Mystery Girl

In June 1970, soon after returning home from 9 months of European travel, I met a girl in a local shopping centre. We hung out for the afternoon. I had not seen he before, nor since. Who was she?

A Photo Booth picture.

In the 1960s and 70s, it was common to find a Photo Booth in the larger shopping malls where you could drop a quarter into the coin slot and sit enclosed in a tight booth surrounded by dark curtains as a camera flashed four times, once for each tiny picture it produced. Above is the only memory I have of a chance encounter with this girl whose name I can’t recall, nor anything else about her, for that matter.

This picture is now just one of thousands stored on my iPad. Every time I see it, I wonder about that day - the circumstances - who she was - why we chose to spend an afternoon together - what became of her. Mysteries can be intriguing.

Time to reminisce.

After retirement in 2018, I’ve had much more time to reflect on my life and the circumstances of the world in which I live. Sometimes that reflection leads to questions like “what if … ” and “what ever became of …”. Those are times of pondering. The girl in the picture inspires those moments of reflection and the mysteries they pose.

The guy in the picture, me, was the product of the 1960s hippie era and rock music. While away in Europe from late August, 1969, to late May, 1970, my mother (unbeknownst to me made plans for my future. I had been a good athlete, and my high school grades were quite good. On this basis, mom made university applications on my behalf to fields of study that she believed matched my interests. Upon arriving home from Europe, she informed me that I would be attending the University of Waterloo in September to study Kinesiology. I had no idea what that was.

The first year at Waterloo.

After a year of independent (survival) living and travelling, I felt like a fish out of water on campus - a stranger in a strange land. The 1st year courses were mainly social sciences like Psychology and Sociology combined with refreshers of Grade 13 Physics and Chemistry. I was uninspired and my grades showed it. By Summer, I was considering a transfer into Psychology studies where all intellectually-inclined hippies belonged, or so I thought. But something happened. I read The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, then Atlas Shrugged. My entire world outlook changed and reset my course for all future endeavours.

During years two, three and four, I emerged as one on the top Kinesiology students through hard work and taking a genuine interest in all courses I studied. I went from a first year “C student” to first class honours. In 1975, I graduated with an Honours Bachelor of Science in Kinesiology with five excellent co-op work terms to my credit.

In the years since, I applied my academic knowledge in innumerable ways that have enriched my life in ways that I could never have anticipated in 1975. Those studies opened many doors for me: some academic, some social and some professional. My entire career has been built on the knowledge foundations and learning disciplines I acquired between 1970 and 75 at U o W.

I look back with great appreciation for the wisdom and foresight of my mom.

Moments of reflection

I often wonder what became of different people I knew in my youth. Some died young through suicide, cancer, drugs and accidents. For those unfortunates, I wonder about the path their lives may have taken. Others made choices that took them in directions unknown to me. I have tracked down a few and renewed contact, but there are many more about whom their lives remain a mystery.

Life is short.

As a teenager, this truth about life was never a consideration. I made innumerable choices - some risky, others not-so-good for other reasons, and many that turned out fine.

What has surprised me most about life is that the consequences of poor choices may not always appear immediately, but months or even years later.

Wisdom comes from acquiring these insights. Unfortunately, they usually come too late.

As a young man, I felt I had all the wisdom I would ever need. Such naïveté is unfortunately all too common in youth. We don’t understand that wisdom comes with time — through events and life choices that come back to bite you in the ass.

Me at age 18 was a naive young man. Me at age (soon to be) 74 wishes he could travel back in time to help that young man avoid some potholes and landmines along life’s road.

Would he have listened to the elderly version of himself? I wonder.