A little over a month ago, I turned 28. This was not a big deal at the time, as 28 is not a milestone birthday — I wasn’t starting a new decade or getting any new privileges, and I couldn’t think of any dead celebrities I’d be outliving over the course of the next year. Then, a few days ago, it hit me: if I was one of the kids from Seven Up!, I’d be giving another round of interviews this year.

An aside, for the uninitiated:
Seven Up! was a documentary which aired on British television in 1964, consisting of interviews with a group of seven-year-old children from different socioeconomic backgrounds. Seven years later, a sequel was made, featuring the same children at age 14. New installments have followed every seven years since, with most of the original subjects giving interviews at 21, 28, 35, 42, and 49. The original film was intended as a statement on the lack of class mobility in Britain, but the rest of the series focuses more on the ups and downs of the participants’ lives, which I think is a far more interesting use of film.

Moving on!

The point is, had I been selected for such a project at age 7, I’d be getting another call from the director pretty soon. I’d have to talk about what’s going on with my life*, and answer embarrassing questions about the interview I gave when I was 7. Worst of all, though, I’d have to comment on all the shit I’d said in the previous film, at age 21.

It is no stretch to say I was a fucking idiot at 21. Let’s take a look at some of the actual opinions I held in 2002 — things I would have considered important enough to tell an interviewer. For example:

“I’ve never been all that spiritual, but I feel like, if I keep working at it, I’m bound to have some sort of breakthrough. People have believed in this stuff for thousands of years, so there’s no way it’s all bullshit, right?”

“I don’t really like the fact that we’re at war, but at least we can get out of Afghanistan once they catch Bin Laden. It’s not like he’ll be able to just hide forever. Then we can all get on with our lives.”

“I may not be able to get published right away, and maybe not ever, but there’s a place for you in the job market as long as you’ve got a college degree . I’m not too worried.”

“We’re definitely going to see major copyright reform in the next five years.”

“I suppose I should do more with my website, but I don’t want to just be another no-name blogger posting crap about the news everyday.”

“From what I’ve heard so far, Attack of the Clones is going to be a big improvement.”

And so on. I want to build a time machine so I can go back to 2002 and smack myself.

I was initially reluctant to post this. I ran the idea past a few people, and many of them told me they were quite happy with their lives seven years ago, especially compared to the shit they have to deal with now. Several told me the idea was flat-out depressing, because it casts either the past or the present in an unfavorable light, depending on your perspective.

But I went ahead and posted it anyway, because I find my youthful idiocy strangely encouraging. It turns out that, whenever I’m tempted to say that I feel stuck, or that my adult life has yielded no important lessons, it’s quite helpful to look back at myself at age 21 and feel superior to the asshole I was. Of course, by all accounts I am still an asshole, but at least I have a sense of humor about it now. I think. Ask me again when I’m 35.

*Luckily, I’m currently in the middle of something huge and impressive, which would give me something to talk about.