Over the past few days, I’ve been going through an old bankers box filled with folders, papers, and things I hadn’t looked at in years. It’s been a bit like opening a time capsule—one that I didn’t even realize I had.

Today, I came across a few photographs that made me stop for a moment.

One of them is a picture of me when I was about a year old, sitting with my Mom and Dad. It’s one of those pictures that, of course, I have no memory of—but there I am, right in the middle of it all.

What struck me wasn’t really me in the picture.

It was them.

They look so young.

At that moment, they weren’t “Mom and Dad” in the way I came to know them later in life. They were just starting out…building a life, figuring things out, carrying responsibilities that I couldn’t have possibly understood at the time.

There’s something about seeing your parents that way that shifts your perspective a bit.

Another photo I found was of my Dad as a boy—standing on what looks like a front porch, with a tricycle nearby. He has that look that young boys often have…a mix of confidence and curiosity, maybe with a little mischief thrown in.

It’s strange in a way.

I’ve always known my Dad as my Dad. But here he is, long before I was ever part of the picture…living his own life, having his own experiences, becoming the person I would later know.

I suppose that’s one of the things these old photos do.

They remind you that the people who shaped your life had entire lives of their own before you ever arrived.

And in some way, whether we realize it or not, those earlier lives become part of us too.

I didn’t set out today to think about any of this.

I was just going through a box.

But sometimes, all it takes is a couple of old photographs to remind you that your story didn’t start with you.

Want to be notified when new Field Notes are posted?
You can subscribe for free to The Nature of Things on Substack:
https://natureandthings.substack.com