Time Traveler

I am a time traveler. Not the cool kind though, like Dr. Who or Martin Van Buren (little known fact!). When I travel back in time I can't save Lincoln ("Look out Mr. President! He's got a gun!" See? Nothing.) or convince Hitler that the Jews aren't so bad by beating him to death with a chainsaw. No, all I can do is go back and watch my life unfold, long and slow like a Tarkovski film. On the plus side the view is spectacular and vibrant. There are details that I can see which were lost to me then, but as an observer from afar are crystal clear.

The trick, of course, is to avoid addiction. The past, even when immutable, is an alluring place to be. It is filled with breathtaking secrets and euphoric victories often forgotten. It is a place where I can vindicate my past choices with future successes, and turn my back on the dark corners I would rather not examine. It is a beautiful maze filled with shiny baubles and tar pits. Sometimes I don't want to leave, and sometimes I can't.

Now I'll tell you a secret. You're a time traveler too. If you're lucky you don't know it. If you're smart you never will. It's too easy to live there. To set up camp in the heart of that soothing addiction. To sit down and never stop looking at the shiny baubles. To step into the tar pit and let the thick, warm blanket rock you to sleep. To forget that there is a future because the past is known, safe, and certain.