Do you want to know my favorite thing about writing in the age of the Interwebz? Just like an old Angelfire or Geocities page, your writing just doesn’t die. It lives, breathes and reminds you of your former thoughts, for as long as a search engine can pick it up.
While I hadn’t given much thought to the concept previously, I was reminded of it while narcisssurfing (running your own name through a search engine and see what pops up). After heading to Google to see what I could find out about myself, there it was — my unavoidable past typed word-for-word via my alma mater’s newspaper archives.
During my years as an undergraduate at the University of North Dakota, I spent several semesters writing an opinion column about relationships, dating, sex and nightlife. Because the position clearly required heavy fieldwork, my life resembled a typical, single girl’s life in the throes of her early 20s — that being said, nothing short of a soap opera.
My best friend dated all my ex-boyfriends (she’s now marrying one, post-procreation), my roommate made out with the “love of my life” (he wasn’t by a long shot), a night on the town was $20 (drinks were never more than $3), boys were kissed (many), and my downtown loft was never without drama (I had three girl roommates). And all of this was not so eloquently penned in the student paper’s opinion column, week after week.
While browsing my old article, I couldn’t help but to think about how much I had changed in just a matter of a few years. Two glasses of wine mean a hangover in the morning, a $6 pair of shoes at Target thrills me more than a designer sale, and drama is a word I reserve for Blockbuster.
But more than that, delving into my written past forced me into a period of momentary self-reflection. After that moment came and went, I realized something else. I could use writing to keep myself in check.
While I can now read my earlier pieces and see that I am inching closer to “adulthood” every minute, I know that someday, when I am old (30), I will once again have the chance to look back and measure my personal growth. But I also have the opportunity to do something else — remind myself of all the actions that I never want to take part in.
And while you’re personal list may be far different, I urge you to take a second, make a written time capsule of sorts, and put it out there on the World Wide Web. I know you’ll appreciate going back and reading it every couple of years. Oh come on, just try!
Dear Me:
Now that you are old and probably getting wrinkles (I admit, I do not wear nearly enough sunscreen), I hope you are not partaking in any of the following things:
1. Shopping at any store where if the loud music doesn’t kill you, choking on the noxious scent of perfumes and colognes will. That’s right, Sophia, you are old and not allowed to wear teenager clothes! Dress your age!
2. Trying to do anything “cool.” While it is expected of grown up me to keep on top of the latest technology trends, it is not OK to use slang of any type or text using anything less than proper grammar. Side note: This, at any point, even tomorrow, is not acceptable.
3. Acting old. Even though your former self has declared you as old, you’re not dead. Your young self loves the beach, singing out loud to obnoxious pop, chocolate and a good cheap slice of pizza now and then.
Enjoy these things, always. Eat healthy, exercise and kiss your husband often.
Love, Me
(P.S. Feel free to laugh at your naive, young self for writing this.)
Reach Sophia at sophia.fuka@asu.edu. A version of this column ran
in a summer edition of The State Press.
