In the afternoon of April 17th, 1986, I walked down some abandoned trains tracks. It was my twelfth birthday.
A few days ago, on April 17th, 2026, I walked down those very same tracks.
What is truly astonishing is not that, 40 years later I am still here, but that the tracks are. They have not been turned into some suburban “rail trail,” cookie-cutter condos, or some horrendous corporate development offices. There are not many “forgotten” places like this that still endure. And the ones that do are sacred, at least to me.
These are the places where time, Being, and experience sort of twist into their own non-orientable existential Möbius Strip. Traditional notions of time and reality seem to destabilize and crumble. The veils between Past and Present collapse, as they become stapled together for fleeting moments. These old train tracks are one of these places. I am lucky to still have a few of them around.
Anyway, as I walk in the footsteps of my own ghosts, here is to the 40th anniversary of being a 12-year-old. I hope that I never have to grow-up, or least if I do, the experience of it will better allow me to still be a kid. Time to go ride my skateboard, while I still can.
