I’ve been a bit distracted this week, my mind wandering throughout the day. Yes, my head’s been, literally, up my own past. I don’t know how else to word it.

I smile to myself as I pull out memory after memory of my school days. Must be this turning 50 or something. I’m not sure. What I am sure of are the wonderful feelings I’ve been experiencing as I’m called to remember things I hadn’t thought about in years— the boy the teacher made me hold hands with the day the class walked to the fire hall in the first grade, the friend I wrote letters to over the summer vacation, the girl who sat next to me in Math class—you get the picture. This week has been a bit of a “blast from the past” for me.

On a whim I started poking around facebook, and looking up some of the people I went to school with. After thirty years of not seeing many of them it’s been fun to touch base, and see where they’ve all been these past thirty years. I had to wonder if many of them would even remember me as I hit the “Send Friend Request” button. I was kind of quiet in school. I’m sure I didn’t make much of an impression. Miraculously, little emails began to come in, people asking how I was, letting me know about their kids, their jobs. They genuinely seemed glad to hear from me.

Living in a small community where we were bussed to school an hour away, often left me feeling that so much was missing, things that the rest of my classmates likely took for granted. I never got to talk to these people on the phone (longs distance charges) nor did we ever hang out on weekends or evenings. The only time I saw these people was during school hours. Wonder why I’d be doubtful if they’d remember me?

I find it strange that these friendships, forged in the past, seem to bring something out in all of us. They call us back to a time and place when life was much simpler, a time when our whole lives were stretched out before us. We were not thinking or imagining a time when we would turn 50. We were innocent. We were young. We were anxious to take a bite out of life. We lived in the moment. We did not have our heads up our own pasts.

So to all those who graced the halls of West Kings High during my school days, just letting you know, you were a pretty cool bunch.

How about the rest of you, have you ever suffered from Head up your own past syndrome?