Arriving in Cambridge to visit Silas and his parents, I got off the subway at Harvard Square and it was as if I had stepped back in time 40 years.  In my daydream, all the college-age kids were my peers.  The few tweedy professor types were from my parents’ generation.  The pretty girls made me nervous.  The big strapping athletic guys intimidated me.  Bits of overheard conversations sounded impossibly erudite, or so technically advanced that I couldn’t possibly have identified what they were talking about.

But even as I was lost in this fantasy of being an insecure 20 year-old again – of wondering how I could possibly keep pace with these beautiful, athletic, smart people – there was also an appreciation for the energy, aspiration, and joyful anticipation of the future that they all seemed to possess.  My steps felt strong, buoyant.  

I hopped across a low fence that blocked my way from taking the shortest route from Harvard Square to Lissa’s apartment.  After all, I had places to go (my daughter’s apartment), people to see (my grandson), things to do (make Silas laugh).  Fueled by the anticipation of seeing my grandson again, there was a happy bounce to my steps.

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