At first, I
liked the idea. Having someone from your past make the effort to reintroduce
themselves initially brought me simple delight. Rediscovering people who were
part of my history was quite amusing, when the game began. While I have maintained
several long-term (20+ years) relationships, the majority of people I “drifted”
away from remained the same. This is particularly true of my high school associates.
You move on, you let it go and it becomes like every other might have been. In
our time, each of us crosses paths with countless souls. The endless sea of
faces from our past tends to make a person rather “cold” towards something that
has become so irrelevant. It is a rare thing to be able to go home again. You
can give it a good try, embrace the now of it, but in the end there was usually
a reason why the relationship in question failed in the first place. People may
claim age has changed them but usually, once established, there is little
room beyond the original experience. Once bitten, twice shy, I say.
When I
started using Facebook, Twitter and other social platforms on a regular basis,
like a fool I spent great energy trying to find people from my past. At first,
I wanted the second chance. I gathered as many as possible and with great expectation attempted to re-establish
myself to them. Apparently, moss gathers on rock. It was strange, perhaps
surreal, even laughable. It was like nothing had really changed at all. The
dynamics were almost exactly the same.
Rather quickly
together, yet one by one, what was became what is. Like with the lemming mythos, they all headed over the horizon
and gestured goodbye once again. In my mind, I wanted to restore the past and
that is exactly what happened. Be careful what you wish for. The more things
change, the more they remain the same. Clichés aside, I recognized rather
quickly that sometimes you want to go home but once you get there, you realize
why you moved out.
I have a
few friends from my distant past I remain in contact with. One I have known
as long as any other person outside my family. This encouraged me to try my
hand at the experiment known as social networking. I really wanted to, at
least, make contact with a few old friends but that did not come to pass. With
the exception of previously established contacts, trying to revisit that past
was like rotting teeth; at first, you can handle it but eventually the decay is
just too much. Not one of these contacts replied or responded to anything I
posted on their profile or my news feed. It was a graveyard and only zombies
seemed to roam it now. I didn’t understand how you could add someone to your platform
then ghost them to their face. I grew tired of the game rather quickly and soon
enough, each one of them was purged from my online presence for good. Some even
took my memories of the memories of them.
It may seem
egotistical but I look great for my age. If there is one thing consistent with
all my suffering, it is that I dazzled along the way. I have to admit,
being handsome helped me (it sure didn’t
hurt me). Despite all the inner conflict, all the struggle with Bipolar
disorder, all the challenges, being pretty was one of the only things I
felt went my way. Some people appear intact but at least I looked intact. Once
I started using different social platforms, I soon realized that time was not
as kind to many of my former “friends” (for lack of a better term). I suppose I
am petty for enjoying their ugly. It just goes to show, from a cosmetic point
of view, we think some things never change but they sure age. My point is, you can try to
recapture what has gone before but more often than not it has corrupted. Time
guarantees nothing remains the same and yet nothing really changes. Then
again, some things maintain their luster in spite of the ravages of time. With
proper care and attention, you can try to preserve what once might have been
but in the end, it is not really worth it. Unlike a good antique, value mostly diminishes.
She was one
of my closest friends throughout my late teens. I knew her better than anyone.
Despite certain events, and much passing time, we managed to stay in contact
with each other up until the time of my
first partner’s death. Years later, we found each other again on Facebook. She
looked good, I must say. Yes, her passage left wrinkles and lines but she
pretty much looked the same as when I once knew her. At first, we politely
liked each other’s memes and posts. We made casual remarks, slight endeavors
into recapturing what once was between us. Although she remains on my “friend list”, we do not interact with each other very much. She is different. I am
different. Our priorities are not the same as in our youth. Still, the reward
is knowing that my chum is okay and appears to be happy.
Recently,
someone I briefly “dated” 30 years ago sent a friend request through Facebook.
He had run across my writing online and discovered I was the author. It was a
pleasant gesture but I had no idea who the hell he was. Even after we discussed
our mutual past, I had no clue. I still don’t. I felt bad, assuming how
insulting this would be for anyone. I wasn’t sure why he contacted me. According
to him, it’s not like we were ever friends or met outside of our arrangement. I
felt he had certain expectations but I did not. It was nice to be recognized
but in a day or two, I realized the entire endeavor was all pre-coitus. It’s
true, often you cannot go back but when you do, you have no idea where you are
or how you ever got there.
Just after
Christmas 2021, I got another friend request. I had not heard from him in more
than two decades. Back then, we just faded away. His gesture was a surprise and
much welcomed. It was awkward and a little messy at first, like trying to fit a
watermelon into a Dixie cup. We both made an
effort in spite of those two decades and the silence it had manifested. So far,
the endeavor has lasted beyond a few weeks. It has been rather strange, however. My entire world is different, I am different but our past is exactly
the same. The entire process has been an adjustment although not an unpleasant
one. You get so used to a person then they are gone. Should they return one
day, it can be hard to find a place for them. The old hole made from their
departure filled over years ago but now you are digging it up again. We
shall see what the future brings but I must admit that in spite of anything
awkward, I am glad to have left myself open for such an experience. Digging up
the past can sometimes remind us of why we shouldn’t dig up the past. It is the
past for a reason. The wind has stoked the fire. Sometimes the past becomes the
present and you just have to go with it. Things change and people change. My
faith in online social networking has been moderately restored. Sometimes recapturing
a relationship is just like going home. Usually, you have already paved
paradise and put up a parking lot.
The worst
part of my online experience has been developing new friends who end up just
the same as any real-time friends. There have been many contacts I have
established, then nurtured, only to have them wither and die. It’s easier to
say goodbye to someone you have never met but those pleasant hours interacting
with a stranger can be as rewarding as any lunch date or movie night. Back in
public school, my friend Nicole was pen pals with a Nigerian girl. I see no
difference really. After years of correspondence only, Nicole considered her pen
pal more a sister than a transcript. Relationships are defined through effort, not platform. I am closer to several of my online friends than I am to certain
members of my own family. I suppose I should get used to it. Logging on one
morning to a funeral is bewildering, to say the least. One day here, next day
gone. Unfortunately, most people don’t pass away in cyberspace, they linger in
a creepy profile that reeks of desperation. Every once in a while, you’ll see
something they posted 8 years ago or a comment they made on your birthday in
2017. While the grief is, obviously, different, what remains is the same. When
it all comes down, just to remember them is a testament to their existence and
the connection you made with them, even if it’s only in a cloud.
Instead of
trying to restore what was, start again and make something new. People want so
much to fix their past instead of using the past to make a better day and a
brighter tomorrow. I have to admit I am often resistant. I remain twice shy. I
have learned not to trust anyone online until they establish the substance of
their character. You could be old, you could be an idiot, you could even be
ugly but what matters is who you are now, not who you were then. Life can be
surprising no matter how old one gets. Some things are meant to be and some things
are not. You can revisit the past but more often than not, you end up glad for
what you don’t have.
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