Friday night, along with 34 million other people across the world, I settled in with my bucket of popcorn and soda to watch the Olympic opening ceremonies. Excitement and curiosity were tainted by the sad and tragic accident of the young Georgian luger just hours before the games opening ceremony.
The Olympics amaze me. A world community puts aside many of its differences and comes together in a united goal and experience. No matter how many times I watch it, I am taken by the same sense of globalness- something that expands far beyond myself and reminds me that I am a part of something bigger.
But last night I was struck by another feeling- beyond that sense of outward connectedness there was also an inward connection. This introspective awareness was triggered at the first notes of Joni Mitchell singing Both Sides Now. As the aerial gymnast made his ascent in the stadium and was treated to a change of perspective, I felt a similar shift in my own perspective. It was as if I too was lifted up and away from the show, only to be transported back in time to another version of Both Sides Now being sung by Judy Collins.
It is 1967. I can hear the scratchiness of a record that suffered from an astounding number of repetitive plays with a less than gentle placement of the needle. There is a large orange frangipani scented candle which claims its place next to the ancient portable record player. Both are perched on my army green camp trunk which now serves as a night stand and occasional ironing board in my college dorm room. It is my first semester. I am sitting on the floor next to that trunk, my back up against my Indian tapestry covered bed. My knees are bent, I am hugging my legs. My chin is down and my long stingy hair falls in my face. It tickles my knees where my bell bottom jeans are worn through. The room is illuminated solely by that one lone candle (later that semester it will be joined by empty Mateus bottle with a long taper). The orange wax is spilling on to the shiny metal trunk. In the shadows I watch it coagulate and idly make designs in the gooey mess with a burned out match. All this time, I listen to Judi sing Joni’s words and watch the flickering shadows. I am feeling lost, adrift and confused. I also feel very mature and wise and “deep.” I am 17.
Now it is 40(+) years later and I can feel those sensations, not just the smell of the frangipani, or the sound of the music or the touch of my hair on my bare knees. But I can feel her-that 18 year old girl. It is beyond remembering the experience; it is far more visceral. I feel as if I am being hurled back in time. But I am not going back; I am going down inside myself to visit with a younger self that still lives inside me.
Of course, the “Now” me chuckles at “Young” me-at my naiveté, my cynicism and even my arrogance. But I am gentle with that young self. And at the moment we make peace with each other- my 18 year old self ( who never thought she would trust anyone over 30) and my now self , we simply forgive each other. I forgive her for her mistakes and the youth she took for granted. She forgives me for getting older. Then, together we are mesmerized by the aerial ballet of this young dancer as we listen to those words we both know so well. We are not just united with the world,we are united with each other. She tosses some popcorn to the dog, I laugh and we settle down just as the song is ending and the flying young man returns to earth.
And then, just like that, the images of that dorm room start to fade and I am present only with my 2010 self, conscious of the heating pad on my achy back and wondering if the caffeine in the soda will disrupt my sleep.
Music is one way we get to revisit our past selves. The smell of an early morning rain, the taste of a too salty chicken soup or the touch of a worn flannel shirt-these also have the power to evoke a similar experience. These moments are beyond memories as they give us a chance to reconnect with our former selves and perhaps gain clarity and even make peace.
Have you had an experience like this?