Hope over Experience

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

I want to whisper secrets.

I want to have my cassettes full of new wave 1980's pop and early rap, and I want to wear my walkman on my hip, the weight bouncing against the bone as I dance around my bedroom.

I want to curse the short life of AA batteries that I must change over and over.

I want to slide up to my 16 year old self, my 18 year old self, my 22 year old self and tell her things, things from the future, her future.

I want to tell her the answers; Yes, Yes, No, Not yet, Yes instead of No, No instead of Yes.

I want hope, instead of experience.

In the epic battle of Dawn Vs Quad Mud Pit, Mud Pit always wins.
Don't Hate. It was 1989, and this was da bomb.

2 Baleful Regards:

2amsomewhere said...

I play this kind of game with myself every once in a while, but less so over the past couple of years... I ask myself if I could go back in time to talk to myself at one point for an hour about anything, what point in time would I choose and what would I tell myself.

The subtext of this question was the belief that there was a critical point in my life where, if I was just given the right kind of knowledge, I could somehow avoid all of the past regrets.

Letting go of this pining took the realization that there are so many variables that affect the state of things in such nonlinear ways that it would be the height of folly to believe that somehow happiness was within my grasp if I were to do a few things differently.

The past is there and is unchanging, but our perceptions of it do morph with distance. Alas, it is a lover never to be reconciled, drifting ever further away. When one is finally "over" someone who will never requite love, there is room for hope that what chances to choose we do have left will lead us to better places.


Dawn said...

It was less of a wish for a chance to do-over, and more of a sense of longing for a care free sense of possibility....

I don't really wish to tell my younger self - she wouldn't have listened anyway, so sure was she - and I may have sadness, but really no regrets about my choices.

Certainly, I wish I had been braver at times, or less strident, or a billion other things that focus in hindsight...but not different.

The choices - even the wrong ones - were the right ones, for me. I would not be who I am, and while I am occasionally impatient with myself, I fundamentally Like me, scars and bruises and dents and all.

Although I might mention to my younger self that she was so fucking beautiful and that the guys who told her she was fat were In-fucking-sane.

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