I think about myself all of the time (which probably surprises no one who reads this blog.) What might surprise others is how often I think of them.
I think about people from my past.
I think about friends from my elementary school days 45 years ago. I think about middle school classmates and high school peers. I wonder whatever became of coworkers from the warehouse, the pool and the pizza shop.
I think about the people I worked for and the people who worked for me. I think of old neighbors, real estate agents, barbers, and mailmen.
I wonder what are they doing now? Did they get married, have kids, find happiness? Did they move away like I did or stay put? What do they look like? What do they think?
I think about the people in my life today.
My neighbors, people I see walking in the park everyday, the vet techs, the lifeguards, the grocery store workers and friends I talk to on the phone but haven’t seen for years.
Sometimes I think about our conversations. Other times, I imagine their lives outside of our small interactions. Do they live with their parents? Do they own a house? Are they in school? Are they ambitious? Artistic? Curious?
I would guess that most of the people I think about never think about me at all. I am blessed with a great memory. Some minute association – a smell, a taste, a feeling – will often trigger a latent memory of someone I haven’t seen in weeks, months, years or decades.
Sometimes my curiosity leads me to google the person. That generally yields nothing informative.
Before I cancelled LinkedIn, I used it to see what former coworkers were up to.
My brief Facebook experiment revealed more. I found pictures and updates from people not found online elsewhere. But the downsides of using social media were not worth satisfying my momentary curiosity.
I have no idea if people are searching for me, although I doubt it. They certainly could easily find this blog via a Google search and contact me through it if they were interested. (None have.)
I believe most people from the past aren’t thinking of me because I am not a part of their lives today. Nor are they part of mine. We once had a connection, but we’ve moved on.
As for people in my present life, with few exceptions, our interactions are brief and casual.
It is nice to be noticed and to be missed. I make a point of saying something when I see a regular at the pool, the park or walking the neighborhood after not seeing them for a while.
The pool staff, who I see daily, remember my name and ask about my dog. I ask them about work, school, families and their weekend plans.
Some of my deepest conversations and thoughts I share with my mother and a few select friends. Many I keep to myself, share with my dogs or write about here.
I still “talk” to Ellen in my head quite often. She was my closest confidant and trusted advisor for nearly 30 years. It seems quite natural that I can “hear” her thoughts in my head when I am deep in thought. I also have a tendency to go to her in moments of anxiety or fret. I think about what she would say and what she would think.
Maybe that’s what the afterlife is to me. It’s keeping the thoughts, memories and values of my loved ones alive inside of me.
Sometimes I think about my Grandpa, my Aunt Essie and my Uncle Bob, all who have been dead for decades. The lessons and love they gave to me has never faded.
For now, I guess that’ll do just fine.