the past is always rosy

I'm going to Maryland tomorrow and onward to NYC on Monday. One of my best friends is picking me up at the airport, from where we're taking a leisurely three-hour jaunt to meet our old roommates/current loveliest-ladies-we-know for dinner on Main Street in Newark, Delaware. Not a glamorous town, but the site of four fairly flawless years of my life. At least that's how I remember them. 

But did I appreciate the moments while I was there? I hope so, because when I look back on any memory of that time, I practically vibrate with happiness. I might go as far to say that from ages 18-22, everything was perfect. What I'm glossing over are the dramatic almost-break ups with my first love, panicking about grad school applications and the sadness I felt when my nana fell ill. Whether consciously or unconsciously, I've buried those memories not wrought with joy deeper. Which I guess is okay. It's probably better for one's mental wellbeing to keep the happy images more accessible. Though surely this doesn't always serve one well.

The first thing that comes to mind is the danger of forgetting what a relationship was really like. You remember the good times, the wonderful things that he/she did and said, they way he/she looked at you and all the little quirks that were so endearing in the beginning. Ignored are the arguments, the insurmountable obstacles, the reasons why you broke up and how nauseating all those little quirks were at the end. The memory can play devilish tricks. If you're not careful, you may find yourself pining for the reconciliation of a relationship that never existed anywhere other than in your mind. What a damn waste of time.

The other is forgetting the realities of a particular place. This is my fear of New York. I know that I left for a reason. I just can't remember what it was. "I was having a bad winter" doesn't seem like totally sound logic with which to justify packing up one's life and moving to the other side of the country, sight unseen. Yet, that's what I did and no one stopped me. It must not have seemed like a COMPLETELY outlandish idea. Which leads me to believe that maybe things weren't as lovely as I recall. How can this be?! I look back on New York so fondly. Could NYC be my bad relationship that I long to return to? Anything's possible. So, I guess, consider this documented evidence that I am knowingly going into the storm for the week. And like any idiot, I couldn't be more excited.