The other day, while I was sitting in our kitchen working on my laptop, The Greatest Kid On The Planet walked in and started rummaging around in the pantry. And he was singing these song lyrics:
“Won’t you…come see about me?
I’ll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby.
Tell me…your troubles and doubts,
giving me everything inside and out.
Don’t you…forget about me.
Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t…
Don’t you…forget about me.”
I couldn’t hold back a small laugh, which momentarily halted The Greatest Kid’s forage, and he noticed the look of amusement on my face.
“Have you heard that song?” he asked. This question evoked another small laugh, which brought about a look of confusion. “It’s from a vine,” he said, which only made me laugh a little harder.
“That’s an old song, kiddo,” I said.
“It is?”
Oh, yes…
I love the way social media brings the past into the present, and the old is suddenly new again. My son is continually hearing and seeing things I remember from my childhood with no realization they’re from a previous generation. To him, they’re new. But for me, they bring back memories of when I was growing up.
That particular song takes my mind on a journey back to 1985. I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing, who my friends were, and the things we talked about and aspired to. I think about the person I was back then and everything she was so sure she wanted, and I wonder what she would say about who she is now.
In my mind, I can see a slide show of the years in between that song and today, ending with my eleven-year-old drinking an orange Gatorade as he stands in front of me in his Under Armour shorts and bare feet, his sandy blonde hair showing the gentle brush strokes of the summer sun. I can clearly see the events, circumstances, relationships, “coincidences” that helped to put me where I am, which, I believe, is where I’m supposed to be, even if I was unaware of it along the way.
Life, I’ve learned, is an adventure, and the people, places, and events we encounter change us and help us grow, and we mustn’t be afraid to leave behind who we were in order to become who we are meant to be. The slide show in my mind is a collection of snapshots portraying how each new experience brought me to the next, and to where I am now. And while, I believe, we continually change and grow, there is a part of us at the very center of who we are that stays the same.
For me, in 1985, I was still planning my journey, and the vision of my destination was far different than what I see today. Back then, I never could have conceived of who I am now. I didn’t see myself a single mom, ordering school supplies for an upcoming sixth-grader, obsessed with my kid, and football, and running.
Those were things that never crossed my mind, but not everything about me has changed. I still love music, dancing, laughing, singing. And I still get lost in poetry, and I have an incurable imagination and an infinite curiosity about human nature. I still stare at the stars and the moon and question why we’re here and why we do the things we do. And I still write, just like I always have. That’s something that will never change. It makes me who I am.
Now, as I look at my eleven-year-old, and I notice that he, again, looks taller, and a little different in his features somehow, I wonder how much of who he is today will stay with him as he grows older and becomes who he is going to be. And what the slide show of his life will one day look like.
There is so much I would like to tell the person I was in 1985 if I could, but, mainly, I would say, “Don’t worry. Nothing will turn out the way you think, but it will be just as it should be.”
I wouldn’t change anything about where I am now, because I know it’s where I’m supposed to be. It would be an understatement to say I didn’t always take the easiest route. But I believe, no matter my chosen direction, I would have wound up here. I believe the Universe brings us whatever we see for our lives, and it is continually arranging and rearranging to put us on the right path. And if, at some point, we get off track, it will nudge us (sometimes non-too gently) back into place.
There is a part of me that feels the slightest bit of nostalgia when I think back to who I was in 1985, and the innocence and naivete that now seem refreshing in a way. But those things have been replaced by an inspiration and knowledge I didn’t have then. And a certainty that everything is in its place.
Still, if that girl from 1985 could tell me anything today, I wonder, what would she say? Perhaps it would be…
“Don’t you…forget about me.
I’ll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby.”
Don’t, don’t, don’t don’t…
Don’t you…”
It’s in your head now, too, isn’t it?
M.C. Greene
Don’t You (Forget About Me) was written and composed by Keith Forsey and Steve Schiff and recorded in 1985 by Simple Minds.
(This post was featured on mcgreeneauthor.com.)