Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Of an age
A few evenings ago, I called an old friend* whom I have not spoken to since 9th grade. I changed high schools in 10th grade, and quickly drifted away from my old gang.
Right from the start, we were both struck by the fact we hadn’t spoken to one another since before puberty. In other words, we remembered one another’s pre-pubertal voices, so our adult voices sounded recognizable but eerily different.
The other remarkable thing: both of us have gone through several major upheavals, and yet we’re both the same people we were at age 14. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. As I think you all know by now, I’ve kept in touch with gf v1.0, and she’s very much the same person I first met at 15.
I remember when I met up with her again after a long absence (it took me a few years to get over the breakup). We sat together at her sister’s wedding, me by myself, she with her husband, a friend of mine from high school. Some days later, her sister told me, “They were a little worried you’d be different. Arrogant, maybe, because of med school and all of that. But they said you were the same old Doug.”
But she has changed, of course, and so have I, and so has my pal from 9th grade; as with our voices, we’re recognizable, but eerily different. We take on new abilities, new likes and dislikes, and we shed some of our old needs and tendencies. It’s like changing clothes, I suppose. The flesh remains the same, while the outer trappings come and go.
My friend wondered if this was a middle-aged thing, this desire to get back in touch with our old mates. We’re of an age now when death doesn’t seem all that improbable. We can’t take each other for granted anymore — not that we ever could, but it becomes more undeniable with each passing year.
I wonder if there is something almost literary about it. Is it the desire to leave no loose ends behind, leave nothing unsaid? Is it a repugnance for red herrings, or merely the desire to make sense out of something (a life) not obliged to make sense?
This year is the 50th anniversary of Hugh Everett’s “many worlds” interpretation of quantum mechanics — an idea with which most SF readers have more than passing familiarity. As I get older, Everett’s ideas give me more and more satisfaction, the same sort of comfort I imagine many folks get from religion. I get older, my options flicker off like the evening lights of a metropolitan skyline, but there are worlds out there where I have explored other avenues, taken different paths. I may not be able to go back and do things differently, but I don’t have to; some of me are already living those lives. I wonder how I’m doing.
D.
*This dude, who claims he’s not ready for high traffic yet — so go visit him and it’ll really piss him off!
It WAS kind of eerie to hear the same voices but different, wasn’t it? Gee, thanks for referring everyone to my site. Now I’m going to have to come up with something clever to post… You really do have the same twisted sense of humor you always had. 🙂
It’s funny, but this exact thing has been on my mind for the past month or so. All of the sudden I started thinking about people who I had an unsatisfying “last” with and wondering how, if I could, I’d do things differently now. In most cases I still can’t think how I could handle certain situations different were all the fundamental issues the same.
Even so, I can’t seem to stop pondering on the subject and it’s kind of maddening actually, because it really does seem a useless thing to spend energy on.
On the flip side, my family went to Seattle last week-end and spent time with some of my oldest and greatest friends and it was absolutely FANTASTIC.
I’ve become more introspective about my life (and the people in it) as the kidney failure progressed. But not enough to really reac out and contact anyone.
The weird thing is – several people from my past have made ‘guest appearances’ in my life again recently. (Like the last two months or so) One of them sent me an email thanking me for some advice I gave him way back when that made me cry. It’s nice to know I made a positive imapct somewhere.
Mike, your Marian Parker kidnapping post is a gory, creepy little gem. That’ll get them started.
fiveandfour, noxcat — I would say “I’ve been in a sentimental mood lately” except I’m always sentimental. How Karen (my wife, the Vulcan) tolerates this is beyond me. With gritted teeth, I’m sure.
I don’t think there’s much risk, really, poking around among the fallen leaves. What’s the worst that can happen — a little disappointment? And think of the possible benefits: old friends made new again. You liked each other once. Chances are, you’ll still appreciate the traits you found appealing decades ago.
/soapbox.
Probably editing “Dodecahedrons and Almonds” on the interweeb and a practicing proctologist. Count your blessings.
PS: you get a mention on Chez Moi today
HA! I had a similar moment of the past wrapping around last night when I was watching the Colbert show.
[kate hijacks blog comment…] The name Mark Moffett sounded familiar. I did a quick search and yup, I was right, I met the guy when I was 17. I went to Beloit for a year and took a class called Psychobiology.
MM was the TA for the class. It was a small summer class and he and the professor were great–it was the best, most memorable classes I’ve ever taken (and not just because the professor gave us coffee every morning). I got a C or something rotten in the class, but seriously loved it. (I also rescued a chick from the brain experiment portion of the class. Named it Norbert and left it in a wisconsin farmer’s chicken yard.)
So last night I stared and stared at the TV screen at this middle-aged looking MM (he’s only 3 years older than I am? Uh, no.) He’s got a graying beard and sort of a paunch. When I knew him a zillion years ago, he was skinny and had red hair, but yeah, the nose was familiar. Then he smiled–showing a whole bunch of teeth, and THERE he was. Wow, hey! That’s Mark Moffett! And he was suddenly younger.
I tried to wake up my husband to say HEY! Look! Mark Moffett! The bug guy! But it didn’t work. So I’ve sat on this for HOURS. Thanks for letting me do a HEY! LOOK, not that you could have stopped me.
Oh, I just remembered. Back then, he was the one person who knew that a bug displayed in EO Wilson’s office was actually an amalgam of beetles. Or I think that’s how the story went? Hell, it was a long time ago.
The pathetic thing is MM probably wouldn’t have recognised me if he’d met me on Beloit’s campus a month after class ended. (Of course I was gone a month later so he didn’t get a chance.)
PS the other funny thing is that when I was doing a search for MM on the interwebs, to see if he was the same guy, I ran across photos of him jumping out of trees and thought HEY, That’s Mark Moffett? The bug guy? HEY, he’s HOT? Wow. Not something I would have guessed, but Wow.
The photos were after the time I knew him and before yesterday.
Microsoar: “Dodecahedrons and Almonds” just doesn’t have that je nais se quoi (or however it’s spelled). How about “Bucky Balls and Bisquick”?
Kate, you can hijack my blog any time you like. God knows I’ve done it to you enough times.
When I was in university, a guy I’d known in elementary school showed up at a social*. He was apparently riddled with guilt for teasing me on the bus back in those school days, and so he bought me drinks. All night long.
It was kind of cool.
Also:
This year is the anniversary of Hugh Everett’s “many worlds†interpretation of quantum mechanics…
Isn’t every year, by definition, the anniversary of the many-worlds interpretation?
And: It’s spelled “je ne sais quoi”. You were close, but I have the French mojo. From elementary school.
____
* Which is essentially equivalent to a “dance”, at least here in tha 204.
“Je ne sais quoi.” Literally “I don’t know what.”
/spreading the joy of French to the masses
Oops. Pat J beat me to it.
Also: The many-worlds interpretation always makes me think of Greg Knauss’s short story, Schrödinger’s Monkey.
It’s the FIFTIETH anniversary. Doh! Problem fixed.
Je ne sais quoi au jus. If you google ANY spelling of ‘je ne sais quoi,’ you will find confirmation that your spelling is the correct spelling 😉
Thanks for the story link, Pat. Interesting metafiction (I mean, it’s not really a proper story, you know?) I might ask my son to read it as part of his homeschooling.
We used to call the soup in residence “crême de je ne sais quoi”. I didn’t often eat the soup.
A couple of years ago I tracked down an old friend that my ex had effectively alienated with her suspicion.
I have also gotten a few way-back-machine hits from Facebook.