I used to think that the best days of my life were behind me. I would look back on carefree times, knowing that I’d never be able to get them back. I’d never again make a nuisance of myself on a University campus, and [Shiny Tight Stuff][] would never again spend an entire summer drinking beer in the afternoons and making music.<\/p>\n
[shiny tight stuff]: http:\/\/www.last.fm\/music\/Shiny+Tight+Stuff<\/p>\n
Yesterday morning, while lying in bed and listening to Bernard making silly gurgling noises, I realised that these are the best days. Right now. Maybe there will be some more best days in 20 years, when Bernard has left home, and Karen and I can let our hair down at last, but I’m not going to make any assumptions about what the future holds.<\/p>\n
The best days can’t be captured and preserved. Photographs can remind you that you were there, but you can’t retrieve the emotions that you felt. Photographs of good times just make me weepy and nostalgic.<\/p>\n
Words can remind you what the emotions were, but not how to reconstruct them; just like how the word “skyscraper” doesn’t contain sufficient detail to tell you how to build one.<\/p>\n
Wisdom can be very depressing, can’t it? I’m looking forward to spending some time with someone who doesn’t have any of it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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