The March of Time

I read this today. It has a resonance with me. I am a great believer in the admonishment not to go back. Whenever I have done so, I am conscious of the fact that what I remembered has changed – and not for the better either. I have always referred to this phenomena as ‘vandalism’. Somewhere there is a wrecking crew who move in as soon as I have gone and set about removing all that must – surely – have been good and gracious. It is not just about physical places. Someone has set up a force field that wipes my memory blank. Restaurants where I have enjoyed great times and companionship revert to slightly up-market McDonalds. Even the menu and wine list has self-destroyed. Vast hills I climbed have eroded to small ups and downs. Luckily, human relationships seem able to resist this vandalism. I am lucky to have known people over fifty years. Where they survive, they are still friends. We are still connected through the Internet; personal contacts seem difficult to achieve but unnecessary, their emails and postings to shared forum reflect the sparks we set off in luckier times when we worked alongside one another.

Today,
I managed to drive through the area I grew up in and past the exact same house. Fuck me it's changed. Not for the best either. Last time I was near was nine years ago.Now I know why the saying is "Never go back." Places I remembered as full of fun were full of shite. Strange how we grow, at one part of my life, it was the centre of the universe. Now it's just an open sewer.Sad that, still, at least I have my memories. So much was plotted and planned from here, so many discussions about what we would do in life. Strange how some came true and some were not even on the radar.Like what I do for a living now.Always feel sad when passing through for friendships that passed under the bridge. Was it their fault or mine? Did life just get in the way?