I drive from place to place and suddenly notice everyone looks younger than me.

That guy driving the Tundra pickup with the camper on top, Climb Yosemite sticker, Santa Cruz bike on the rack and surf Colorado license plate should be me. Was me. What happened?

I’m sad. The good times, gone. The freedom, gone. That girl, gone. The flat stomach, inflated. The hair, gone, too. My favorite bands leaving this earthly plane…We still have Carlos, Dylan, Brian Wilson, Joni and Keith Richards but what happened to that feeling of being at Tanglewood in 1971 as impresario Bill Graham created a Fillmore East on the lawn, that Summer.

What happened? Where did it go? Where am I? Who am I?

I feel sad. Do I need to intentionally mourn the loss of my youth in order to embrace “me” at 66? Is there a necessary suffering that I need to touch? A resonant collective groan I need to tap into? Do I need to miss the experiences so much that the meaning of the experiences slaps me awake into gratitude? Does anyone else out there mourn the loss of their youth?

Hello? Anyone? Out there?

Well, I think I’ll give myself a day or maybe a week…month at best to allow myself to look back and feel the feels. Hit the wall. Pick myself up. Look around. Notice the daffodils are blooming a little earlier this Spring and feel grateful I still have my original Carole King “Tapestry” album…wait, what? Is that some old sticks and seeds in the binder? Ahh…I remember when.

Doug Pinto is an MEA alum living and loving in Santa Fe, NM. He is a portrait filmmaker, writer and coach embracing change and transformation one day at a time