Day 23 of #100Daychallenge
When my sister was very very young, she would get upset if anyone spoke about a time before she was born. I wrote in a previous post about how I am comfortable with adult friends of all ages. I have some discomfort though when it comes to photographs of times I was’t there. This can be of recent events, but it’s particularly so with events from the past, before we were friends.
It’s not so with my family, but I notice it a lot with my friends. I notice emotions like fear and jealousy as look I warily at an event that didn’t include me. Your past is a different country, somewhere I can never know. Who were you before? Would I approve of your lifestyle, your choices, your humour? Would you then like me now? Somehow, this is only with photos. I love stories. I love hearing the events of a life. I love hearing you tell them. When I imagine the story come to life, it’s the you I know that’s in them. But when I see photos, you look different. Is that really you?
I notice in my own story, that I rarely reminisce about my past. I don’t look at pictures from my long ago. When I meet new friends, I talk about my now or my recent past. When I do see a picture, I wonder: who was that man? He’s not me. He doesn’t have my memories. He doesn’t know my friends.
I notice all this about my self and I wonder why, and I also think ‘that’s just how I am’. I might applaud myself for living in the present but some part of me judges the past: mine, and yours.