Looking back

JBL, J and I had dinner last night with JBL's grandfather. Knowing of Grandy's interest in astronomy, I brought an assignment from J's science class regarding the solar system (it's kindergarten, people, so of course crayons were involved). He helped J fill in missing vowels from some words in a paragraph about Jupiter. He was obviously delighted - both by his great-granddaughter, and by the subject matter.

I volunteered that Jupiter is the only planet in our solar system that emits more energy than it receives from the sun. Grandy paused and smiled, staring off into the distance. "Jupiter was almost a star, you know." (pause) "It may be hard to understand, but when you are seeing light from a star, you're really looking back in time." His sparkling eyes settled on me and his smile broadened. He lovingly shared his knowledge with me the way you may offer a bouquet of flowers to a friend.

"That's amazing," I replied. "It IS hard to wrap your mind around." Of course I am well familiar with this information - astronomy was one of my father's favorite subjects, and he had also delighted in sharing the universe's secrets with me in the same reverent fashion. Though I ended up in business, science has always held a special place in my heart because of the happiness it brought to my dad.

I wasn't being patronizing when I told Grandy that it is difficult to really grasp the concept of viewing history as you gaze into the night sky. It is a tough concept, even when you can easily understand that the photons of light striking your retinas have traveled across the universe for possibly billions of years before reaching you. At this exact instant. You are viewing an image of the star as it was those many years ago as the light began its journey. The image literally is something from the past. That star might not even exist anymore.

Isn't it a gift to look back in time? It can be.

Earlier this week, I drove through the city after a meeting on the way to lunch. My boss and I ended up in an area of Baltimore near the water called Canton - known for its funky shops, pubs and restaurants. Along the way, however, I was struck by landmarks in some familiar old neighborhoods. These were some of my favorite running routes when I had worked downtown.

I imagined the heat of a summer day, even in early evening, emanating up from the sidewalks. The haze that hung in the air over the distance between this grid of streets and the overpasses of I-95, visible in glimpses at various intersections. The permanent smell of beer and dirt carried on wafting cool air that spilled out of propped-open doorways of neighborhood bars.

This was back before I listened to music on most every run. My soundtrack was the sound of the city - sirens, horns blaring, people talking - and the sound of my breathing. This was also way before J and even JBL. The end of the week meant closing down my desk, heading up to the corporate gym, working out or running the streets for an easy 3-5, then heading over to Water Street for happy hour before going home for dinner.

I could hear all the sounds, smell the odors, even feel the way my body felt then. A bit stronger, a bit leaner. Just as much fire in the belly. Not quite as sad. But not quite as happy, either.

A glance at these streets instantly transports me back in time, and it is like a bittersweet gift. If I could reach back and touch that girl that loved to run in the city, oh the things I'd tell her. But the memories are like the image of a long-burned-out star. There is no way to actually hold them in your hand. All you can do is capture and savor them.

Maybe I'll send out a few photons later today for the me yet to come. I hope I can shine bright enough to carry me long into the future...