Sometimes, I think about different eras of my life, and my friends’ lives, and how in the middle of each era, it seemed like something that would never end, something that would remain constant. But each thing has come and gone, replaced by a new thing that seems just as permanent.
Like when Phil and Steve used to alter their clothing by hand sewing it so that it fit them better.
And when our group of close friends was much bigger in high school, and got up to fun stuff almost every night of the week.
And when I was really into finding old 4wd Tercel station wagons and fixing them up.
And when Tyson, Riley, Tyrone, and Kris and I drove around Shawnigan a lot in the summer of 1997.
And when I was into weightlifting.
And when Jenn spent most of her weekends with Andrea, Kristina, and Liz.
And when I used to take playing in bands very seriously.
And when Bill and I went to Evolution for Retronight on a regular basis.
And when I got really into mixing clothing fashions in my early 20s.
And when Dana first made it big with a band.
And when I tried skydiving.
And when I did my lifeguarding and swim instructor training.
And when we were part of vibrant all ages music scenes in the Cowichan Valley and Victoria.
And when we partied at Jordan’s cabin all the time.
I could go on and on. Thinking about each of those things is bittersweet to me — they are all great memories that I’m fond of, but they also make me sad because I think of how all those things are dead and gone, never to return. And then I start thinking about the things that I love now, and I wonder when each of those things will eventually end as well. Will I be surprised when I notice any of them have ended, or will I see their ends slowly coming around the bend? Will I be sad when they go or will I be ready to move on to the next thing anyway? It’s not a pleasant thing to contemplate.
I don’t know why I have such a hard time letting go of things I care about. Sometimes I want to gather all the good things in my life — memories, feelings, people, vibes, everything — clutch them tight in my arms, and never let them go.
I think I’m scared of never being as happy as I once was.