Time Travel

Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I became a time traveller after hitting my forties or fifties and decided to go bug my current self or see if my friends recognized them. They'd have short, spiky, possibly blue hair and probably wear a black leather jacket. Maybe even one of the ones I own now. They may have gotten a mastectomy or gone on testosterone, and they'd probably call me weird nicknames that I wouldn't let anyone else use and ruffle my hair like I'd be tempted to do if I met my junior high self (though that one would get annoyed, so I wouldn't actually do it.)

I say forties and fifties because my thirty-something-year-old-self is a completely unimaginable enigma to me. I barely know what I'll be up to in a year--in my thirties? Ahahaha, yeah right. I guess anything after that seems so remote I can speculate about it. Not that that makes sense or anything.

I'm tempted to say something here about hanging onto my curiousity as I grow up and learn more about myself, but it seems trite so I won't. Oops, already did. Anyway, sometimes I think "oh, I'm really starting to see my likes and dislikes and limits in ways that I haven't before. I'm becoming my adult self." Then I decide that's a dumb assumption to make and I should just carry on absorbing information like I have been until I can't.

On the darker side of things, I sometimes wonder how much pain my current financial decisions will cause me in the next couple decades. I've already decided the education and the experiences are worth whatever the consequences will be--they're not a car or a house or things, so they can't be taken away from me. I will not regret it, ever, even if I spend the rest of my life without a permanent home or being able to fully support myself. And I've already done one thing that I decided I wouldn't regret regardless of whether it hurt later (which it does, sometimes), and I was right--I don't regret it. Granted, kissing someone you just met and will in all likelihood never see again isn't actually anywhere near comparable to taking out thousands of dollars in loans to pay for four years of college courses. Still, I feel the same sense of conviction.

I wonder if my forty-something-year-old self will read this. Seems likely as long as I don't lose my computer or something before then. Or as long as this blog stays around. I like to think they'll be amused, but probably not any more than I'm amused at the idea now. The possibility of them thinking I'm a complete dumbass comes to mind, but I think that's more insecurity talking than anything else.