Over the long weekend, Liz was going through some old photos from the before times that are still on her Facebook. The girls piled on and were ooh-ing and ahh-ing over these memories (“Dad looked like that??”). Of course, the time distortion field was in full effect, as these photos aren’t that old. And yet, to the girls, they feel like a lifetime ago because many of these photos pre-dated their births.
In all honesty, they feel like forever ago for me, as well. I’m not certain I’ve really experienced the full impact of seeing these photos of myself from around 15 years ago and thinking about how much younger I looked, how much more full of life and excited about possibility that I appeared. To be more precise, I’ve never experienced the cognitive dissonance of seeing those memories and then looking in the mirror today in quite such a profound way as I did this weekend. For what could be the first time, I observed myself and thought, “I look old.”
I also feel old in many ways, as all of the normal rush and pressures of just living seem to be taking more of a toll on me, of late. Of course, these pressures only increase as the girls grow into amazing young women, and their adventures through school continue. As most parents can relate, I’m exhausted.
The memories are taking a toll also, in their own way. I had to step away from the reminiscing we were having at one point because I missed those days so badly it almost physically hurt. So much was this, that I actually momentarily regretted deleting my Facebook account years ago, as it was the only connection I had to so many people from that time (what I truly regret is that it was the only connection I maintained to those people, but I digress). Part of this is the inevitable and distorted lens of nostalgia, pining for a world “that was so much better then” (although, given the rise of AI and our current political climate, I think we could objectively say that it was, in fact, better then). Another part, though, and perhaps this one is the larger part, is wanting to grasp back some of the sands that have flowed through that hourglass.
After our first daughter was born and I returned to work, I remember a colleague walking up to me one afternoon and asking me how the family and new baby were doing. I made the requisite joke about not sleeping much, as I recall. What I remember as if it were yesterday was his response:
“You cherish every day.” He said pointedly. “Because tomorrow she’s going to be in college, and you’ll have no idea where the time went.”
Looking back on that moment, I’m struck by how much more seriously I should have taken that advice. It’s not that I didn’t take it seriously, I just couldn’t frame the unknown in my mind. I had no idea how fast those years would go by. Because I had no idea, I wasted so much of them in ways I had promised myself before my career change that I never would…long hours of work, trying to achieve things, trying to be secure financially. I wasted them because I was bored and just wanted to move on. I wasted them because of my discontent.
And as we were looking at those photos together as a family, this struck me the hardest, because there were many things that the kids remembered so well…often when I was included in the photo…that I just don’t remember. I was there, but I wasn’t present.
So, I feel old. There are dreams that I wanted to accomplish with my life that I haven’t, and that I’m not sure I will now. There are things that we dreamed of doing when we were first married that seem just as out of reach now as ever. Those feelings are real. Much more, though, I feel regret because of the time I wasted that I’ll never have back. I’ll regret that until the day I die.
But I’ll also make every attempt that I can to not waste any more, whenever it is in my power to do so.
Those memories not only bring happiness when looking back on those times together, but they also motivate me to learn from my mistakes. In that lies a huge part of their value.
And in that lies my greatest challenge.
Here’s to tomorrow.