I have long believed the late 1980s and early 1990s was a magical era in my life — art, cinema, literature and music all seemed promising and new; everywhere I turned there was something to learn about, devour and be consumed by; this city and even the world were at my disposal to explore and discover. (Of course, I don’t recall the inevitable growing pains, awkwardness and hardships from that time.)

These days, I find myself bracing against waves of pessimism for my hometown, its possibilities and its people. Likewise, I feel pangs of nostalgia for the memories and artifacts from those (semi-)lost, formative years. The people from that time are all long gone (and I do NOT miss them). But, remembering the music I listened to, the books I read, the films I saw, the music I made all bring back fragments from who I was then. I have often assumed it was that time period which offered so much.

Today at lunch I wondered if perhaps what I used to feel was just a state-of-mind; some wonder-filled stage in my developing adult self. If such attitudes also come in waves, the tide will turn again.