Greetings IWSG folks and nut-tree enthusiasts!
Last week I had the pleasure of being “found” by two
old friends. Previously, I would have
bridled at being discovered. (I’m an
insecure fugitive at heart.) I am not one to attend high-school reunions and have
left my past behind me in many ways.
Several moves out of state and changes in perspective have left many of
my old relationships –well, without basis for continuation and despite my
penchant for writing, I’m really quite a lousy pen-pal. At any rate, this reunion with my two friends
has been delightful, our social-web has reconnected, and now life continues… on
Facebook, of course.
When we move, we always leave behind friends and
acquaintances. One “friend” I left
behind in my move from California to Wisconsin was my chiropractor,
Phyllis. Phyllis came late in life to
her practice, becoming a chiropractor at the age of sixty. She was a wise, funky, left-coast
soul, and a bit of a psychic. While she
worked out my kinks and knots, she would subtly mention these things about me and my life, things that only I would know, and I
became acutely aware that my inner being was inextricably tied to my outer
state. I always left Phyllis’ office
feeling fresh and perfectly aligned.
I thought a lot about Phyllis after my move to
Wisconsin, and remembered well her serious look and parting comment at our last
meeting. “Keep in touch! You hear?” But I didn’t.
I wanted to write to her and say “Thank you,” and “You made an impact on
my life," but I didn’t do it for the longest time.
It took a year for me to write. A long rambling missive in my fifth-grader’s
loopy handwriting and then I proceeded to let it rest on my desk for weeks,
until it got moved to my perpetual stack of paper-dross, and then finally, months later, feeling that all the news in my letter was old and my confidences
silly, I did what I often do to letters I write: I tore it up.
Shortly afterwards, a friend called to tell me Phyllis
had died of cancer. I had not even known she was ill and now I had missed
my chance. I still honor her life and death every Dias de los Muertos, though I do regret not sending that letter, though the
memory of her smiling face always assures me not to worry. We connect in other ways now.
I thought of
Phyllis when my two friends contacted my mother, looking
for me. And with Phyllis in mind, I
opened myself up to reconnect with my past.
After all—if someone wants to find me, who am I to object? It’s not like people are lining up around the
block to talk to me! Frankly, it’s nice to be wanted.
So lovely IWSG bloggers and dearest readers, I am curious to hear about your
own experiences. Has social media
allowed your past to catch up to you? Have
you felt wanted or just plain stalked? Has your
online presence rewoven loose threads or opened an old can of worms? Are you
secure enough to face your past?
Do tell!~Just Jill
