Time Cannot Be Linear

As I stood there in the Lance Middle School auditorium in Kenosha, WI blowing through the solo section on the same exact arrangement of Weather Report's "Birdland" that I had blown a solo on eight years ago while attending that school, I was instantaneously taken back to eighth grade. I felt awkward, unattractive, and insignificant all over again. As I opened my eyes at the end of my solo, I half-expected to see all of those nasty, judgmental bastards that I went to middle school with.

But they weren't there. It was just my sister's band director (not the same one that I had), all of the kid's in my sister's middle school jazz band (not the same kids who were in mine), and an empty auditorium (still with the same ugly seats). But I still felt some of those same feelings hanging around that I had felt eight years ago near the end of my eighth grade and final year in middle school.

I then hung out with one of my very close friends from high school, and, as she and I drove around to some of the spots that we used to go when we'd skip class, all of those high school memories came streaming back. But they were good high school memories. Usually, when I think of high school, I think of the negative things that happen, and, when I think of high school girlfriends, I think of the ends of the relationships.

Not this time. As the two times in my life collided, I began reliving those same emotions that I felt when we'd cut class in senior year on a gorgeous spring day, grab some Taco Bell, and go sit down by the lake and talk about music. Suddenly, all of the other times in my life that I had relived that day became positive. My middle school memories became about hanging out with some of my good guy friends, of going camping with my dad, and playing too many video games with my cousin.

Yesterday, the time that I currently live in collided with several different other times in my life. I didn't just remember those times, I relived the memories and the emotions. I was those ages again, even if for only a brief moment or two. Physicists, psychologists, and whoever else can say what they like: I'm telling you that this was an absolute collision of my life now and my life in the past.

And it felt good. Being back in Kenosha doesn't make me feel so weighted down anymore. I don't feel like these memories are weighing on my shoulders anymore as much as they just hanging around simultaneously with each other.

Peace out, peeps.