We can't stay away from what we love. And neither can J.K. Rowling, who just dropped the script of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, the new play about our favorite witches and wizards, only this time as adults, that premiered at London's West End last night. This addition to the Potter canon is the first in nine years, and I can't help but recall the last time there was a Harry Potter release...
I came across this photo of myself on Facebook today, sitting in my home town's Barnes & Noble after receiving my fresh copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on July 21st, 2007. My old friend captured the moment of me opening the book, heart fluttering, with the bittersweetness of recognizing a series emblematic of my childhood drawing to a close. I was wearing the yellow plastic bracelet that got me in before other nerds; I wore a buttoned-up flannel shirt similar to the one I wore to work at the studio on Friday; my bangs were too long and constantly got in my face; I had burned the part in my hair from that summer's beach trip; I hadn't yet finished high school, or gone to college, or moved to New York, or moved in with the love of my life, or even close to figured out who I was and what I was supposed to be doing with my energy and time.
Pictures of ourselves can do that, can't they? With a glance, a wormhole opened to a memory, one branded into my mind by the iron of knowledge that life would continue, it would always continue, and if I was lucky I'd be able to look back years from that memory and recognize it as a good one.
Pictures of ourselves are powerful. Headshots project an image of our best selves to others. Snapshots snuck between turns of a page can later return us to truths-- Harry Potter is great, our adolescence is as fleeting as his, and we need to preserve the sweetness, the joy we found in our youth in whatever ways we can.
Remember the potency that a single picture of yourself can possess. Capture the moments in your life that you will want to look back on. Goodness isn't found only in the past; it's there, right before your friend's Nikon.
x Lee Ann