Stew

There’s this unique and odd sensation that occurs to me, often when reflecting on the past; wherein all moments of consequence up to that point appear to converge. It’s this strange mixture of nostalgia for a simpler time (which probably never existed), a twinge of embarrassment for the ignorance of my former self, and the sobering knowledge that for better or worse, all roads lead here - wherever here happens to be at the time. These moments are inescapable. Consequences of the passage of time and it’s unrelenting need to move forward. They take the form of grief, celebration, shame, or elation. We store them in our memories, where they grow to form the building blocks of our character. The rehashing of an old argument in the shower months after the fact. The emotional distress of a tequila shot going down sideways. The death of a parent. A bicker amongst friends over easily google-able things. The loss of a life-long companionship. The start of a new one. Stew