What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared
to what lies within Us
For some inexplicable reason, I feel it necessary to talk about the past 10 years. I don’t feel connected to them. I don’t rue them. I’m not scared of them. I don’t, really, feel much towards them. To a certain degree, I’m happy about them, because I’m happy where I stand today, I guess. But a lot happened, both in my life, and in the world. It’s just that they came, they lasted, and with the opening of a bottle of cheap champagne, they left.
Poof. Bye-bye ‘00s.
I think it’s possibly because it was my first ‘real’ decade that I’m feeling something in the guise of nostalgia. As in, this is the first decade that I lived through that I was old enough to remember it from the start. I remember the much-hyped hoopla of Y2K, and the collective breath of air that was heaved from the world’s chest when the decade commenced. (I think everyone felt a little ridiculous with all the generators and food stockpiles that surrounded them, too.) I was old enough to recall the decade-defining 9/11 attacks and the repercussions and shockwaves that lasted (and continue to last) throughout the decade. I remember my first iPod. I remember sitting in my first university class. My first university hangover. My first full-time job. My first article ever published, and how it felt resting in my uncontrollably excited fingers. I remember when my first article was published in a national paper. And then in a national magazine. I remember holding my niece for the first time, gazing into her eyes of pure innocence. I remember my grave disappointment and upset at the re-election of Bush. I remember my burst of sheer excitement and contentment when Obama gave his inauguration speech. I remember when I first started dating my partner—more than half a decade ago now. I remember when I graduated high school, then university, then college. The look on my parents' faces on those days. I remember the SARS scare, and it’s similar, more current buddy, H1N1. I remember the day that I really started to enjoy music. (The most memorable being my introduction to M.I.A., Radiohead and Beirut.) I remember my first real concert (Incubus). I vividly remember living in a Liberian refugee camp in Ghana for a summer. I remember first discovering of Hunter S. Thompson. Same with David Sedaris and J.D. Salinger. I remember my first car. My first car accident. I remember driving my first car to the steel depot, handing over the keys. I remember winning my first skateboard competition. I remember my first summer as a camp counselor at Camp Edgewood. (I don’t think I will ever forget that time or the four unfathomable summers that followed.) I remember my first airplane ride. My first subway ride. I remember when I first found religion. The first time I stood at the summit of Whistler Blackcomb. I remember laughing at Sarah Palin. I remember watching Jon Stewart nightly, awestruck by his quick wit. I remember coming home to my first student house, after it had burned down. I remember the shock that hit my body after realizing the gravity of the situation. I remember first hearing about the death of Michael Jackson (and just about every other celebrity that died last year.) I remember my 19th birthday. Well, most of it. I remember when I could grow my first beard. My first ironic mustache. I remember when I interviewed the Jonas Brothers, K’naan and Raine Maida, respectively. I remember the wild ups, downs, frowns, clowns and whirlwinds of emotions that hit me like it does every teenager like it’s a rite of passage. I remember a lot—some important, most personal and others menial—of the past decade, the 2000s.
Actually, this has been a very cathartic (and surprisingly easy) recalling of the past decade. I still feel indifferent to the years, as I love to live in the present, the ever-fleeting moment. But I wouldn’t be the individual I am (of course) if it weren’t for these (obviously memorable) years. And I think that’s saying a lot. It’s been quite a journey into the new millennium, and I’m betting there’s many a memory to come yet.
Here’s my raising of my glass (brimming with awful-tasting champagne) to that.
