collection of memories. Like a ride vehicle through my life at a different time, my car seemed to know where to go so that I could participate in the scenes.

There in Louisville, in Anchorage, at my Church and all the places where a younger me visited so often with people who were also younger then; it was all slightly overwhelming for an extra emotionally able person like myself. Emotionally able – this is the PC term I have coined for people such as myself, don’t make fun.

Haven moved away from my hometown years ago and since my parents have moved as well, coming home to Louisville is a bizarre and unique experience for me. Things have changed and new people have moved in, all while I was living life somewhere not too far away, but not close enough. It is a home in which I have no specific place. Like visiting an old job and expecting your cubicle to be the way you left it, people shouldn’t have aged, married, moved or changed things from the way they were.

I usually get that tight chested feeling of avoiding tears as I get closer to familiar areas and it all culminates with some weeping on Arbor Ct. In the past I always assumed these emotions were due to the inevitable onset of happy memories and friendly sights. This past visit I realized an additional reason for the tears is a bit darker. Seeing my childhood home and the homes of my friends is a terrifying reminder of how fast life passes by. I don’t feel 32, I feel that it was not long ago at all when I was playing freeze tag in that front yard. My memories feel fresh and awakened on my cul-de-sac in Anchorage. If they are so easily accessed and poignantly recent then how quickly will the next 20 years pass by!?

Kids that were my friends have their own kids now, an entire generation has evolved while I was living my life in another place.

Melancholy as it sounds; I feel this duplicitous sense of emotional attack every time I go home to Louisville. However it would never stop me from visiting and I cherish every memory of my safe and happy childhood. Those people and places that bring a tear and a smile are those that shape my feelings, my past and my sense of self.

Watching Paul McCartney in concert last night I began to notice this sentiment in many faces of fans who were likely wondering how time had passed so quickly from when they were watching Paul and the rest of the Beatles on their first Black and White TV. Luckily for everyone this expression morphed into joy for the fans as the concert powered on. Perhaps this is why Paul plays for 3 hours (he is a machine, I tell you!) 2 hours for reflections on time and life and a final hour for giving into the memory and embodying your younger self. Heck, Paul was rocking it out at almost 70 years old so maybe we don’t really need to worry about time at all!