I Smiled as I Walked In by Stuart Hough

Owl by Stuart Hough

I’d arranged to meet my younger self for a coffee. The absurdity of the situation was only compounded by the impossibility. I hoped my younger self wouldn’t come, but I knew I would. I was late. At least, my younger self was late. I was on time. I wasn’t surprised.

I remembered those days. I was always in a hurry, living a busy life at a frenetic pace. Most things were on the spur of the moment. I wouldn’t have a smartphone, a laptop or a PC. I couldn’t send or receive texts or messages from WhatsApp, Outlook or Messenger. I wouldn’t be distracted by Facebook, X, Instagram or TikTok. I didn’t need Google to find anything out or to find my way. Neither did anyone else, which was fortunate, as they didn’t exist for my younger self. If I was out of the house, then I was off the ‘phone. If I was in the car, I had a road atlas.

Most things were on the spur of the moment for my younger self. I missed him and his uncomplicated life. He wouldn’t see it like that. Maybe I’d been delayed by a long queue in my local bank, by writing cheques or trying to find a payphone that worked. Maybe I’d be posting letters or sales orders for work. I may be filing carbon copies into ever thickening foolscap folders. I may be caught in traffic. I may be sitting in my first company car. The Ford Escort that screamed of the build quality expected of a Friday afternoon on the Dagenham assembly line. I may be cursing the cassette player for eating yet another tape. I may be sitting there re-winding the tape with the Bic pen that I kept in that car, precisely for that purpose. I may have been delayed by an under appreciation of time and an over appreciation of my own ability. That was normal then. I may be returning my library books or hired videos, to avoid a fine. I maybe searching for an ATM that had cash and wasn’t “out of order”. I may have been delayed at home on a long conversation with her. I knew her too. She liked to talk. I smiled at the memory of the younger man I knew so well. I still wouldn’t have heard of a fax.

These days I seem to have more time. I don’t achieve any more or less than my younger self, but with age comes organisation. It doesn’t have to be much, but enough to relieve time pressure for my own future self. With age comes the ability to push back, the confidence to do so and the experience to know when. With age comes a certain ability to stretch time by living life on your own terms. An ability to say, “No. Thankyou”. An appreciation of when not to get sucked into the ever-decreasing circles that are some other people’s problem’s, which they wish to be yours. 

I’d seen everything he had. He had yet to see so much. He’d yet to develop the patience, or at least the laconic sarcasm of his older self. My younger self would still take challenges personally and allow his already limited time to be stretched even further. It wouldn’t really matter. I was young and wouldn’t know any better for years yet. These days I have thicker skin.

I still wasn’t there. What could he tell me that I didn’t know? I knew it all. At that age he thought he did also. All of the things that I should have said or done? Well, I didn’t. So why should he? We are the same. I’d already thought of the challenges that he had ahead of him. Would I tell him of marriages and divorce? Twice? Should I tell him of the children he doesn’t know yet? Will I tell him of the places around the world that he can only wonder about? Should I prepare him for the loss of his parents? Would I tell him of the unbelievable highs and of the crushing lows yet to come? How would I have coped knowing then what I know now? Probably not very well, knowing me. Did I have any regrets? Would I change anything? Or would I stick to my usual ‘another stitch in life’s rich tapestry’ nonsense rhetoric to whatever it was at the time, good or bad?

I smiled as I walked in. I was so predictable. A Polo Sport shirt and Levi’s 501’s. I’d bought them to impress when I had less sense and less money, to actually do so. The real irony was that I still had them.

“Sorry I’m late. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“I would and let me tell you, it doesn’t get any better. Anyway, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe we’re not known for them?” He grinned.

“You have a good life.” I said, leaving the interpretation of a statement or an imperative hanging in the air. I knew he’d understand. “It’s not without its ups and downs. Enjoy it”.

“I didn’t expect it would be. Good to see you. You too.”

I sensed he detected a quieter “us”. One that had come to terms with what life had to throw at us and still had the conviction to strive to be happy. I opened the door and walked into the street.