You Can't Go Home Again

With all apologies to Thomas Wolfe, I have been reflecting on the past and my unwavering fondness for it. In light of my mother's impending trip to India, my single status, and general rootlessness, I have been waxing nostalgic for those halcyon days of my youth. Trouble is, they kinda sucked. Sour grapes, yes; for I was relatively well liked in school, made reasonable grades, had all of my cares (and most of my wants) taken care of. That said, I was also paralyzed with fear-procrastinating even the simplest of tasks rather than screwing up. I recently had the occasion to see a friend from college who reminded me that the hard realities of the past are often worn down by the passage of time into soft, fuzzy-colored memories that portray every thing as infinately better than the present. I resolve to emerge from the 'summer of my discontent' if not a more optimistic person, then one who has a more realistic perspective and lower expectations of life.