Remembering Who I Was

Some may consider it to be a sorry exercise in nostalgia when looking back on your life. But, recently, I began to wonder if I am the same person that I used to be.

On the cellular level, it has been said our body renews itself every seven years. Some cells are more enduring, but the notion of such a dramatic re-birth of our cells is a fantastic concept to ponder.

I am sure I have changed in many ways from the college student in 1970 who read and wrote from a particular vantage point to the person with a more eclectic taste in music and who gravitates to the murder master genre more than science fiction.

For this reason, as we approach spring and summer, I try to recreate my 1970s playlists and book list just to return home for a few months.

This keeps me grounded by reminding me who I was and, hopefully, still am.

Then, too, I have a touchstone of sorts consisting of six or seven Bronx Boys (and the occasional girl) who have been part of my life, some in excess of sixty years. I must confess that there are times that I am reminded of the person I really didn’t want to be, but that’s all part of your evolution. Isn’t it?

And, while we are not in daily contact with one another, once we renew the conversation, we take off where we left off. It is the purest form of mind-tripping that you can safely endure in your seventies.

Nevertheless, I have struggled to remind myself who I was and, more importantly, who I am.

It has never been more urgent to remain skeptical of what you see on television or what you need on your electronic devices. Especially now when there are so many definitions of “fake.”

It has become all too easy to hop on the wrong train of thought. That is where your touchstones, whatever they may be, are most important. They can reveal the gems from the grit and help you remember who you were. But enough with this.

It’s Friday!

Even when you’re retired, it still feels good.

Happy Friday, Everybody!!!

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