Reading this blog back from the beginning – as I have been wont to do lately, along with other unhealthy things like looking through old photographs and poring over long-ago emails – is a strange experience.
I started it in March 2011. Not so long ago, maybe, in the grand scheme of things. But before the London Olympics, before a few house moves, before I turned 30, before Game of Thrones was on, before I really knew what heartbreak meant.
Before this blog, I’d kept up a couple of other (way too personal, very “early 00s”) blogs for years – annoyingly, I deleted them and now wish I hadn’t. I’d love to read them now. I have long had the habit of doing stupid stuff like that: throwing out clothes and then wishing I could wear them again, still dreaming about the old cassette tapes I got rid of years ago…
Amid so much change, I’ve been thinking about the past a lot. Maybe too much, lately. It seems impossible not to. The future is so unclear. Is some level of regret and disappointment inevitable by this age? Will life always be a bit less shiny than it once was? Do we ever know what we’re doing?
If you know, please tell me.
(‘If you do, you start missing everybody’…)