If you don’t call you’ll continue to grow distant. Be the change you want to see. Reconnect. Life is too short.
So much this. I reconnected with my dad after 10 years. We both can be stubborn. And all it took was sending an email. It took some time and things were a little awkward at first. But since, we’ve really made amends. He attended my wedding and now it’s to the point where we visit one another a handful of times a year. We talk on the phone at least monthly and text often. I’m really glad I decided to send that email that day. Can’t imagine if I hadn’t.
I’m really happy for you both!
She would probably be touched if you asked her. I say go for it.
And she’d probably ask you if you want her to make you your favourite dish
you cant go home again
I had heard that saying for years before I understood what it meant. By the time I did understand, it was too late.
What does it mean? Though maybe I’m not mature enough to understand it on my own yet.
A couple of things. First, things change. Even in places where it doesn’t feel like things change, they do. So if you leave a place and come back it will be different.
More importantly, we don’t look at an objective past. Our minds remember the best and the worst. So when you get older you remember “the good old days”. Those days, objectively never really existed. They were just days. So when you’re 40 you won’t be able to recreate the magic of being 21, or that feeling you had when you went home and someone was cooking your favorite meal, or go back to your hometown and feel the way you did when you and your buddies hung out.
I’m probably explaining it poorly, but it boils down to nostalgia being a hell of a drug. You never know when you’re living in the good old days until they’re gone.
Luckily it works in reverse to an extent. If you had a really shitty childhood, you can look back on it and say “at least it’s not like that anymore!” The psychological damage is already done, but you’re not coming home to an alcoholic berating you or heading to school to a teacher beating your ass ever day.
You can never go home again, both because things have changed and because that place only ever existed in memory, and the real world was some amount (generally GREATLY) different than what we remember.
Heh, it happens to all of us eventually.
No you can’t go home again, but you can make a new home.
Call your mom.
My mom wrote songs and sang them to me as a kid. That is what started my love for music.
It’s funny, one of her songs had a huge emotional impact on me and my brother. I recorded my own version of it years ago and got my mom to sing on it with me (lofi and never got around to getting a better version). Well, a few months ago my brother came by to show me some songs he was working on and he’d recorded his own version too. I immediately said, “Hold up, hold up. Listen to this.”
We have wildly different taste in music too so the songs sound nothing alike, just had the same lyrics.
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