Somewhere between anticipation and nostalgia we should have been happy.

Today I traveled back in time.
No, no Delorean, and not some emaciation induced mind-trip.
I began the highly ritualized series of events that those in the know know all too well. Sorting through old records (vinyl, not economic) and long-forgotten comics.
I read through some books I never got around to finishing - or even picking up the final few issues, even though I loved the series. I listened to records I forgot I even owned. And it brought around an all-too familiar thought, made all the more poignant looking at the dates on the books, and remembering where I was, and when I was, when I bought some of the records -- What, exactly, have I done with my life?
A bit grandiose, I suppose.
Really, though, I was wondering - what happened here, exactly?
A few years have slipped by, and I'm no closer to where I want to be, and find myself making the same mistakes over and over again (still liking the wrong girl - that classic story, still working a job that doesn't fulfill me, ever the lone wolf).
Now, don't misunderstand my motives - I'm not here to whine or moan, but instead am feeling that introspective curiosity. And for me, the only way to work through these sorts of things is by writing them down. And here I get to blather on, and create a kaleidoscope of random musings and pictures, so, eventually, none of this will make sense to anyone but me.

The point, if there can be said to be one, is that we always seem to be either looking forward or looking back - so the now never really exists, and if that is the case, when do we get to be happy?

Now go be happy.