I hold on to people, places, and memories.
When I’m taken back to my gymnastics days, I always imagine the gym in which I grew up even though that place no longer exists. Nothing is out of place – every trophy on the wall, every foam piece in the pit, every bar covered in chalk. I can smell it, the perspiration, hair spray, and ben-gay. I can feel the rush of flipping through the air with ease and agility. I can hear my friends laughing and crying. It’s like we never left. It’s like I never left. It’s like we never grew up and gave up. I dream with nostalgia.
When I listen to certain songs, I’m brought back to the concerts that made us smile. I see the musicians on stage, the lights, the friends by my side. I remember the way we touched Keith Urban, sat behind Dustin Lynch’s grandparents, saw our “older selves” in the crazy ladies a couple sections over. I remember how we sang and danced, and didn’t have a care in the world. I remember when we were brave, crazy, and mostly young. Every time I hear those songs, I go back. I’m reminded of the best of times and I’ll always hope to play it again, play it again, play it again.
When I watch a Twilight movie, I picture the madness of midnight showings. I remember the excitement we all felt when waiting for the movies to begin, knowing that we were among the first in the nation to embrace the newest saga in the Edward – Bella – Jacob love triangle. I smell the popcorn, and hear the crowded theater squeal when Jacob takes his shirt off. I remember the feeling of sadness when the credits rolled after the final movie. As the Twilight era ended, it felt like we lost our closest friends. And in a way we did because we will never be all together again.
Just because I crave change, it doesn’t mean I forget the past. In fact, I probably hold on to the past for too long. I hold to it forever. Time propels us forward, but I hold on. I hold on to the little things for a lifetime.