Like a fine wine

I was in my attic looking for sports equipment for the sports equipment drive, and I found some old letters. (Note: My stomach just growled so loudly it made the dog bark. This is not the first time this has happened but it's always funny). The letters are from me. In July 1977 I drove across the country with 2 friends and I had the idea that I would write a letter to a couple, both of whom were also friends, each day and then they would give them back to me at the end so I'd have a written record of the trip. Unfortunately, they broke up while we were away, so I didn't get all of them back. But I do have some and they were the original inspiration for my writing a blog, so I thought I'd take a peek at them.

It's odd to hear the voice of a younger version of yourself. It's clearly me, but less subtle, more of a smartass (really, I swear it's possible) and very, very introspective in the way a smart 21 year-old who does not really understand his brain would be. I spent what seems like an inordinate amount of time trying to figure myself out, though I guess that time wasn't totally wasted, and I was aware even then that travel and changing scenes was a good way to see what you're like stripped of context. I wonder if someone other than me would recognize the writer as being me.