WE WERE ALL NINETEEN ONCE: Thank you Bob Dylan

At my age, another birthday doesn't feel as if it should merit celebration. I wake up, stare at myself in the mirror, and in spite of the weathered face staring back at me, I wonder at the miracle of survival. Living in the present becomes much easier as I don't have as much to plan for as I did when younger. The past doesn't ring quite as loudly either because I have learned no one is much interested in what happened all those years ago. Nor do I care. The present is rather a good place to be and instead of celebrating all the years I have lived and make wishes for the future, I spent this year's birthday going for a hike with my husband and talking to my brother on the phone for three hours. I ate half of my chocolate birthday cake and ignored my salt intake for the day. It was great. However, human beings will never completely give up dreams for the future or completely let go of the past. With our memories ingrained in our minds, the past has shaped who we are and invades our thoughts as persistently as the future continues to tease us with promise or doom. So when my brother sent me a signed Bob Dylan photo for my birthday, my nineteen year-old self broke into my consciousness unexpectedly and unbidden, like an ancient submarine surfacing from the depths into enemy waters. My throat tightened and my eyes grew hot with tears. While I stared at Dylan: leaning against the back of an old car stopped on a country road lined with brilliant red-leafed trees, his somber face beneath a brimmed hat skirted by his unruly curls, feet clad in sandals, arms folded against his chest and guitar slung over his shoulder - even if the moment was ever so brief, I was nineteen again. Nineteen was a magical year for me, as I believe it probably is for many people. On a precipice, the nineteen-year-old retains all his or her years of childhood and pauses before launching into the demands and expectations adulthood will bring. At nineteen:

*I was immortal. An eternity stretched before me and I felt I had all the time in the world to enjoy life, screw it up, plan the future, try new things, worry, dream, love, dance, learn, cry, laugh. Today, no longer immortal and with little time left, I ironically feel that I still have all the time in the world.

*I believed I knew everything. Now I realize I know practically nothing but the paradox is that it is most likely the same thing.

*I had unbounded energy. I could stay up all night and make it to a 7:00 a.m. class the next morning. Now, I sometimes am up all night, not because I'm with some guy, at the best-ever party, or need to cram for an exam, but because as a side effect of my medications I sometimes can't sleep. Instead of going to class the next morning feeling like a hero, I write on my blog (like this one) and sleep. I may not feel like a hero when I wake up, but I feel damned grateful for another day.

*Intellectually, I was on fire. I couldn't read enough, learn fast enough, or explore and talk about the "big" ideas enough. I was probably my most creative but was too young, too naive, and too stupid to do much with it. I was no Lord Byron - my poetry sucked. But I simply loved college classes and campus life. I still read and enjoy discussing the big issues but I remember that brilliant blaze at nineteen pumping through me like a hit of super adrenaline. The fire now has been reduced to a few dying embers. Not that I don't enjoy the slower and easier pace these days. And yet, briefly, Dylan's photo reminded me that once, at nineteen years old, I felt as though the world belonged to me, that I had energy to burn, and that I was alive for no reason other than to be breathing and soaking it all up.

*I felt beautiful (and probably was the most beautiful I would be in my entire life). On the contrary, however, no longer beautiful when I look in the mirror, today I feel most beautiful as a person. Although the shell is cracked and wrinkled, withered and faded, my heart and soul is filled with beauty.

*I wasn't afraid of failing, losing, or making a mistake. Not yet encumbered by adult ego-driven goals, failing, losing, or making mistakes was not in my vocabulary. I simply saw those things as a part of my journey. As an old woman, my ego is as faded as my skin and as scanty as my hair; I am no longer afraid of failing, losing or making a mistake. As far as I'm concerned my ego can take a hike. Who needs it?

*I felt liberated and excited about the world around me. It was 1965 and the U.S. fought an unpopular war in Viet Nam. Many young people felt free to protest against it, just as women became bolder and as a result, more assertive, free, and happy. Civil Rights helped me become aware that white wasn't the only color in St. Louis or anywhere else for that matter and that diversity was not only critical but it was interesting, exciting, and downright beautiful. Despite the cultural and intellectual upheavals of the era, change was in the air and so was hope. While the world today feels as if it has gone mad, I have read enough and have enough insight to realize the possibilities of a whole new era is on the horizon. I may not live to see it, but I am optimistic that life will not only be quite different for my grand and great-grandchildren, it will eventually become incredibly better for humans than any time in our known history. Like Dylan sang: The times they are a-changin'. And change takes time, so be patient my friends, the game's not over until the song is sung.

*My energy levels soared, my brainpower surged, and my hormones raged. No longer able to sustain ten to twelve hour days, I remain active and intellectually alive but I think my hormones are dead.

*My God, how I loved to dance! Music connected me to everything. Rock 'n roll: The Stones, Tina Turner, The Doors, The Beatles, The Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix . . . and on and on. Folk Revival and Social Protest music: Dylan, Joan Baez, Phil Ochs, and Peter, Paul, and Mary; their music was poetry for me. These people are now old like me or dead. Today, I enjoy Harry Styles, Lady Gaga, Coldplay, Billie Eilish, Alisha Keys, and Post Malone. However, if I get up to dance, I hear my kids say: "Sit down, Mom. Pleeease."

*I had reached some sort of physiological apex. At nineteen, the intensity of my five senses was fierce: I could feel the night air in my pores, smell the early morning, wrap my soul up in a rainy day, and color exploded around me, making each season a celebration of life itself. I was in love with life. Thank God, I'm still in love with life.

*I was in love with love. I think I might have been in love with myself, actually. Giddy with the idea that I felt wonderful and looked wonderful, I enjoyed who I was and who I was becoming. Today, I am in love with my husband and completely enjoy my own company. As it should be.

Going back in time isn't feasible, but when I opened the package my brother had sent me for my birthday and I stood silently, staring at Bob Dylan's photo, in a fleeting moment I was nineteen again. That moment was a rare gift. My grandson, now 20, and my granddaughter, 23, were both were recently nineteen and neither of them can go back to that year. When I am with them, I am reminded of how beautiful youth can be and how quickly it passes. I pray that their lives are as filled with life's riches as mine has been, and I also hope they don't waste as much time as I did, worrying about so many things I could not even recollect today.

But nineteen . . . it was magic.

Thank you, Ed. I love you for remembering me at that age and sending me Bob Dylan's photo. And, thank you, Bob Dylan for helping to make nineteen a year to remember.