Every once in a great while, I’ll dust off a few old photo albums – the actual, physical kind that we once used – and indulge in a brief bout of nostalgic mental meandering, retreading old haunts and revisiting former moments of a glory we never quite realized at the time. The photographs here are from the 1990’s so you’ll have to forgive my goatee – I knew not what I was doing. More moving to me are the expressions of genuine happiness and hope on the faces of people who remain vitally important in my life. We were on the verge of stepping properly into our adult lives. Maybe we thought we knew more than we did; for my part, I always felt like I knew just a little less than these brilliant people I was lucky enough to count as friends. They made me better. They made me strive to be a good person. They still do that.
Back then, the world felt like perpetual summer. It laid before us with verdant avenues and beautifully winding roads, where each path held its pretty mysteries, beckoning us to try this or attempt that. I gingerly stepped with slight trepidation, wading slowly into the pool that so many of my friends were already splashing in, diving deep beneath its sparkling surface and coming up with breathless tales of accomplishment and honor.
Why did life seem so simpler and happier when looking back on then? It certainly didn’t always feel that way at the time, but our smiles and our joyful carefree countenances indicate something else. We were happy then. Life hadn’t rocked us too much, not when you look back at all that was to come afterward. Definitely not when you look at where we are now. Yet we didn’t realize it, at least, I don’t think we did. Not in a deep way. I do remember brief moments when I would stop, literally, in the middle of a Boston sidewalk, when spring was in bloom, and the air was filled with the perfume of flowering fruit trees, and think, ‘This. All of this. Take in all of this – the beauty, the air, the night, and the morning.’ Even though I would invariably return to melancholy and doubt, those moments would harden into a necklace made of memory gemstones, each carved into an exquisitely-multi-faceted jewel that would be lit from within on those dark days to come. Our home is happily littered with such jewelry. It’s not something that can ever be stolen or taken – not by anything other than forgetfulness and time, but all things are obliterated in such fashion eventually.
Looking at these pictures is like rediscovering a treasure trove of those gems – invaluable, immeasurable, inestimable in riches – adorned in beauty, bathed in light, and bound by unbreakable wisps of happiness.
