These Are the Good Old Days

I can’t watch the last episode of The Office.

I can’t watch the episode where Steve Carell leaves.

I can’t watch the Friends finale.

I can’t watch the Seinfeld clip show before the finale.

Why? Because saying goodbye hurts.

I know. “It’s just a TV show.” But these shows were part of my life. They were my friends. My office. They represent the version of me that existed when I first tuned in. It’s all bundled up.

I miss the days when I didn’t have my own place, and I slept back and forth between my grandma’s micro-guest room and my uncle’s couch. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was comfortable.

I can’t go back to my hometown either. Too much past in those streets. Too much "me" that no longer fits. And yeah, life now is better. Objectively. But there's a moment and an energy back there that’s no longer accessible.

I remember quitting a job I had really grown to dislike. So psyched to bounce on the place that didn’t appreciate me. One second after I said, “I quit,” came the sadness. Not because I wanted the job back, but because I knew I’d miss the life that came with it: the too-small desk, the strip mall sushi spot that was fine at best, my early-morning ritual getting there before everyone and walking up and down all three floors just to see if anyone was there. In the end that job sucked, but the life around it? Surprisingly tender.

Even with teaching, every semester, I hate the grading. But saying goodbye to the students? Hate it more. I love their weird slang, their naming of musicians I’ve never heard of that apparently are headlining Coachella, the way they say, “Wait, is this on the test? I love their presence. And then it's gone.

Everything is always ending. That’s not pessimism. That’s Buddhism, baby. Impermanence.

We live most of our lives thinking we’re heading toward something. The next job. The next break. The next version of ourselves. And when we chase the next, we sort of forget we’re running away from the now. This, right now, whatever this is, is also something you were once chasing.

Andy Bernard nailed it:

“I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them.”

Funny. Dead on. Can’t watch the episode with that quote.

This is it. Right now. This browser tab. This weird moment where you’re half reading this and half going, wait… should I like… go hug someone. YES. But also subscribe to my Substack you, choob.

ENJOY THIS RIGHT NOW.

Breathe it in.
Name it.
Hug it, bear hug.
Because it’s going away.

No reruns. No box set. No Netflix deal.

This is the scene.
These are the good old days.
Don’t miss them while you’re in them.