Yesterday I sat in the bleachers and breathed the steamy chlorine air while dozens of kids, including one of mine, swam back and forth along the straight black lines. Memories flooded back: I spent more hours of my young life under this water than I did on dry land. I saw these black lines in my sleep. The memories surfaced and sank back down into nostalgia - the land of past lives, former selves, and finished chapters. Translated into cheesy sports terms, I left it all in the pool.
Today I drove through a college campus and felt a similar tide of memories rise. I was wearing a Jansport backpack and riding a crappy bike in flip-flops when I started to become who I am today. I met my best friends on these busy streets. But these memories pulled me further, forward instead of back. It wasn't nostalgia this time, but the ache of more to come. Unspoken words and unmarveled mysteries are waiting. I want to go back.