If somehow, miraculously presented with a superpower, I wouldn’t want to fly, be invisible, or possess Herculean strength; I would like to look back at specific times in the past to recapture the feelings of those singular, fleeting moments that shaped and sculpted the unformed mound of raw clay that eventually made me.

To stand in the shoes of a younger version of myself and watch the world with that familiar sense of awe and wonder I felt when I first found my footing, and to walk those steps with the same eager, hopeful anticipation for what’s waiting around the next corner to entice, surprise, or educate would be a profound experience.

The question remains: Do I want to be an active participant who momentarily occupies the body of my junior version, with the ability to influence the future by altering the past…or would I feel better as a silent observer, simply taking in the scene with a detached sense of cheery nostalgia?

I suppose the potential to modify future (present) events could be a tricky business. How could I resist zipping in and out of crucial stumbling blocks or the bumps and bruises of adolescence to rewrite the rules of cool and smooth out the copious wrinkles that ruffled my feathers or occasionally turned that awkward meter up to eleven?

But without the growing pains and ever-present sidewalk-tripping of those formative years, can we truly appreciate the finish line? If life is fundamentally about the journey and not the destination—and that journey has been edited and airbrushed to the point of being unrecognizable—would we still accept that artificiality as reality?

Still, recapturing the essence of some of those wild nights or nascent seconds of fascination for what was possible or achievable and feel it electrically charge my bones again, even briefly, would paint a pretty pleasant visit back to better days.

It might even make it reasonably difficult to return to now.

Adolescence Interrupted