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starting to post on this blog with more frequency than the ol' passion of forgetting names. check it out.

When I say I’m nostalgic, I sometimes wonder that means. Watching the movie Big this evening surprisingly made me cry. Lately, I find myself getting verkelmpt when imagining my now-adult self visiting my former childhood self. Why exactly, though, do I get sad? Is it really sadness? Is it just bittersweet? Am I longing to be that innocent and carefree again?
It is sad, I think, because the me I knew then—the 13 yr old Haley, living in Savannah—no longer exists. But not only does that little girl not exist, but the parents with whom she lived similarly no longer exist. As I approach 30, I have found myself starting to identify with my parents when I was their age. My parents had me when they were both roughly 23. That means when they reached the age that I am now—28 and some change—they had a kindergartner. They had a little blonde 5 yr old running around their house. This blows my mind. I cannot fathom having a young child in my house right now, let alone being responsible for its every move. Hell, I can barely keep up with my cat. Ignoring the hard stuff like working 2 jobs or the task of raising a very strange, precocious child, I instead place myself into their shoes with regards to how they had fun. For example, when I find a television show that I love, like Parks & Recreation, or an album that I take to, like the most recent Kills album—I like to picture my father laughing on the couch, smiling in only the way that a person in their 20’s can. I like to imagine the thrill my mom would feel in opening up a new Edie Brickell cassette, excited to hear her favorite song whenever she got in her Nissan. To be the age now, that my parents were then—it is a surreal experience that brings home the entire human condition, I think. The eternal return of the generations. Would I have hung out with my folks when they were in their late 20’s? It is hard to say. The dividing line, these days, between my friends is whether or not one has children. Not that it’s a judgment call, it’s just more of a practical thing. Can you get drunk on a random Tuesday if you have a wife and child? Probably not. But the trade off is I go home alone while they head home to a family. Which is better? I don’t know, to be honest. I’d like to think that by waiting to have a family I’m making a good decision, but in reality I’m not so sure. I suppose you do what you think is right at the time, and that varies for everybody.

30 mile bike ride to bishop ga. it was hot.

me, age 26. the day of my first trial.