The other day I was riding my bike home from work. I rode past a quiet neighborhood on the Boise Bench, populated by mostly what I’d call the next generation older than me. When I ride my bike, I love to gawk around at my surroundings, check in with feeling good about being alive and all that jazz.
So when I saw this older, hippie-type dude, long, grey hair past his shoulders, jeans, t-shirt, walking around an old VW van — my mind was blown. Wow, I thought, that guy used to be a young hippie dude, and in the blink of my eye, I SAW him, young, standing straight, not a little stooped over like now, walking in that cool dude walk. If you’re my age, you know what I’m talking about, or even if not, just think of that cool, nonchalant yet affected walk that cries out: I am a cool dude.
That blink brought up so much. Because, you know what?
We were so young. Our hair was long and flowing. Our skin was young. Our bodies young and — they could bend in ways I can hardly remember. We were young and we believed, truly believed, we were changing the world. We had important opinions and intellectual discussions. We were passionate about our causes. We loved our friends and wanted to be friends with everyone. We thought age was something we would never know and we sneered and laughed at it.
We were so young. We were SO young.
And, just for a moment, in the blink of an eye, I remembered. What it felt, looked, smelled, and sounded like.
Thanks, old hippie dude.
You made my day.