Memory... "The Lives Of Others"

The oldest memories I have are around 21 years old. It's around kindergarten and first grade that I can remember things taking shape. I have a few memories from an earlier time, but I'd say they're more feelings than anything else, much too vague to be considered anything as concrete as a memories.

So it was, I'd guess, around five years old that I remember driving around with the family on a busy main street here in L.A. and letting my mind wander. I remember having a window seat 'cause the memory I have is of a car and some strangers.

For the whole of my childhood we lived in the same city, the same apartment. The place was situated near the city line. There was a riverbank that separated the cities and a couple of bridges that connected the two. I don't remember leaving our city all that much. It was something special to get to explore the rest L.A. It was exciting to leave our place. The city over and the one beyond were places of intrigue because they were so unfamiliar.

I thinks it's funny when someone asks me, or when I hear someone ask someone else what their interests are. It's been said here before that we're all the same. Different, but essentially the same. I think the differences are a matter of degree. What I'm getting at is that we all have the same interests, but there's just a variance of degree to which we commit ourselves to those interests. We all love music. We love going out. We love food, etc. But those things don't mean quite the same thing to every person. There are levels of intensity and passion that distinguish us in that way. I'm a voyeur or at least I have voyeuristic tendencies... you probably have them too. I'm not a voyeur in the strictest sense, it's not a sexual thing, that's why I backed off that one. Nor does my interest in others revolve around seeing them in pain... that's too specific. My fascination with the lives of others is more broad. I'm interested in everything I can learn about people. It's a deeply rooted fascination, a strong one at that.

The first time I can remember that facet of my character manifest itself was in that van, looking out that window at a car full of strangers. We were going home and I didn't want to but I knew there was no way I could stop it. We were driving down that main street and my Dad changed lanes. Being on that lane meant that we wouldn't go any further. But the car next to us was in the other lane. It was driving straight ahead. They were going over the bridge. I remember so clearly wondering who those people were and where they were going. Would they drive straight on into the next city? Would they take the freeway? When they got to where they were headed who would meet them there? What would they do? What would they say? I remember so clearly my imagination going into overdrive. It was going wild in a way it never had before and it was focused on these people I didn't even know, these strangers. I imagine that's where it all began, that curiosity. And now I see it's mixed up with a lot of things. There's a wonder of the unknown. I still hold with me that specific concept of people and places I've never seen and might never know. That idea of bridges and endless horizons. There's a bit of escapism thrown in there for sure. That urge to run away, not from but toward something. There's also this sense of empathy, a shared connection developed between the observer and the observed... it's vicarious. Anyway, like I said, it's mixed up with a lot of things.


DS333, ever watchful.



p.s. For those concerned with such things, the title of today's post is an homage to a film I've yet to see but I'm sure to enjoy. ;)