I have a few posts brewing in my mind, and it occurs to me that they all touch in some way on the passage of time and my relationship with it. I hope by writing this little introduction I will have committed myself to following through on all of them. Poof!
Earlier this month, Hal Lanier, an old friend from my graduate school days died, from complications of an aortic aneurysm. He was fifty.
There was a time when fifty sounded old, ancient to me.
Hal and I were friendly but not close in college and only kept in touch Facebook-style. The depression his death dragged me into is more about me than about him, to be totally honest. Actually it’s midlife crisis-y. When I think of Hal as I knew him (extravagantly talented, charming, funny, irreverent) I also think of who I was in graduate school. Those were the days when I really was a hippie cool chick. I dressed colorfully (knee-length overalls decorated with jingle bells, anyone?), I sang with all my heart every time I took the stage, I laughed loudly and flirted artfully and wore crazy ribbons in my hair. One day, Hal called me a vile seductress, and I’ve saved that phrase in my heart all this time. I loved being that person, and I miss her. I was young, attractive, and talented. (In truth, maybe not that talented, but I was, a little bit.) It felt like there were many, many adventures awaiting me. Little did I know I’d look back at my college years and realize they were the most adventurous of my life.