...That's What She Said

I wrote a blog a couple of years ago or so about nostalgia (click here for a refresher). While I have no intention of beating a dead horse, I also must acknowledge that it’s just one of those things that can creep up on you and often tempt you with a trip down memory lane on an overcast day. On the other side of the coin, nostalgia can be even sneakier, opting to make itself unavailable when you’re braced, ready and expecting the confrontation. Now the good part about nostalgia "leaving you hanging" is that you’re generally left with a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of power and progress. The sun will shine brightly upon your skin and you’ll feel born again with the absence of nostalgia’s ever persistent dark cloud. I think what I’m beginning to learn is that it may not be a completely nostalgia related issue when it comes to feeling pain as you look back… it may be just the simple issue of time...

Scenario numero uno took place at the beginning of this week, as I helped paint a layer of white over the once carefully planned walls of color at one of my closest friend’s apartment prior to the process of moving out being complete. I fully expected to be a tiny bit sad covering over the bold black squiggle lines that had once dominated the modern décor of a room I’d shared many laughs in. However, I did not expect to become overwhelmed with a sense of what could very well have been my last contribution to a broken circle of friendship. There were many mile markers in the steady progression of distance that grew between me and what remained of that original group of people formed in late ’05/early ’06… but as my paintbrush slid across the wall, erasing what existed before, I felt as though I was sealing the deal. The pinnacle of this looming feeling hit me as I sat alone in the second bedroom, listening through a closed door to Jonathan and Nick, laughing and saying a name that perhaps felt more comfortable in conversation with me being excluded. [Fade out. Enter Nostalgia.] That’s when I looked around the empty room that once was home to a TV where episodes of some of my favorite shows made me laugh and cry. I noticed there were no indentions in the carpet to show where the bed or the desk had been, no ruminants of the room’s prior tenant of over a year. It was just me, a paintbrush and a small plastic container filled with primer… alone in a nearly white empty room. It made me sad… regardless of the fact that it was my choice, that I’d been happy lately or that change is inevitable… I was sad anyway. I thought about a handful of people that once meant so much to one another that may as well be strangers now. I thought about how the cycles of friends that I’ve had in my life seems to be a constant revolution with very few making it through to the next round. I thought about the possibility that many things may still be the same for them and that my absence has had no effect on their lives. I thought about those who’d hurt me and those I’d hurt… I took a final sad look around the white void surrounding me. Then I put the paintbrush down and called it a night.

The second situation is now a few weeks old, as I noticed it during my first week of work at the new office. In August of 2005, I grabbed my old Minolta and drove to downtown Orlando early one Saturday afternoon. I had no plan for this impromptu photo shoot, for I simply wanted to capture some new images on film after several months of being on hiatus from my art. At the time, I lived near the airport and wasn’t familiar with the metro area in which I now reside. I parked on a side street and wandered around in the summer heat for over two hours before I found myself in the stairwell of a parking garage. Finding interest in the shadows cast by the light coming in the narrow windows, I positioned a perfect shot. Within a second of the shutter clicking, my phone began to ring. The voice asked where I was and then, as if the Universe had set everything up on purpose, it advised that its owner’s location was less then two blocks away. "Coincidence? No, surely not… let’s share a drink!" That was the day when I first met the young man who would later put my heart through the proverbial blender. [Fast forward to present day] Nostalgia seems to have taken some personal days because it hasn’t responded to my messages. It took me a few days before I put a finger on what was so familiar about the garage I now park my car in every Monday through Friday and why I had déjà vu walking past The Globe to the back entrance of my downtown office. However, once I figured it out, I stared intently at the narrow window and shadows surrounding it, then at the table inside the restaurant… ready to stand my ground and face whatever nostalgia wanted to serve up. Nothing happened. Now, as I’ve tromped up and down the steps in the very same stairwell nearly every day for a month, I haven’t felt a thing outside of a rush not to be late clocking in… and I can’t help but wonder what I ever found to be so beautiful.