Time seems to be playing with me. I wrote a blog entry that talked about how I revisited my journals and found something delightful and pleasant as opposed to my usual response, which is one of disgust. It involves seeing a name, a person I interviewed twelve years ago, who has become a really good friend today.
Today, I open TimeHop and I find a picture posted today five years ago, and in that photo are Saab Magalona-Bacarro and Lauren Young, who I didn’t really know at the time. We were just at the same party but we didn’t really talk since we didn’t know each other. And now, five years later, they too are really good friends of mine.
The entry I wrote talked about how some of the people of my present, who I am extremely happy that they’re my friends, I’ve actually met before and now this TimeHop is doing the same thing.
My Dad is putting out old photos of my mom and him back in the 60s and he feels like he’s “selling himself” too much but I told him, “you’re not selling yourself.” For me, he’s just found old pictures and he wants to share them with his network on Facebook. He has been coming to terms with who he was and who he is now and he’s happy and somehow you have to be able to trace back to your past, to your roots, to your personal history to discover the origin point of who you are.
It’s about time. We reach a point in our lives where time converges — the past and the present meet up, somehow, and so much is learned and so much is gained and so much is illuminated — and it can happen when you’re 37, like I am, or when you’re 73, like my Dad.
Of course, where you are at the present creates the atmosphere of how you look at the past. Mood is determined by present conditions. I’m in a good place and my Dad is in a good place and so we can both look to the past and see it as a starting point. We can look back at all our past frustrations and past challenges and even our past losses as building blocks and foundations for the people we’ve become today.
I’m dealing with time a lot these days. Thinking about the actual amount of time in a year and how quickly it can pass when you’re older. There’s no other word to use. How much is in a unit of time?
These are the thoughts I’m wrestling with right now. I’m wondering if this is going to lead into anything else other than just the realisation that I’m making peace with my younger self.
These convergences of time, it’s happening around me and to me and it’s happening frequently. That I’m aware of it means something. That I’m cueing in on it means something.
I should explore this some more. Maybe I’ll come up with something really interesting — a film script? My first solo play? A poem?
Only time will tell.