Day 112: Reminiscing

Call an old friend and reminisce good old times.

I never liked to talk about the good old days. I never liked to reminisce. Past is past, you can’t do anything about it, it’s better to think about the present or the future instead — that has always been my motto. Whenever people around me talk about how they used to do something together, or they mention a place they’ve been together, or they laugh about old haircuts and clothes, I zoom out. Yes, we all had strange hairdos in the 80s (at least judged by someone in the 10s), and yes, it was a great trip to the sea ten years ago. But what’s the point in dwelling on it?

(This blog is not about dwelling on the past, it’s learning from the past to get a better future. I think there is a difference.)

When old friends reminisce, they talk about good things. They laugh together. They share good memories. But when old friends left each other with a bitter taste in their mouth? What if the last thing they remember is how a girl polarized them?

I found him. I apologized for not telling a lie. It might have been too late.

He said that he thought about that girl for years afterwards. He asked me what I really thought about her. I said I never bothered to make an effort to know her better. I felt like a very important person, and she didn’t care too much about what I thought or felt — and my wounded ego wouldn’t let me accept that she might be OK.

He learned a lot that year, he somehow found himself. I was stuck in my adolescent, immature, insecure, secure self grandeur for many years still.

I really want to call him. I want to hear how he’s doing, to hear about his one year in Norway changed him, to say (once more) that I handled his crush on that girls terribly. I want to talk about his future, my future, our lives at the moment, I want to learn things from him, like I did 20 years ago. But I don’t know how to avoid the pitfalls of reminiscing: of getting stuck talking about the good old days, or even worse, getting stuck talking about the not so good old days.

But how can you have a future if you don’t have a past? And have can you be friends with someone if you haven’t got any common memories?

There is a moral somewhere here, but I can’t find it now. I have a feeling I have found a solution to this before, a way of balancing how much time one should spend on the past and on the future, but it seems I have forgotten it.

Perhaps I told a friend once.

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