February 2003

Where Did the Time Go: 1993-2003

Politicians like to ask their constituency, "Are you better off now than you were (insert random number) years ago?" They do this to elicit a negative response, and if you cannot say "no", then they will tell you why you should. I am not a politician. Even thought I like to ask myself this very question: Am I better off now than I was 10 years ago? Although I know that I am going to get in trouble for writing this, I need to be true to myself.

With all due respect to my dear wife, whom I love with all my heart, I am not better off than I was in 1993. Strange as it may seem, it is true. Then again, this may be the last year in which I can honestly say that the past was better than the present. Of course, the fact that the future has yet to yield hover-cars or cheap, efficient space travel, I don't have no hope for the future. All I can speak of is what I know now.

Sing with me: "When I was seventeen / it was a very good year." Boy-oh-boy! 1992 was terrific! It was a year of firsts, seconds and thirds. In a way, it was the beginning of the end of my innocence. Little did I know, but the following year would be much better. When I was eighteen, I had a car, food, shelter AND clothing paid for by some else's hard work. Nowadays I have bills to pay, a commute and work to deal with five out of seven days a week. My financial security is in my hands. What fun is that?

Now that I think about it, maybe the reason politicians ask people to compare their lives today with some random point in the past is because they are probably going to look on the past with more fondness than they do the present. The past has an unfair advantage on the present, as does the future. Do you know a person living who doesn't expect the future to be better than the present? It seems, temporally, that the grass is always green either yesterday or tomorrow. Now always sucks.

Since 1994, I have obsessed about 1993. Hell, in late 1993, I longed for the summer of 1993! I remember embracing the void between being accepted into college and leaving to attend college. I acknowledged it for what it was and had a damn good time.

In preparation for a series of articles I plan on writing about 1993, I started a list of events that shaped, or were emblematic of, the year. Lo! and behold! The more time spent thinking about the year in question, the more I longed for it. Almost before my very mind, the grass became greener and greener.

Mental masturbation. That's all it is.

Do I remember what I was doing on Tuesday, February 23, 1993 at 1:47 AM? Sleeping? More than likely.

That brings up the most puzzling part of my investigation: What two things am I comparing? Ten years ago this day? - this minute? - this month? - this year? I can only break the year down so far before my memories become no more than tiny boats on the Pacific Ocean of time. But, then again, if I look at the year as a collection of, say, weeks, my rough estimates only cloud my ability to judge one piece of time against another (the weeks, by definition, being made up of seven days.) What, then, was the year 1993? Is there any truth behind the myths imbedded in my mind?

Crap. I am in a philosophical hole. The more I think about that year, it's qualities become less and less distinct, and evaporate into nothing. Crap.

Despite my better judgement, I am going to continue reminiscing about 1993 throughout 2003. Maybe by some time later this year I will have an idea what the year meant to me, and why I would still rather be there than here.

Or, maybe, I will become comfortable in my own time.