I'm sitting outside a little cafe in Lexington MA, drinking coffee and trying to reconnect to a sense of nostalgia. It hasn't been happening much this trip. Normally when I visit my past, I fall right into it. Wallowing, one might say, in the memories ands emotions of my youth. Its fun, but its also incredibly draining and unhealthy. That wallowing coats all my experiences with a sense of Not Quite Good Enough. Nothing ever feels as deep and intense as the emotions of your past. So, it leads to an intense sense of dissatisfaction.

This trip, though, has been marked by clear eyed pragmatism. Mostly. I AM sitting outside the coffee shop where I met Michael for my first date. Michael, my forbidden boyfriend when I was 21, and he was 42. So, a little, teeny touch of nostalgia.
But its not doing much for me. In an obvious attempt to make my heart beat faster, fate stuck a black lab on the sidewalk next to me, owned by a bearded Frenchman who looks disturbingly like Michael. When I sat down, the adorable dog shoved her head in my lap, and the owner promptly started a conversation. In a former life, I'd have thought this the most romantic thing ever. In this one, all I can see is his probable craziness, hinted at by a sad ponytail and overly self conscious manner.

Yeah. Not a drop of pathos, nostalgia, or dewy eyed memory.

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