Author Mark Bolton. Images: Info under pics
Dear Carolynn. A forgotten moment from my past popped into my head last Thursday night out of nowhere. I must have been about 19 or 20 when this memory took place. It was a typically bright and clear hot Brisbane January morning when my mate Rob B and I jumped in his car, and blew a couple of joints as we headed south for a surf.
On the open road, car windows down, wind in the hair, music playing, my stomach sore from non-stop laughing, my jaw cramping from non-stop smiling, I was beautifully stoned and feeling free. At some stage on our way, Rob turned off the radio and put in a cassette to play… Chain’s ‘Straight As A Die‘. The volume went to extra LOUD for the song ‘I Remember When I Was Young‘.
Far out, man, to people on the highway with us, we must have looked like Cheech and Chong with our long hair, red eyes, beaming smiles and rocking to that song. But, we probably weren’t the only ones.
Written by Matt Taylor, who fronted Chain, possibly Australia’s first ever real blues/rock band, I’d heard the song plenty of times before… it came out in 1973… but you know how it is when young, the realities of life are yet to be understood and the real or deeper meaning can just slide right past you until it doesn’t. It happens to me a lot with music from the past, which seems to be a constant theme in my posts. That day, for the first time, the lyrics actually landed but being in my late teens prevented me then from appreciating the gist of putting myself into the shoes of the protagonist.
Funny, that’s all I remember from that entire day. But the memory itself? Huge. That flashback on Thursday night got me thinking about all the ‘FIRSTS’ we have in life—especially in our first ten to twenty years. The first time we taste something, smell something, hear, feel, see something… and for those like me who are open to it, the sixth sense… you get the idea.
Each ‘first‘ will never happen the same way again, and for some reason, often times we never fully appreciate the power of those moments until much later. Or worse, never realised.
Sometimes, though, it happens straight away. For example, in the early 1970’s hearing for the first time Australian vocalist, Colleen Hewitt, sing ‘Day By Day‘. It took me to a music place I’d not felt before. I was in awe and mesmerised, but sadly I’ll never experience that moment again.
Then there are those ‘firsts‘ that take decades for a meaning to come into sharp focus. Like right now. The recollection from that day driving down the coast. Triggered by a song about remembering the past but wanting to live in the present, got me thinking about the ‘firsts‘ of everything. Maybe that moment in the car wasn’t really about that moment, but having a heightened awareness at that moment so as to reflect on it later. Perhaps many significant memories are not merely records, but prophecies of meaning.
Thursday night’s reflection wasn’t an accident; it was the moment the memory had been waiting for, the reason it was saved. To think about the enormous meaning of ‘FIRSTS‘… being grateful to them while still feeling a pang of sadness because those ‘firsts‘ can never again be fully replicated.
Take the first time I realised I was an optimist—though I had no clue at the time what it was I was discovering abut myself. I was about 13-years-old and developing my very first roll of film. It was one of those Kodak Instamatic film cartridges with the paper backing. I had not built a darkroom yet, so I did it at night in our blacked-out bathroom.
I messed up because I failed to remove part of the paper backing and lost eight of the twelve frames. My dad was annoyed about the wasted eight. But all I could see were the four successes. I was also flying high with exhilaration that I’d seen my efforts show developed images. Later that week I printed them into photographs.
From that moment, and for the next five or so years, my love of photography brought me great pleasure and a string of new photographic ‘firsts‘, including having a home darkroom… and when I left school, working in the darkroom for a company that had as its client David Jones, then one of the biggest Australian retail chains.
The downer, though, after processing thousands of negatives and printing thousands of photographs, I never again tasted the same buzz that came from the first film. Advertising photography was not for me. I got bored of the same old subject matter.
There are also the obvious, physical and emotional ‘firsts‘—first crush, the first kiss that feels like a secret explosion, the first intimate touch that rewires your understanding of closeness, the first sexual experience, the first time driving a car or bike with that terrifying, exhilarating mix of freedom and responsibility.
But then there are all the other rites of passage. The first time you feel truly independent, maybe moving into a share house with mates, all mismatched furniture, unwashed dishes piled up, empty beer bottles or cans and empty pizza boxes. Your first real job and the weight of that first proper paycheck in your hand. Your first major purchase with your own money—a car, a stereo, something that felt like a monument to your own earning power. The first time you voted, feeling the strange gravity of the pencil in the booth. The first big trip without family, backpacking up the coast or overseas, where every decision was yours alone.
There’s the first major loss that cracks your heart open, the first time you stand up for something you truly believe in, and the first time you sign a lease or a mortgage, staring at the paperwork that makes you a proper adult. The first mate’s wedding where the reality of your own generation settling down hits you. The first time you see your parents not as parents, but as complicated, fragile people just doing their best. And, of course, the first major failure—the one that felt world-ending at the time—and the slow, surprising first steps of recovery that taught you more than any success ever could.
So, what’s left when that well of societal ‘firsts‘ seems to run dry? That’s where it gets interesting. The new ‘firsts’ aren’t about biology or expectation; they’re about choice, depth, and a different kind of discovery.
Imagine the first time you truly forgive an old, festering hurt—not for them, but for your own peace. The first time you sit in complete, intentional silence for a day and find you’re not afraid of the company. The first time you consciously decide to unlearn a belief that has been holding you back for decades.
There are firsts of legacy: the first time you formally mentor someone, not as a boss but as a guide, or the first time you create something meant solely to outlive you—a memoir, a planted tree, a blog site. There’s the first time you volunteer for a cause you were always “too busy” for and find a new community waiting.
You can have firsts of re-engagement: like a song, re-reading a classic novel and understanding it in a completely new way because you’ve lived more of it. Travelling somewhere alone, with a friend or friends or with the significant other, creating a unique bond or bonds. Trying an activity you swore you’d hate—painting, birdwatching, tai chi—and discovering a quiet joy in it.
And then there are the firsts of pure liberation: the first time you say a firm, guilt-free “no” to a draining obligation. The first time you redefine a productive day to include watching a full sunrise. The first time you feel utterly comfortable in your own skin in a room full of people, with absolutely nothing left to prove.
The frontier shifts. It becomes less about the firsts of becoming someone, and more about the profound firsts of being who you now are—fully, consciously, and on your own terms.
There can never be new firsts if we stop living in the moment. The past is a great for reminiscing and reflection, the future will only have new ‘firsts‘ if we allow ourselves the now to do new ‘firsts‘… as in the lyrics of ‘I Remember When I Was Young‘;
Sometimes I think about it
You know it happens every day
Should think of the present
‘Cause the present’s nowMatt Taylor
Footnote: As I was writing the part about developing my first film, I remembered that my recently late brother sat with me in the dark of the bathroom offering encouragement. A so gratefully accepted moment I had forgotten. Who knows, maybe this was the reason for what was prompted last Thursday night. And, Steven was 18-months younger than me, so we also shared a lot of 'firsts'.
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