Wipeout

I found myself with a bit of time so I started to surf the internet for points on hosting the perfect 1957-esque (or is it mid-century modern) Polynesian-themed party.

There were lots of sites that sold tiki-related barware and tips on mixing the most delectable mai tai.

Then I bumped into a boyfriend from my past.

What shocked me wasn't that the guy was still into the things I enjoyed, or that he's married and seems to have a great job, or even that he porked right out and has a comb-over for Pete's sake. What's so disquieting to me is how a whole chunk of my life is over. What was normal for me during this guy's era will probably never happen to me again, even if I wanted them to.

I didn't choose to stop living that life. I didn't even try to consciously continue to live like that. I just didn't notice when it ceased to be.

I'm not in the habit of reflecting on what my life was like 5, 10, 20 years ago – at least not in broad terms. Sure, I'll hear a song on the radio and I can picture what I looked like at the time. I may even get a general feeling of where my head was at. But when I saw this guy's picture on the website, I was disturbed as I realized how certain elements of the things I cherished and thought defined me are utterly dead.

Consider, if you will, all the things from your past that used to happen all the time but never happen anymore and never even cross your mind. For some, it would be keggers in the field or just getting blazingly cemented, or making out with people you just met for a lark. For others, it may be as innocuous as cramming for mid-terms or keeping awake to catch Christopher Ward's City Limits. Whatever. It's almost like those things never happened, or that they happened to someone else.

Maybe they did define me. Maybe I had to experience all that to get to where I am now.

Thanks, I guess, ex-boyfriend. You freaked me out, though.