I just spent a couple of hours scanning some old photos, and looking at pictures of myself from 20+ years ago always leaves me feeling a little depressed.
I look at that young, innocent face and I feel a mixture of jealousy and remorse because he has his whole life in front of him and doesn’t even grasp the significance of it. He doesn’t understand how beautiful he is, and how much his life will change over the next few years.
He has no idea that twenty years later he will be staring at his own photo thinking about how fast the time goes. Or how quickly looks fade and bodies fail. Or how he might have done this thing differently or that one the same.
He is just thinking about how the photo will turn out, or some boy he likes, or what he’s going to do tomorrow.
If I’m fortunate enough to get another twenty years, I’m sure I will look back on this time in my life with the same envy and the same feelings of melancholy.
I guess I’d better start posing for more pictures.