Four Score--Seasons--or One Year Ago

Since eighth grade, I've kept a diary fairly regularly. After I write down the super-intriguing details of my incredibly exciting existence I often enjoy flipping back to the same day the year before to see what I was up to. Usually, I rediscover how dumb I used to be. Looking back is something I do often, not just in my journal because I like to make myself feel better knowing I'm slightly less idiotic today than I was a year ago, but more due to the occupational hazard that memoir writing depends on my ability to go back to the past and try to make sense of it.

This fall, however, I've been watching the show Flash Forward (by myself, no one else I know tunes in), and I find it fascinating in how the show's main concept reverses my whole "looking back" thing. The basic premise is the world blacks out for a couple minutes, everyone sees where they will be in six months, and some of them freak out because they don't want these futures to come true. And in worrying, the characters change and in effect turn their visions into self-fulfilling prophecies. For example, we see one husband and wife begin to drift apart because of insecurities that develop within their relationship. The wife's vision? She was in bed with another man. Oooh ... drama ...

And, since I attempt to analyze anything and everything with little more than pop-cultural significance, I think it's interesting how the show relates to the principle of manifestation: if you believe you'll do or be something, your thoughts will inevitably influence your actions, putting you on a path toward whatever course your mind has set for you. While I do believe in the power of positive thinking and having a good attitude, catching a specific glimpse of what supposedly will be would totally throw me off. Like, if one year ago someone told me that, today, I would be living by the beach, surrounded by a great group of friends who live either in my apartment (roommate) or mere blocks away, and in love with an amazing guy--who I hadn't even met yet--I'm sure I would've called bullshit. Actually, knowing then that I would be so happy now probably would have terrified me because I'm cool like that.

If I'd been better at regularly journaling one year ago, I would look back to see that, at this time last year, I was supposedly celebrating my anniversary with the ex-boyfriend. I say supposedly because we had been fighting like crazy and deliberating our relationship for weeks--so much so I'd suggested we not make a big deal out of our four-year-milestone. And, had we stayed together, today would have made five. Back then I was so confused about what I wanted--about what I was supposed to want, really--and, frankly, I was miserable. And, true to form, when I look back at who I was 365 days ago, that version of me was sublimely idiotic. (Mainly because I was already infatuated with a new guy and thought embarking on a pseudo-relationship with him would make everything all better. Uh, nope.)

So here's to another lap around the sun, the imminent coming of the year two-thousand-ten. I expect to be much, much cooler by this time next year. (But happier? Not possible.)