today i went to a motorcycle symposium and in one of the sessions the guitarists (and motorcyclists) from angels & airwaves, green day and death by stereo were part of a panel about music+motorcycling. they were quite entertaining, but that's not the point of this post.
watching them up there, with all their piercing and tattoos and alpine star shirts, brought back so many good memories. i spent the end of high school and most of college as an avid pop/punk fan...i went to tons of shows, followed all my favorite bands, hung out with and/or dated all the punk rock kids. i spent a ridiculous amount of time illegally downloading songs and prided myself on knowing all the up and coming bands. i dragged my friends and roommates to concerts from so cal to the wasatch front. my original converse were signed by members of yellowcard, new found glory, something corporate, the ataris, starting line.
now, not only have half those bands broken up, but the saddest part of all is that probably none of the people in today's day-to-day life know anything about that phase of mine. even brandon met me when i was coming off that era, launching into a more grown-up phase that involved stilettos and pinstripes, not black nail polish and dickies. it was a big part of me, a place where i felt connected and accepted and could have a blast. and now it's a thing of the past.
but it made me start thinking about how quick life goes by. in five years, will anyone in my daily life even know/care that i lived in LA once? right now i'm pretty deep into the p.r. diva fast track to careerdom, but in a few more years when i give it all up and the only thing my kids know me by is their stay-at-home mom, will they even care that once upon a time i went out and tried to make my mark in the corporate world?
it's cool that we get to keep growing up and continue learning and reshaping ourselves, but it makes me sad that we'll always leave pieces of ourselves behind. i guess it will always be part of us though, because today i like to think i still have a faint pulse on the indie scene...and i will always be able to tell stories about the time i got a bloody nose in the mosh pit at homecoming, or when the violinist from yellowcard gave me a big sweaty drunken hug.
i suppose a little part of that punky lyndsey will always be around. and i might go paint my nails black again tonight.