Old photos can reveal our past selves
Have you ever stumbled onto an image of yourself from the past and wondered, “Who the heck is that person?”
Have you ever looked at a photo from a previous era and thought, “Who is that?”
The photo was from 1989. It may as well have been from 1889. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Just ran across this old photo,” my uncle wrote in a text to me.
I pulled up the photo and winced.
I barely recognized the 20-something man standing alongside his two young children. The man’s T-shirt looked vaguely familiar, with some kind of wording on it that also looked familiar. His puffy blond hair looked like the end of a Q-tip.
I quickly did the math in my head. I was 27 in that photo. I stared at the younger version of myself, trying to imagine what I was thinking at that time of my life. After several minutes of recalling that distant moment, I still had no idea.
Was I happy in life? Content with my marriage? Was I embracing fatherhood or overwhelmed by all of it? How much money was I not making to support my family? (I was usually hard pressed for cash.) And what were my views on national politics or local issues of the day? Did I even care back then?
I had a tough time figuring out the identity of that much younger man in the photo. For a few minutes, I struggled to restore it in my mind. It was only a still image without any words unlike photos shared on Facebook or Instagram today.
Thirty-some years ago social media didn’t exist, so endless photos and videos weren’t sent to the digital cloud to rain down on us in later years. Also, in 1989 I had yet to begin my journalism career so I didn’t do writing or journaling of any kind. Unlike these days, back then I never wrote down what was going on in my life. I simply lived it.
“What a nice young family!” my uncle texted me with that photo.
Coincidentally, his text arrived Sunday evening as I was visiting my 2-½-yearold grandson, Landon, in Mishawaka. Photos and videos were taken, of course. It’s now as common as goodbye hugs. There I was bouncing Landon on my knee during dinner when my past tapped me on the shoulder. And then wouldn’t stop pestering me.
Some old photos of ourselves quietly go away. Others reintroduce themselves to us as if we’re strangers.
Have you ever stumbled onto an image from a previous era and quietly wondered, “Who the heck is that person?” It’s like that younger version of yourself is a completely different individual. Not only physically but in ways that have changed so gradually over the years it’s hard to comprehend such a dramatic difference today.
We age in such slow, plodding fashion that we forget who we once used to be. Over the course of decades, if we’re lucky enough to live that long, our lives evolve (or devolve) through different versions of who we eventually come to be.
We look in the mirror each morning and get accustomed to the aging face that looks back at us in wonderment. “Who are you and what have you done to the person I used to be?” Have you already experienced this sobering phenomenon?
It’s only when we glance at an old photo of ourselves that it feels like being slapped in the face by a squirt of Aqua Velva aftershave. Our former self somehow transports itself through a portal of memories and regrets to say hello, if only for a fat moment.
Between those two moments — in my case from 1989 to 2021 — a flashbulb of life has taken place in what seems like a matter of seconds.
We drive past new
retail developments in our community that were once empty fields.
“I remember when …”
we tell our kids or grandkids who really don’t care.
Or we drive past empty fields that were once bustling sites of commerce or entertainment.
“I remember when …” we tell our kids or grandkids who politely nod.
We also witness other people in our social orbit aging much faster than us, or so we tell ourselves. We watch young kids grow into young adults and then into young families.
Children are the most visual barometers for the passage of time. Each month, each year we see them grow, change, and mature into older versions of themselves. Each phase is obvious, and glorious, like watching a flower blossom. For adults of a certain age, it can feel like we’re house plants that seem to look the same for years at a time.
Nonetheless, one advantage is the ability to do whatever you want at any given time. A middleaged social media friend reminded me of this perk on Easter Sunday. She wrote in a message, “First time in my entire adult life I did what I wanted to do on Easter. Ahhhh, life is great!”
I nodded in agreement. I felt the same way on Easter for the first time in many years.
I wonder if I’ll someday look back at the photos I took that day and wonder the same thing I wondered about that photo from 1989. Will I again ask myself, “Who was that guy?” Obviously, I hope I get the opportunity.
When I replied to my uncle later that night, I sent him fresh photos of me with Landon.
“Great photos,” he replied. “But when we think of you, we see you in that 1989 photo we sent, not these new ones. It’s impossible you are a grandpa!”
Impossible indeed, replied my 27-year-old self.