There I am. Driving along. Plotting another novel in my head and listening to the tinkling toy music in the back seat when it happens. An Adele moment.
I have to be honest. It’s starting to happen more frequently, and always at a slightly different time, so I don’t expect it. Then that little piece of the past pops into view out my windshield and a tiny bittersweet lump forms in my throat. You know the one? Maybe some of you do.
So there I am, in the middle of all that great plotting that perhaps I can make use of at nap time, and bam, it strikes. Suddenly I’m wrestling with things that I don’t want to be wrestling with. Joy and bitterness collide and all that plotting is thrown into chaos.
Although it’s not exactly an Adele moment, it feels like an Adele moment. That’s just a little piece of the past. I’ve moved on and have no desire to go back. I should be angry at that past in some ways, but I’m more angry that I let the past affect me than I am at it. Plus I wonder. How is the past doing? I wish the past well. To be honest though, I wonder if that past ever glimpses me and has regrets. A part of me hopes so, but fears it doesn’t. Is it terrible to hope the past regrets itself? I mean, I forgive the past, I just hope that it meant something in the end, and if it did, that something would have to come with a little regret.
Then there’s the sing-song voice in the back seat. I’m happy where I am. In fact, I’m grateful for the past because had it not been just what it was, I might not have made the good choices I made. The past is what taught me to appreciate the present.
But there it is. It will be there other days and I will go through this all again. Why? I don’t know. But I sigh and wait for Adele to stop singing so I can get back to plotting in my head.
It must be tough being Adele. That’s all I can say. She must be reminded a lot about her past, because it’s inescapable now. I wouldn’t want to have as many Adele moments as she does. Hopefully the fame and fortune make up for it. I suppose they help some.