I spent several years working downtown in the late nineties so going back via train is always a bit nostalgic. I made a few transient friends along the way — names forgotten but faces that will always be familiar.

Walking through the tall marble white walls in Union Station’s grand ballroom or its darker coridoors I catch the scent of popcorn and it takes me back in time to those younger days. In some ways I am that same person, full of curiosity and wonder. The decade has changed me for the worse, too. I’m more distrusting, more likely to question motive and intent. The saddest thing for me is I can’t decide if that’s really a bad thing.

Nostalgia brings us back to older days, but not always better days. As much as I’d like my innocence back, bitter experience is a shield that protects us from self-inflicted harm. A sheltered life isn’t really living, is it?