Over the past two months my life has become peacefully unsettled, and as a result, I have not had an adequate amount of time to spend at my computer. As a result of that I have not written much throughout this time span.
Or maybe that’s just the excuse part, and the truth part is that I haven’t had anything to write about. Or that I had something to write about, but the proper word form hasn’t come to me yet. Or maybe I’d rather play video games.
Either or, either way, I’m writing right now. Not right now as you’re reading this, of course, and this is what I find to be the reason I come back to writing, no matter how long of a break I feel I must take in between writing sessions. The fact that each piece of writing, fiction or non, is a type of time capsule, taking me back to what I was feeling, experiencing, thinking at one particular moment in my life. A moment I can never get back to, and without these writings it’s a moment I will never be able to relive.
It’s a strange feeling to be able to look upon something you’ve made with your own two hands and actually marvel at it. To have something you’ve created to make you feel something amazing about yourself.
I wonder if God is jealous of that feeling when he looks down at us.
I will share my writings, at least most of them, with the world through the internet, for anyone who cares to spend the few minutes it takes to read them, and maybe they’ll feel what I once felt, or if nothing else they will feel something unique within their own selves. Maybe when I write about being happy they will remember a time when they were happy, but it’s easier to relate to the sad times. The sad times sells better because when you’re sad you think that everyone else in the world is happy, and you’re the only sad person to know what it’s like to go through what you’re going through. We don’t care about the happy times because they only exist for everyone else who is thinking the same thing about us.
There is so much you can learn about a person online that we’ve seem to have skipped the genuinely getting to know someone before befriending them part of our life. There’s no need to learn the ins and outs of your life, the things that matter to you, when I can just as easily send you a friend request on Facebook, and then look at the things that matter to you when it’s convenient for me. We are all friends born out of convenience, our generosities and abilities to care, harvested out of us by the people we don’t hesitate to treat the same way.
This is all just a confession of guilt as earlier tonight I was perusing a friends’ page, a person I haven’t known very long in real life. To scan through 7 years of a person’s life, to see this album of their experiences, of who they were at those certain moments in their lives, it really is an intriguing experience that has never been available to any other generation of humanity to have ever lived. You look at that person long enough, who they used to be, and it becomes as though you’re not even looking at the person you know now. Sometimes you see that person you know with a smile, in a certain look, in the way she slightly bites her lower lip, and it makes you wish that you could have met this person 7 years ago, had you been the age you are now back then.
But the people I liked back then are the ones I don’t like now, and I’m sure it works the opposite way as well.
Tonight I read something that I first started writing seven months ago, and it felt nice to experience the memories of the feelings I had at one time despised. One of those times when everyone else in the world was happy. In reading it it didn’t feel like I was recalling my own memories, but rather that I was hearing for the first time the story that this person I’ve never met had to tell. I could relate to him, sure, but the detail in his emotions belonged entirely to him, and never again to me.
I want to visit the past you, the you before the you-met-me you, to maybe change the way things had to be for you, to change the way things are for you now. For the better, I like to think, but for the worse is the way it seems to usually go.
People are sometimes silly, but oftentimes stupid, and we think that if we had the opportunity to go back in the past, we would be able to change things for the better because we now know what didn’t work for us the first time around. But even in a past we’ve lived a hundred times the best we can hope for is to know what doesn’t work, and imagine what will work. There was no way to know for sure what would work the first time around, and there’s no reason to think that we would be smart enough to change this through nothing more than sheer repetition.
Maybe it’s best that I can’t go back and change the past. I’ve got plenty of future left to destroy first anyway.