I have been considering distance for years.
It's a funny thing, distance.
A tiny distance can mean the difference between life and death: if the car were that much closer and had killed you outright; if the bullet had been that much closer to an artery you'd have bled to death in minutes; if you had fallen that much farther, and died instead of breaking your leg.
It is difficult to fit spatial distance in my head. We all manage, of course, as we live our lives to understand how far apart things are, and how inconvenient it will be to drive to most of them. But the randomness of distance, the lack of apparent reason governing the way things become proximate-or not- is more difficult to fathom. God has tried to explain it to me, but I don't listen to her because she confuses me.
Chronological distance is even worse, although it is predictable and not random. It's measured in time, after all, so barring relativistic speed, planetary gravity wells, or Atlantean crystals polished and buffed extra shiny, we all experience the same minutes and hours at the same rate. As I age, I am trying to better understand the relationship between the years I have lived and experienced to the years prior to my own sentience.
The distance, in other words, between what was and what is.
Which brings me to "The Breakfast Club". Yes, the movie. We've all seen it. Brian and his soup. I distinctly heard a ruckus. Moliere really pumps my 'nads. You remember. It was released in 1985.
There is a brief scene in "The Breakfast Club" where Judd Nelson's character, the stoner earring guy, mimics the signature riff from Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love". He knew it, we knew it; he dug the song, we dug the song.
Which brings me to "Disraeli Gears", the Cream record where that song first appeared. It was released in 1967.
The distance between "The Breakfast Club" and today is about 19 years, give or take the vagaries of release dates and premier venues and such. The distance between "The Breakfast Club" and "Disraeli Gears" is about 18 years.
We are farther from Judd Nelson's stoner earring guy than he was from Cream's first record.
I've been doing more comparisons like that recently. Sometimes they make me dizzy. Sometimes they make me sad. Sometimes they make me want bagels. Usually they occupy my mind enough to keep me awake for my long commute- there is a significant spatial distance to overcome between home and work.