There Are Places I Remember...

I know this is roughly the same topic I always write about, but hey, it's my life. Whatcha gonna do?

I feel like a baby bird getting tossed out of a nest. It's necessary, and I want to do it, know I have to do it, and know it'll be wonderful being able to fly. But before you can leap, you have to sever connections with everything inside that nest.

My nest is considerably bigger than a baby bird's.

It feels like life sort of makes these disconnects for you. Lately, I've been feeling more disconnected than I used to be from everything and everyone. At first, I was sort of depressed about that feeling, like it indicated some kind of failure on my part to keep in touch. Then I started thinking it was just me being beaten into sad monotony by the same life I've lived for five years. But now I sort of think it's just me subconsciously preparing for leaping out of the metaphorical nest. It's a lot easier to jump if the things that hold you back aren't holding on quite so tightly anymore.

I figured this out when I noticed myself becoming irrationally annoyed at the few things that haven't really changed. It seems as though they're stuck in the past, and they need to hurry up and join us in the future. I couldn't really pinpoint why they became annoying; they just were.

It is still a little depressing though. I don't talk to the same people I used to talk to every day, and if I do, conversation seems superficial, separate, obligatory. It's only natural to miss people, and it's perfectly possible to miss somebody you see every day. It's like my relationships are preparing themselves to downgrade to the Christmas card level they'll soon be reduced to.

Tonight, I sat at my grandma's kitchen table and looked through the photo albums that captured three generations' worth of life. In the pictures of my dad's youth, he was surrounded by people he never talks to anymore. The people are so happy in the pictures, so unaware of the diverging paths they're about to walk down. The closeness of the relationships are captured on the photo album's page even if they don't exist in Dad's current reality.

Most of the pictures had a story behind them. These are the parts that truly matter. All of these people left some sort of impression on Dad, whether it's an anecdote he still tells from time to time or a life lesson learned hard. I suppose the people, for the most part, are making the transition from my reality to my photo album. They're anecdotes and lessons learned. Through that, they'll always exist at their full intimacy in my life. I will remember them for what they were then, and only partially for what they are now and what they will become.

I'm sad, but I'm happy. I know I'll find a new set of people to make their own invaluable impressions and create their own memories; I know the ones I've got now are permanent and strong. A successful life, perhaps, should be measured by weight of the photo albums stacked in the bottom drawer of the bureau in the living room.