Of Skeletons (and Their Closets)

And all our sins

Come back to haunt us in the end

To hang around and tap us on the shoulder,

And smile silent, it's all implied,

You'll die trying to live this down

You might as well forget it.

Lately, I've found myself delving ever deeper into the past. As I've been rummaging through the mess that has recently taken over my room (which, by the way, is currently excusable, given the fact that I'm packing for college!), I've come across a number of old photos--framed or unframed; clean, unstained or folded and torn; people smiling and posed; laughing, candid. It's not that I'm seeking out these memories. On the contrary, they're unavoidable--falling from the shelves in my closet, hidden beneath a pile of notebook paper. Some are even hanging on the wall, begging for my attention each time I enter the room.

I'll admit it. I'm a sucker for nostalgia. Whenever I stumble upon these photos, I'll pause to reflect for a moment (read: I'll use them as excuses to stop packing and/or cleaning up my room). Lately, though, the nostalgia that I've fed and nursed over the years has all but vanished. Lately, I've been glad that things in the past are...just that. In the past.

Now, I don't want you to misinterpret what I'm saying. I loved elementary school, middle school, and high school while I was in the midst of them all. I had a bunch of great friends, and we had some amazing experiences. I was relatively successful in school. Things were--and this is throwing humility out the window, I suppose--pretty great.

So, why, then, am I bothered by the past? I guess it comes down to a bleak self-comparison with the present and the future. Even though personality types seem fairly static, I know we're all constantly changing--shaped by our experiences and those around us. And I guess, looking back into the past, I just don't know how I feel about the person I was back then.

Granted, this is probably just me being overly critical of myself. It's not that I had some deep, dark secret or that I was a terrible human being. I just know that I've changed, and, in my opinion, it has been for the better. I was less confident (which...may be hard to imagine, given my admittedly low level of confidence now!), quieter (again, use your imagination), less accepting, and more of a petty person, I think. I let things bother me more easily. I've never been one to explode with anger--I internalize, which may be another issue in itself--but I would get annoyed much more often than I do now. The little things would get to me, and I had a hard time just relaxing.

Obviously I'm not saying that I'm a saint nowadays. Not by any means. But I have noticed a change. I'm a little stronger, a little more certain. It's not that I'm a great person now--just perhaps a bit better than before. College has forced me to adapt, and I think that adaptation has had a positive effect. And maybe it's mostly internal, which probably renders the majority of this post obsolete. Anyway, sometimes I wonder if--back then--I knew the people that I know now...would I have been a different person in the past? (Was that question confusing enough for you? Please, feel free to stop reading and go vomit if you feel that this post has degenerated into little more than garbage at this point. That very well might be true.)

Anyway, I guess what I'm really trying to say is "thanks." I truly believe that the people in my life at this point have greatly shaped me into a better person (perhaps unbeknownst to them), and I'm rather grateful for it.

I found a quote recently that read, "The past is like a foreign country; they do things differently there." And maybe that's all that I wanted to say in the first place. These memories I'm uncovering--however pleasant or unpleasant--feel foreign now. And perhaps it's best that way.

So we bottled and shelved all our regrets

Let them ferment and came back to our senses,

Drove back home and slept a few days,

Woke up and laughed at how stupid we used to be.