Suddenly, for no clear reason, my feed filled with photos of people from 2016. Then I understood. A new trend had been born in the algorithm: show us what our lives looked like a decade ago. Well , not entirely understood. If it had been 2020, fine. A global trauma, a round number. But 2016? Well, so be it.
As for why people went along with it, that I understood perfectly. There is nothing like a nostalgic dive combined with a guaranteed shower of compliments. I knew everyone who joined in did so with a prewritten soundtrack in mind: “Wow, you haven’t changed,” and if lucky, a bonus of “You only get better,” even though anyone past 40 knows that’s complete nonsense. Still, for an hour at least, it smooths the wrinkles in the heart.
And yes, of course, I was tempted too. Almost. I didn’t post photos from 2016, but I opened the cloud. Just to peek. And it made me sad.
I suppose that if I had posted, I too would have received those soothing “You haven’t changed” strokes — and maybe that’s exactly why I didn’t. Because I have changed. A decade makes a difference. Ten years ago I looked younger — well, by ten years. But it wasn’t only that. 2016 was the year I separated from my husband, and in the photos it is clearly there, even without bold captions.
I saw my daughter celebrating her third birthday in kindergarten, with her father and me sitting beside her. Her first birthday when we were together — but already not truly together. I recognized the thoughtful look on my face, betraying sadness and fear. I saw myself at a Friday brunch with friends and remembered exactly what I felt: envy. They would return to their homes, to husbands and children — and I? To an empty house. It was my daughter’s weekend with her father. And I saw myself with the first serious partner after the separation, that smile carrying excitement and hope.
It made me sad because I remembered everything. How is it possible a decade has already passed? And what does it mean — that another decade will soon pass, and 60 will be waiting at the door? That my daughter will already be a woman in her own right? It made me sad because despite the pain, there were also many good things in that time.
I saw myself holding my little daughter and remembered how easily I could fix her sadness — simply lifting and rocking her, singing to her, and within moments she would calm down. And it made me sad because now, when she is sad, I can only hug and try to comfort her, but it doesn’t always help. And I certainly can’t sing to her — she has grown and realized her mother is a terrible singer, and she suffers enough as it is.
And it made me sad because I thought how wonderful I looked in those photos — only at the time, I didn’t think so at all. And today? Wow, how happy I would be to look again like Yifat, 2016 edition.
But then I remembered my old trick, the only one that truly works against time: instead of looking back and longing, pretend I have just returned from the future — from 2036. To look at myself in the mirror and say, “How wonderful — I am young again, my daughter is only 13 and still loves to curl up with me, and so many things are still open before me: experiences, loves, life.”
So instead of a photo from 2016, I posted a photo from now. Because the truth is — this trend doesn’t really tell us how we looked or what we did. It only reminds us of the one thing we always forget: that in ten years we will look at today’s photos and think — how did I not realize, in time, how good my life was then.