To My Past Life: You're Not Going Away, Are You?
-inhaltslos
From my notebook , 2011:
I remember so well August 8th,1988 because of the date: 8/8/88. It had been on the local radio station that it was a special, lucky day. My grandma had a large tree with purple leaves in her yard, and I carved this date into its trunk with a kitchen knife. I thought it was so fascinating that all the numbers were the same, that it happened only once every eleven years, and this was one of the first moments that I felt the times in which I was living. I had been too little to remember 7/7/77 and wondered how my life would be 9/9/99.
I was twelve, that weird age when you still have dolls in your room or received them as Christmas presents, but you feel a bit too old for them. I was half-kid, half-teen, and was just getting used to those awkward moments when I didn't know how to downshift from one to another. That summer of '88 I rode bikes all over the ranch with some the neighbor boys and my dad would put me in the fields a few afternoons a week to teach me 'how to work'.
The price of gas was 91¢ a gallon, a dozen eggs 65¢, and a stamp 24¢. My favorite new movies that year were 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit?' and 'Big', both of which I had seen in the theaters. The Grammy Winner for Best New Artist that year was Jody Watley. I didn't like her music (was more of a Tiffany and Belinda Carlisle fan myself), but my mom had Jody Watley's tape and would listen to it when she'd get ready to go out honky-tonkin', as my grandma would call it.
I'm sitting here now, many years later and thousands of miles from that ranch and that purple tree, with a 12-year-old of my own sleeping in the room next to mine. I guess I think of that summer as some sort of a last innocent moment. A few months after this I had my uber-Nazi past life unceremoniously crash my party and give me more serious things to worry about than any other kid I knew.
It occured to me not that long ago that the only thing that has ever been consistent in my life and in my world has been this past life journey. Maybe at barely 13 I had no idea that those feelings had some validity to it: those buildings I remembered had indeed stood, the people I talked to actually had existed with lives of their own, and giving speeches to imaginary crowds and talking about my death was actually...normal. Well, 'normal' given the circumstances.
A lot would happen, though, between those days and ones I am currently living. Again, if I look back at my life since 1988, everything has changed...except for the past life crap that seems stuck to my hip like a stubborn bit of flab or a scar that I just have to live with.
My past life issues were around for my 8th grade graduation, my high school graduation, and 4 years of university sans graduation. It was there for all those life firsts: my first slow dance with a boy, my first kiss, my first car, my first real job.
My past life stuff has survived 4, almost 5, US Presidents and 5 driver's license renewals. It has survived 7 boyfriends, 3 of them pretty serious. It survived 1 broken engagement, 1 broken marriage, both second marriages of my parents, my grandparents, and 2 best-friendships that fizzled with time and change.
It saw the rise of, and demise of, New Kids on the Block, rollerblades, Hanson, Ross Perot, Winona Ryder, Blue's Clues, Swine Flu, Crocs, Hypercolor, and Milli Vanilli.
In all these years my hair has been long and red or short and blonde. At one time I had the Aniston cut. Another time I had Geri Halliwell's red and blonde streaks, which made me feel pretty cool when hanging out at the local college pub. Currently my hair is short and brown, which is perfect for a mother.
While dealing with past life issues, I've had the night before my son was born when my belly rocked with contractions, the night before my wedding or The Big Interview when I didn't sleep a wink due to excessive nerves, and the night before I relocated from a small town to a city, then another when I went from a city to a metropolis.
I wonder how many flus I've had, how many pairs of socks I've gone through, how many diapers changed and loads of laundry washed, dried, and folded.
If someone were to tell me to 'move on' from my past life issues or just to 'get over it', I would probably stare at them in utter disbelief. How can I drop something that has followed me everywhere, even while I was actively ignoring it, through every stinking stage of my life? No matter where I go, it's there. No matter what fad or book or movie or album that has briefly caught my attention, it's not going away. I may be distracted by a major life event such as birth, death, engagement, or marriage, but it always returns to the forefront after lingering in the wings. We're not talking about my being bent because a favorite shade of lipstick was discontinued. We're talking about the end of many, many lives for reasons I can't change nor justify, and for ideals I can barely remember. And the knowing I can't do anything about it except piece together what I do have, memory by memory, has turned into my faithful, though frustrating, friend.
In a lifetime full of change and inconsistencies, it is the only thing that has remained, undeviated, steady, and unchanged.