I’ve just finished reading In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust – a behemoth 4,200 page novel through which Proust realizes that by carefully examining every memory he has… we are all merely older versions of our younger selves.
Last night, out with friends, we discussed whether this true. Are we all, in fact, just older versions of our younger self. An old friend had an amazing story. When he was in university, on a Thursday afternoon, he and three friends decided to borrow a car and drive to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, from their home in Montreal. Within 30 minutes they were on the road. Despite it being the zero tolerance for drugs phase in the US, they snuck across the border with pot shoved down their pants and spent an amazing 3 days high and listening to music in New Orleans.
Flash Forward 25 years. This friend is in a very – very – senior and responsible position. Yet his favourite moments are still when he takes a few days off work for a music festival, gets high each day and hangs out with his fellow music loving stoners. In a very fundamental way he hasn’t changed one bit.