There’s this wonderful/terrible app called timehop, that every day will tell you what your Facebook Status(es), or Tweet(s), or Instagram(s) were from a year ago, two or three years, and even five years ago. For example two years ago today (4/28) I told Cathie Smathie, “If we were dating I’d take you out under this clear night sky, and we’d make out.” To which Cathie replied, “We’re not dating?” And it amused me so much that I tweeted it. I also Instagrammed a dinner I made for my friend Garrett, a year ago, a huge white gamecock in the centerpiece of his table and the picture. Garrett has since taken a job in Salt Lake City.We don’t talk often. Three years ago, I was up late writing a Bark post, and procrastinating by updating my Facebook status. Five years ago, Maxwell had recently released his first single in almost ten years. I would later attend his concert in Charlotte with my mother, one of my favorite moments with her to date.
If I am honest with you, and I try to always be honest with you, timehop hurts. Timehop reveals that I make the same mistakes, sometimes every year like clockwork. Timehop shows pictures of a skinnier, and more youthful me. According to timehop, I used to write Bark posts more frequently, yet they stress me out just the same. Timehop plainly states that I am not 25 anymore, or 26 or 27 and soon enough, not 28. Timehop has reminded me of the time I was fired from my job, and when I got a new job. Timehop has made me think of someone I loved then lost, made me reminisce on falling in love, and when I fell in love, again. Timehop has shown me how much coffee I drink, how seldom I call my closest friends, that maybe I use social media too much. But timehop has also shown me how much I’ve grown, and how little I’ve changed at my core. I find myself, more often than not, glad I have timehop to remind me of where I’ve been.