I think the world is a difficult place. Living is a daily puzzle, and the right solution is never revealed. To deal with that I exclusively live towards the future. All bad experiences, questionable decisions and embarrassing encounters are behind me, and never thought of again. As a result I have very little memories of difficult stuff and no desire to look back. My past is stuffed in boxes and stored in a dark attic where nobody ever goes.
But sometimes the past catches up. A smell, a color or an unexpected experience can trigger a box to open. This weekend I deliberately opened a box. The box of my time as an art student. One of my (then) fellow students had a big exhibition in one of the finest musea in the Netherlands. His work is elegant, kind, honest, complicated and crystal clear at the same time. I know no artist like him.
In the museum my art-college box burst open. I cried (in secret), I felt things (in secret), I was scared (in secret). I was the vulnerable student all over again. I walked the exhibition one, two, three times. After a while the feeling changed. Once the sadness was gone I found joy and happiness. Memories and love. I felt touched and am proud.
It is a scary thing, looking back. But it was a beautiful and profound experience. One box down, many to go.
Love
