I can distinctly remember one of the first times I felt a true understanding of the passage of time and my tiny inconsequential footprint in the long and ever-changing timeline that is human existence.

The year was 1993 (according to Wikipedia). The Pixies had officially disbanded. There was venom. Rancor. Bad blood. Kim Deal and Black Francis were never going to speak to each other again. These were dark, dark days. And suddenly my flash of existential clarity came – I was never, ever going to get to see the Pixies in concert. Following that crushing realization came the next crushing realization that I would never see the Beatles in concert either. Though I had intellectually grasped that John Lennon had been dead for, um, 13 years, it had never really occurred to me that it logically followed that the Beatles could not play live anymore because of it.

I recognize that it seems I was a little late in coming to all of this (I was just out of high school at the time). I had certainly contemplated life and death and the meaning of it all before (on enough of a regular basis that when I said as much in a Biology class, my teacher suggested counseling, which I thought was ludicrous, because how does anyone go through a single day not wondering about it?) and I feel like I had a fair handle on the idea of ending, but I guess I hadn’t really considered the idea of change.

At any rate, I blame the Pixies.

And though they reunited in 2004, I sort of continued to have in my head that the Pixies had gone the way of the Beatles.

But last night, I actually did get to go see them in concert.

You wouldn’t know it to look at any of the lousy photos I took, but I swear that’s the Pixies up there. Older, yes. Wiser, perhaps. Frickin’ fantastic, definitely. Of course, I was so excited about seeing them that I forgot to take any more photos commemorating the event (no big deal, seeing as the ones I took are so bad). But I did purchase some schwag (how could I not?) –

Kato was willing to model the tee meant for Alden, then Kato, then Billie Jean (its initial sticker shock calls for amortization) –

I opted for the cool grey shirt instead of the also cool putty shirt that would probably not go with my less cool putty complexion and had to settle for a size that definitely can’t double as maternity.

Here’s hoping I can return to pre-maternity size and/or stop getting pregnant every other year so that I can wear the shirt before the Pixies break up again and cause another existential crisis.

I went with two old friends from high school, Jodi and Ming, whom I hardly ever see. I don’t think the three of us have been in the same room in over 15 years. As we were carpooling from our meeting place at a rest stop on I-95 to the concert (at Wilmington’s Grand Opera House, a beautiful venue, btw) – all of us with husbands, kids, jobs, lives – I was struck again by how life floats along regardless of what things we want to stay fixed. And then Jodi offered us gum, Ming and I both said, “God YES I was just going to try to find some,” and it was the three of us again, in the car, with the music on, chattering and chewing gum.

What a comfort that some things actually never do change.